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Authors: Sloan Johnson
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is an issue. Again, Dylan is a living, breathing contradiction. “I’m not anyone’s,” I say, depressed by the validity of my statement. I’m not anyone’s. There is no one at home waiting for me, not even an emotionally abusive jerk hell-bent on telling me how I would never amount to anything.
(Dylan)
Controlling Tasha was the furthest thing from my mind this morning when I jumped in the car to drive across town and buy her a new outfit. I wanted to buy her something suited for spending the day getting to know one another. Since we didn’t say goodbye after the diner, I am hoping to delay that inevitable moment as long as possible. But I can tell there is something in Tasha’s past that is making it impossible for her to accept a simple act of kindness.
It has to be the miserable piece of shit ex her friends brought her out to celebrate her divorcing. For all of her faults, and she has plenty of them, at least Holly doesn’t seem to be a fan of the man I assume made Tasha this shell of a woman waiting for me to force her into something she doesn’t want to do.
Seeing her fight back the tears welling in her eyes fills me with the urge to leave her curled up in my bed while I track down the worthless prick and beat him to a bloody pulp. How can he not see what a gift he had when she chose to give herself to him? And again, when she promised to love him for the rest of her life. He was a fucking tool to let her go.
I slowly wrap my arms around Tasha’s waist, waiting for her to pull away from me. She doesn’t, so I draw her tight against my body. I trace circles on her back, neither of us saying anything as we try to digest her last statement. I can only hope she feels comfort in my arms, not apprehension or fear. “No matter what, I don’t ever want to hear you say you’re no one’s. I meant it last night when I said I’m hoping that, at the very least, we’ll be friends. And that is what makes you mine. My friend.”
She stares out the plate glass windows on the north wall of my bedroom, acting as though she isn’t hurting on the inside. The way her eyes glaze over, I’m certain she’s not actually seeing anything right now. “Grab a shower, get dressed, and meet me out in the kitchen. After lunch, you call Holly and we’ll get your purse. But I’m not taking you home right away.”
“What if I want to go home?” She asks quietly. The corner of my mouth turns up in a half-smile. I know damn well she doesn’t want to go home any more than I want her to. Now I just have to get her to admit that. If she won’t, then taking her home is the choice left for me.
She looks fucking amazing in my t-shirt. It figures that of all the shirts available, I grab one of the few that holds meaning for me. If not for the fact that we need to retrieve her purse from Holly, I’d be perfectly content lounging around the condo all day with her dressed like that.
Then again, that is probably a bad idea because I know I would never be able to resist her with those long, toned legs. It’s nearly killing me to keep my hands to myself now. I want to follow her into the bathroom, pull my t-shirt over her head, and run my hands all over her naked body as I wash every inch of her. The thought of pushing her up against the wall of the shower, allowing the soapy water to act as a lubricant as I shove inside of her has my cock growing painfully hard in my jeans.
“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “By the time the day’s over, you’ll be glad you didn’t go home.” At least I hope that is the case. I am not the type to wine and dine a woman, and I seriously doubt that Tasha is into that type of thing anyway. In those rare moments when her guard is down, I can tell that she’s laid back and easy going. The only thing that could sour my plans is if she tells me she hates football.
Fuck, maybe this is a bad idea.
“You seem rather sure of yourself, you know that?” She finally cracks her first smile of the
(Dylan)
Controlling Tasha was the furthest thing from my mind this morning when I jumped in the car to drive across town and buy her a new outfit. I wanted to buy her something suited for spending the day getting to know one another. Since we didn’t say goodbye after the diner, I am hoping to delay that inevitable moment as long as possible. But I can tell there is something in Tasha’s past that is making it impossible for her to accept a simple act of kindness.
It has to be the miserable piece of shit ex her friends brought her out to celebrate her divorcing. For all of her faults, and she has plenty of them, at least Holly doesn’t seem to be a fan of the man I assume made Tasha this shell of a woman waiting for me to force her into something she doesn’t want to do.
Seeing her fight back the tears welling in her eyes fills me with the urge to leave her curled up in my bed while I track down the worthless prick and beat him to a bloody pulp. How can he not see what a gift he had when she chose to give herself to him? And again, when she promised to love him for the rest of her life. He was a fucking tool to let her go.
I slowly wrap my arms around Tasha’s waist, waiting for her to pull away from me. She doesn’t, so I draw her tight against my body. I trace circles on her back, neither of us saying anything as we try to digest her last statement. I can only hope she feels comfort in my arms, not apprehension or fear. “No matter what, I don’t ever want to hear you say you’re no one’s. I meant it last night when I said I’m hoping that, at the very least, we’ll be friends. And that is what makes you mine. My friend.”
She stares out the plate glass windows on the north wall of my bedroom, acting as though she isn’t hurting on the inside. The way her eyes glaze over, I’m certain she’s not actually seeing anything right now. “Grab a shower, get dressed, and meet me out in the kitchen. After lunch, you call Holly and we’ll get your purse. But I’m not taking you home right away.”
“What if I want to go home?” She asks quietly. The corner of my mouth turns up in a half-smile. I know damn well she doesn’t want to go home any more than I want her to. Now I just have to get her to admit that. If she won’t, then taking her home is the choice left for me.
She looks fucking amazing in my t-shirt. It figures that of all the shirts available, I grab one of the few that holds meaning for me. If not for the fact that we need to retrieve her purse from Holly, I’d be perfectly content lounging around the condo all day with her dressed like that.
Then again, that is probably a bad idea because I know I would never be able to resist her with those long, toned legs. It’s nearly killing me to keep my hands to myself now. I want to follow her into the bathroom, pull my t-shirt over her head, and run my hands all over her naked body as I wash every inch of her. The thought of pushing her up against the wall of the shower, allowing the soapy water to act as a lubricant as I shove inside of her has my cock growing painfully hard in my jeans.
“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “By the time the day’s over, you’ll be glad you didn’t go home.” At least I hope that is the case. I am not the type to wine and dine a woman, and I seriously doubt that Tasha is into that type of thing anyway. In those rare moments when her guard is down, I can tell that she’s laid back and easy going. The only thing that could sour my plans is if she tells me she hates football.
Fuck, maybe this is a bad idea.
“You seem rather sure of yourself, you know that?” She finally cracks her first smile of the
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