cab, but we weren’t in the city. I wasn’t even sure if they had taxis in neighborhoods like this. Every driveway seemed adequately supplied with fully loaded SUVs and sports cars. The cost of Ubering back to Philly would be astronomical. I hated not having control.
“Come on, Noah. You brought me here. I wanna go home.”
His blue eyes narrowed and his scowl curved to a wounded frown. “Why are you in such a rush to leave?”
“You know why.”
He shifted to his side, propping his body up on one elbow. “No, I’m serious. What’s going on?”
This was what he did. He was a dick, and then he turned all nice and concerned. Mixed signals everywhere. “Never mind.”
I wasn’t spelling it out. Last night went totally wrong.
It had been amazing and mind-blowing, and I actually thought for a minute I’d hit the cunnilingus jackpot. But he’d taken it too far. I needed control, and I told him that, but he wouldn’t listen.
Words like stop, enough, don’t, and no didn’t register in his vocabulary, or if they did, he cajoled his way around them. That’s why there were safe words, but usually the safe words were for the other person, not me. Would I have safe worded?
He hadn’t hurt me but pushed me miles outside of my comfort zone. He made me believe I was in control, but I never was. And I fell for it, like some stupid girl who knew absolutely nothing about men.
I knew men. I had plenty of them in my life. That’s what being a sugar baby was all about. But none of them—well, hardly any of them—meant anything to me. Noah wasn’t a client, and he meant something. He was my friend, and he knew I had loads of reservations about going out with him. Last night he broke my trust and—
Why was I even debating this—even with myself? He broke my trust. Fuck him. I flung the blanket off and grabbed my thong, hiking it up my legs. “Where are your keys?”
“What?”
“Your keys. The things you use to start a car. I’m going home, and if you’re not going to drive me, I’ll drive myself.” Let him pay for a cab or take a train back.
He sat up, eyes glaring under his disheveled bedhead. “What the hell is your problem? I’ll take you home. It’s early—”
“Now, Noah! I want to go home now.”
His hands lifted, fingers splayed. “All right. Jesus. You don’t have to be a—”
“Call me a bitch and I swear to God I’ll punch you in the dick.”
He climbed out of bed and shoved his legs into his wrinkled jeans. “Good morning to you, too.”
By the time I was dressed, I was trembling and on the verge of tears, but I didn’t know why, nor did I want him to see me upset—again. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“I’m coming,” he huffed.
I waited at the front door, wondering where the hell he hung my coat. He was there a few minutes later, opening a closet and handing me my jacket. I avoided eye contact as I stuffed my arms into the sleeves. “I’ll meet you in the car.”
“It’s locked.”
“Then I’ll wait outside.”
The lights on his BMW flashed, and I climbed in. The car started, scaring the bejesus out of me. Of course, he had an automatic starter. I adjusted the heat and waited for the interior to warm. What the hell was taking him so long?
Several minutes later, the driver’s door opened, and he slid in, wearing a scowl and holding two travel cups of coffee. “Here.”
I took one of the hot cups. “Thank you.”
He backed out of the single home driveway and sped down the empty roads of suburbia, not uttering a single word and holding the wheel in a white-knuckle grip.
Since he provided coffee, I felt the need to send an olive branch back. He was, after all, taking me home.
“Thanks for leaving so early.”
“Like I had a choice.”
Okay. He was pissed. Well, so was I. And confused. And a whole bunch of other crap I didn’t have names for.
“Well, it’s probably best we get back to reality. Put this whole mistake behind us.” The car veered right, and I screamed, “Jesus! Watch out!”
He peeled off the road, careening onto the shoulder fast enough that I nearly dropped my coffee. He slammed it into park and twisted in his seat, arm braced on the wheel as he glared at me.