“I think you’ve made that clear, baby,” I shot back.
For some reason the warmth in his eyes deepened at the same time he whispered his warning. “Don’t call me baby when you’re pissed, Sweet Pea.”
“Don’t call me Sweet Pea at all, baby,” I retorted.
“You call me baby when I’m f**king you,” he stated and I didn’t know if this was a demand or a recall but it was probably both.
“Well, don’t hold your breath for that to happen again.”
The warmth in his eyes got deeper, hotter and his thumbs stroked my jaws again. I tried to pull my face away but his hands tightened and I stopped.
“You shouldn’t make a threat you can’t carry out,” he advised, still talking gently.
“How many times do I have to tell you to go?” I asked.
He ignored me and declared, “I end things.”
Seriously, he was not for real.
“It’s good to experience change in life, refreshing, keeps your senses sharp,” I informed him.
“Don’t push that shit, Gwendolyn,” he warned. “You won’t like the consequences.”
“What’s your name?” I asked on a dare.
He called my dare and raised me. “You call me baby.”
“What’s your name?” I repeated.
“Sometimes honey,” he continued.
“What… is… your name?” I demanded.
“But I prefer baby.”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and snapped, “God!” at the same time I stomped my foot, realized my hands were at his waist and I pushed back.
He didn’t budge.
My eyes rolled back to him and I instantly noted my mistake when I found one of his hands had disappeared and his mouth was at my neck, his lips at the skin behind my ear and then I felt his tongue there.
Without my permission, my body did a top to toe tremble.
His face came out of my neck, it got in mine, his hand returned to my jaw and he whispered, “Yeah.”
Then he pulled me away from the door and like a freak of nature, one second he was there, the next he was gone.
I stared at the closed door then moved to the window and checked and I was right. He was gone.
Then I turned my back to the door and stared into my messy living room.
And I was thinking I was pretty sure he felt the tremble.
Chapter Three
The Day of Epiphany
My house was an old farmhouse that once graced fields but now was situated in a neighborhood of much newer houses, that was to say built in the last fifty years, on the close outskirts of Denver.