We Don't Talk Anymore (The Don't Duet #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,53
canvas stretching toward the tree line.
The sunroom is both quieter and emptier than the rest of the house. Only a handful of other people are in here — couples, mostly, hooking up against the walls, their hands roving in the darkness. I feel my cheeks heat as Andy Hilton slips his hands down Candi Ciccirelli’s pants. She throws her head back as he sucks on her neck, moaning without a hint of self-consciousness.
I glance sharply away.
On the far side of the space, a group is huddled around the coffee table, snorting lines of something. They’re totally in shadow, their faces indiscernible in the darkness. Every so often, the flare of a lighter sparks a bong back to life. Their conversation is a hushed, indecipherable murmur.
“What are we doing in here?” I whisper to Ryan.
“I just wanted to be alone with you for a second.”
“I think we should go back to—” My words break off as he pulls me down onto a built-in window seat in a small alcove in the corner. I land on his lap. He’s breathing hard as his arms fold me against his body. He’s warm as a furnace.
“Ryan—”
“God, you’re so hot,” he tells me for the third time. His right hand slides around to cup my ass, his fingertips grazing the bare skin below the hem of my shorts. His left reaches for the bottom of my t-shirt and begins to slide up my stomach, toward my breasts.
I start to squirm. “Ryan, wait—”
“I can’t wait.” His lips skim my earlobe. “I can’t think straight around you.”
“You can’t think straight because you’re drunk.”
“So are you.”
“I’m not, actually.” I grab his wrist to stop him from feeling me up. “Let’s go back to the other room, Ryan.”
“But I like it in here.”
“Well, I don’t.” I struggle to extract myself from his arms. He’s holding me too tight. My heart starts to pound as his fingers wander toward the button of my shorts, panic hijacking all my senses.
I shouldn’t have let him lead me in here.
The belated realization does little to help me.
“Come on, baby…”
“Ryan, I think you have the wrong idea—”
“Don’t be a tease, Valentine. These tight little shorts are driving me crazy. Here, I’ll prove it to you…” He grabs my hand and presses it against his crotch. Through his shorts, I can feel the firm length of his erection. “See how much I want you?”
“Stop!”
I wrench my hand from his grip and elbow him sharply in the stomach. When he gasps, his hold loosens enough for me to wriggle free. I find my feet and start for the door, pulse thudding far too fast inside my veins.
“Valentine! Come back!”
I don’t stop moving.
“Are you shitting me right now?” Ryan’s on his feet, following me in large, staggering strides. He grabs my arm and yanks me backward, hard enough to make my eyes water. Before I know it, I’m pinned against a wall with his body caging me in.
“Let me go!”
“Let you go?” He snorts, a sound of utter disbelief. His expression is full of rage. “You’ve been leading me on all week!”
“I have not.” My cheeks heat with hurt and humiliation. I can’t believe things have gone so wrong, so fast.
I can’t believe I ever thought this guy actually liked me.
“Give me a break, Valentine. You’re not as innocent as you look. I’m sure you and Reyes have been doing the nasty for years—”
I flinch as if he’s struck me. Craning my neck, I look for an escape route to the door but I’m trapped on all sides. Everyone else in the room is either too stoned to notice what’s going on or too selfish to intervene.
“I don’t understand why you’re being like this.” Ryan’s voice has gone cold, stripped of all its earlier charm. He presses against me, driving my spine into the wall. He’s still hard. “Stop blue-balling me, baby.”
I plant my hands against his chest and shove, desperate to keep him at arm’s length. “Leave me alone, Ryan. I mean it.”
“You don’t really want me to leave you alone… I know you don’t…”
“You’re being an asshole.”
“And you’re being a cock-tease!” He steps back a stride, scowling. “You know what? You’re not even worth this much effort. You’re nothing. Nothing but Reyes’ sloppy seconds.”
I don’t even think about it; my hand moves of its own accord, slapping him across the face hard enough to leave a mark.
He reels backward, fury overtaking his expression. “You fucking bitch!”
He’s so angry, I’m certain he’s going to strike me.