I opened my eyes. “We can’t—”
He cut me off. “We’re gonna figure it out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.”
He looked over my head, muttering, “I’m not findin’ this part of you bein’ a fuckin’ nut cute.”
“Sebring,” I called quietly.
He looked back at me, a mixture of sex and irritation on his face.
I liked that look so much I felt my pussy convulse.
He felt it too.
“Christ,” he bit out, his hips bucking into mine.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t apologize for milkin’ my cock,” he ordered.
I pressed my lips together and tried not to convulse again at his words.
“You came here tonight thinkin’ I needed you.”
I decided not to answer and not just because I’d made that clear earlier so he already knew the answer.
“All I did was kiss you and now I gotta take my shirt to a tailor to put new fuckin’ buttons on it,” he carried on.
I continued my silence, again not just because that did indeed happen and there was no point denying it.
“And now you finally get it that your body is mine, your cunt is mine, your ass is mine, your everything is mine and you can trust me to give you what you need because,” he dipped closer, “you can just fuckin’ trust me and you say in the fucked-up mess we’ve built we got nothin’ to figure out?”
“I—”
“Shut it,” he growled.
I snapped my mouth shut not because he told me to but because I was getting angry and I’d been taught not to speak when I was angry.
“You’re spending the night,” he repeated. “Now, have you eaten?”
Have I eaten?
Was he crazy?
I glared at him.
“Olivia, have you eaten?” he asked impatiently.
“We are not doing this,” I declared.
“We are,” he shot back. “And that discussion has been had. Now, tell me, have you fuckin’ eaten?”
“The discussion hasn’t been had considering I said one word during it before you rudely interrupted me.”
“Did you come here thinkin’ I needed you?”
“Did you text me to trick me into thinking you did?” I returned.