Rock Chick Revenge
Page 85
As was becoming my custom, my legs went around his h*ps and my hands went to his shoulders (by the way, this was Wall Sex Position but in clothes). He stepped in, kicking the door shut behind him, ignoring my hands pressing against his shoulders. He turned and locked the door (still ignoring my pressing hands) and then walked us up my stairs.
I gave up on the shoulder press and tried another strategy.
“I have to see to my plants,” I told him. I decided I’d pretend I had plants, maybe get him to wait for me in the bedroom and hope he didn’t follow me around while I watered my non-existent plants.
“You don’t have any plants,” Luke said.
Shit, shit, shit Did he know everything?
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re annoying,” I told him when he made the turn at the top of the landing toward my bedroom.
“At least you aren’t tellin’ me you hate me anymore.”
Hell and damnation!
I forgot my own kill line.
I made a frustrated noise in the back of my throat.
Luke chuckled. Yes, he actually chuckled.
“Okay, now I hate you,” I told him, sounding bitchy.
We’d made it to the side of my bed and he let me go in a way that my soft body slid down his hard one until my feet hit the floor. This felt nice, as in, ultra nice.
“No you don’t,” he replied on a grin, his gaze scanning my face and I knew he could see I liked the body slide.
I powered passed the body slide. “If you knew I didn’t have any plants, why’d you bring me home?”
“Two reasons,” He answered then he bent his head and touched his lips softly to mine (the lip touch was ultra nice too, might I add). He continued when his head came back up. “One, because I’ve wanted to f**k you in your bed since that night we spent here. Two, because it amuses me to watch you when you’re cornered.”
My body got stiff, also for two reasons. One, because he was back to using the word “fuck” and two, because he thought it was amusing to watch me when I was cornered.
“That isn’t nice,” I snapped.
His arms were around me and they tightened, bringing me closer. I watched as his face got serious.
Uh-oh.
I wasn’t getting a good feeling about his serious face.
“We should be straight about somethin’, beautiful.”
Oh shit.
Luke was straight enough about everything. I wasn’t sure I could cope with him being straight about being straight.
Before I could stop him (not that I could stop him), he kept talking. “To get through to you, I don’t intend to be nice. I intend to keep you cornered. You try to get out of that corner, I’m gonna push you back in. I’m gonna keep you pinned there until you give me what I want. You aren’t gonna like hearin’ this but I gotta tell you, I think you’re damned sexy when you’re bitchy. I’ve also decided to think it’s adorable rather than f**kin’ annoying as hell when you’re lyin’ to me and yourself about what we’ve got. I decided this mainly because you’re incredibly sweet when you forget to fight it, not to mention you’re a shit liar and I find that hilarious. Considerin’ this is how you act when you’re cornered, babe, you gotta know, I’m enjoyin’ almost every minute of this, even the parts when I’m pissed at you or fightin’ for you and I’m not gonna be sorry that I am.”
Yep, I was right. I couldn’t cope with him being straight about being straight.
I decided not to tell him I hated him again as this had no effect. Instead, I glared.
After scorching him with a good long glare (well, I liked to think of it as scorching him, but if I wasn’t mistaken, his lips started twitching toward the end), I pulled out of his arms, walked to my dresser, got a nightgown and stomped down the hall to the bathroom.
I took out my contacts, cleaned and moisturized my face with travel-sized bottles I kept in the bathroom closet and changed into the nightgown. The nightgown was a Christmas present from my Mom. I’d never worn it before because it was ugly as all get out. It was white with little flowers on it, dowdy, high-necked and old-maidish, just where I was sure my Mom thought I was headed. When I was done, I stomped back to the bedroom.
The lights were out, the blinds still up and the streetlights filtered in through the windows.
Luke, of course, was on his back in bed, hands behind his head, relaxed and Zen.
Argh!
I dumped my clothes on the wicker laundry hamper then I walked back to the door.
Before I reached it, I heard Luke say, “You get near the couch or that f**kin’ futon, there’ll be consequences.”
I turned to him and felt my hold on my temper slip.
This wasn’t surprising. I’d had a rough night, a tough day and a killer of a week. I didn’t have any control of my life, none, zip, nada, and Luke was scaring the shit out of me. Not in a way where I feared for my safety, in a way where I feared for my heart.
And that was worse.
My temper-hold slipped so much, my hands went to my hips, my foot came out and the Barlow Bitch Blood started to flash through my veins.
“You were straight, Luke, so I’ll be straight too and this time I want you to listen,” I told him, voice chock full of attitude. “I’ve had a pretty hectic day, what with Dom’s Streetcar Named Desire antics and you fighting with Ren in a parking lot, though I still cannot believe you fought in the parking lot of a bar. And ended up bloody in the process! Then throwing a light across the room for God’s sake. I mean, who does that? Now you’re going to have to go out and buy a new lamp and that was a nice lamp. And I want to know, who’s going to clean it up? Not me, I’ll tell you that right now. Next time I throw a lamp, I’ll clean it up. New rule, the person that throws the lamp cleans it up.”
I took a deep breath, mainly because I’d run out of oxygen, and kept on going. “Not to mention all your straight talk. No one talks like you. It’s nuts. And you should know it freaks me way the hell out.”
I watched as Luke threw the covers back and got out of bed. For the first time, I took this as the warning sign it was but I was pissed off enough that I held my stance even as he walked toward me, his na**d and, even though he was fuzzy without my contacts in (it must be said), magnificent body illuminated by the streetlights.
I ignored the thrill of fear (and the thrill of something else entirely) running down my spine and kept ranting. “So, I’m out of patience with all this,” I told him in my best bitchy tone and tilted my head back to squint at him when he stopped within a few inches of me. I lifted my finger and started poking him in the chest repeatedly to make my point. “Get it through that skull of yours, Lucas Stark, we’re f**k buddies, end of story. Nothing more. Furthermore,” I went on, warming to my theme and still poking him. “I’m going to warn you that if you keep me cornered, you’ll have to face the consequences.”
I gave up on the shoulder press and tried another strategy.
“I have to see to my plants,” I told him. I decided I’d pretend I had plants, maybe get him to wait for me in the bedroom and hope he didn’t follow me around while I watered my non-existent plants.
“You don’t have any plants,” Luke said.
Shit, shit, shit Did he know everything?
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re annoying,” I told him when he made the turn at the top of the landing toward my bedroom.
“At least you aren’t tellin’ me you hate me anymore.”
Hell and damnation!
I forgot my own kill line.
I made a frustrated noise in the back of my throat.
Luke chuckled. Yes, he actually chuckled.
“Okay, now I hate you,” I told him, sounding bitchy.
We’d made it to the side of my bed and he let me go in a way that my soft body slid down his hard one until my feet hit the floor. This felt nice, as in, ultra nice.
“No you don’t,” he replied on a grin, his gaze scanning my face and I knew he could see I liked the body slide.
I powered passed the body slide. “If you knew I didn’t have any plants, why’d you bring me home?”
“Two reasons,” He answered then he bent his head and touched his lips softly to mine (the lip touch was ultra nice too, might I add). He continued when his head came back up. “One, because I’ve wanted to f**k you in your bed since that night we spent here. Two, because it amuses me to watch you when you’re cornered.”
My body got stiff, also for two reasons. One, because he was back to using the word “fuck” and two, because he thought it was amusing to watch me when I was cornered.
“That isn’t nice,” I snapped.
His arms were around me and they tightened, bringing me closer. I watched as his face got serious.
Uh-oh.
I wasn’t getting a good feeling about his serious face.
“We should be straight about somethin’, beautiful.”
Oh shit.
Luke was straight enough about everything. I wasn’t sure I could cope with him being straight about being straight.
Before I could stop him (not that I could stop him), he kept talking. “To get through to you, I don’t intend to be nice. I intend to keep you cornered. You try to get out of that corner, I’m gonna push you back in. I’m gonna keep you pinned there until you give me what I want. You aren’t gonna like hearin’ this but I gotta tell you, I think you’re damned sexy when you’re bitchy. I’ve also decided to think it’s adorable rather than f**kin’ annoying as hell when you’re lyin’ to me and yourself about what we’ve got. I decided this mainly because you’re incredibly sweet when you forget to fight it, not to mention you’re a shit liar and I find that hilarious. Considerin’ this is how you act when you’re cornered, babe, you gotta know, I’m enjoyin’ almost every minute of this, even the parts when I’m pissed at you or fightin’ for you and I’m not gonna be sorry that I am.”
Yep, I was right. I couldn’t cope with him being straight about being straight.
I decided not to tell him I hated him again as this had no effect. Instead, I glared.
After scorching him with a good long glare (well, I liked to think of it as scorching him, but if I wasn’t mistaken, his lips started twitching toward the end), I pulled out of his arms, walked to my dresser, got a nightgown and stomped down the hall to the bathroom.
I took out my contacts, cleaned and moisturized my face with travel-sized bottles I kept in the bathroom closet and changed into the nightgown. The nightgown was a Christmas present from my Mom. I’d never worn it before because it was ugly as all get out. It was white with little flowers on it, dowdy, high-necked and old-maidish, just where I was sure my Mom thought I was headed. When I was done, I stomped back to the bedroom.
The lights were out, the blinds still up and the streetlights filtered in through the windows.
Luke, of course, was on his back in bed, hands behind his head, relaxed and Zen.
Argh!
I dumped my clothes on the wicker laundry hamper then I walked back to the door.
Before I reached it, I heard Luke say, “You get near the couch or that f**kin’ futon, there’ll be consequences.”
I turned to him and felt my hold on my temper slip.
This wasn’t surprising. I’d had a rough night, a tough day and a killer of a week. I didn’t have any control of my life, none, zip, nada, and Luke was scaring the shit out of me. Not in a way where I feared for my safety, in a way where I feared for my heart.
And that was worse.
My temper-hold slipped so much, my hands went to my hips, my foot came out and the Barlow Bitch Blood started to flash through my veins.
“You were straight, Luke, so I’ll be straight too and this time I want you to listen,” I told him, voice chock full of attitude. “I’ve had a pretty hectic day, what with Dom’s Streetcar Named Desire antics and you fighting with Ren in a parking lot, though I still cannot believe you fought in the parking lot of a bar. And ended up bloody in the process! Then throwing a light across the room for God’s sake. I mean, who does that? Now you’re going to have to go out and buy a new lamp and that was a nice lamp. And I want to know, who’s going to clean it up? Not me, I’ll tell you that right now. Next time I throw a lamp, I’ll clean it up. New rule, the person that throws the lamp cleans it up.”
I took a deep breath, mainly because I’d run out of oxygen, and kept on going. “Not to mention all your straight talk. No one talks like you. It’s nuts. And you should know it freaks me way the hell out.”
I watched as Luke threw the covers back and got out of bed. For the first time, I took this as the warning sign it was but I was pissed off enough that I held my stance even as he walked toward me, his na**d and, even though he was fuzzy without my contacts in (it must be said), magnificent body illuminated by the streetlights.
I ignored the thrill of fear (and the thrill of something else entirely) running down my spine and kept ranting. “So, I’m out of patience with all this,” I told him in my best bitchy tone and tilted my head back to squint at him when he stopped within a few inches of me. I lifted my finger and started poking him in the chest repeatedly to make my point. “Get it through that skull of yours, Lucas Stark, we’re f**k buddies, end of story. Nothing more. Furthermore,” I went on, warming to my theme and still poking him. “I’m going to warn you that if you keep me cornered, you’ll have to face the consequences.”
