Unraveled (Undone) (16 page)

I blink at him, staring at him as the song thumps through the speakers before I say, “You are the meanest man in the world.”

The sad thing is, this is exactly the kind of thing I love to hate. The twisting of the knife, it’s the most evil, delicious, wonderful thing in the entire world.

“I know.” His tone is entirely too satisfied.

“You won’t be able to resist me,” I challenge. The surge of adrenaline making my blood pump hard and my brain turn stupid.

“I won’t have to. I’ll jerk off and come all over you.” He laughs and chucks me under the chin. “Unlike you, I can have as many orgasms as I want.”

I hate him.

I love him.

Because under all the stress of having to put on a sexy, naked dance for my fiancé, I’m so damned turned on I could scream in frustration. The man knows me far, far, far too well.

He licks my lower lip. “It won’t be as good as coming in that hot, wet cunt of yours, but it will do until you give me what I want.”

The song flips over to “99 Problems
”
by Hugo. He raises a brow. “What’s it going to be?”

I won’t be able to break him. Not in this. Because he knows how that secret part of me gets off on this.

I nod.

“Good girl.” His fingers tighten in my hair. “Go back and remember what it was like when you were desperate to seduce me. Don’t tell me you never danced for me, and only me before.”

I swallow. A memory of us at a party. The music a slow beat, Leo’s eyes hot and hungry on me. I’d worked it.

He’d resisted me then.

He won’t resist me now.

Back then I’d been wearing a slinky black dress and tonight I’m wearing nothing but high heels. I give him a pout. “But there’s no stripper pole.”

“You can use me instead.” He pulls me off the table and sits on it. “Seduce me and see where it gets you.”

I can feel it. That thing I’ve been searching for since I stepped into this room. Where the rest of the world melts away and it’s all about what Leo wants.

He pulls out his phone, taps on the screen until “Pour Some Sugar on Me
”
comes back on.

I arch my brow. “Really? The most clichéd song in the world?”

He laughs, and puts his phone on the table and leans back on it. “Jilly, there’s not a man alive that hasn’t fantasized about a girl dancing to this song just for him.”

He pushes a button on his phone and it starts from the beginning again. “I suggest you stop stalling and get a move on.”

And I do.

I let everything melt away.

With my eyes on him I let my hips find the rhythm of the song. I let my body sway to the music, getting lost in the bass, the pounding thrust of the lyrics.

I dance closer to him, then back.

Retreating and pushing forward as his eyes never leave me. His gaze predatory and possessive. Hot. He’s in a claiming mood; I can see it in his expression. When this song is over, my wait will be over too.

On my next advance, I put my hands on his knees and dip down before rolling up over him. Pleased when I hear the low groan, and see his knuckles whiten.

I climb up him, pressing close, sliding my breasts along his chest and he growls, low in his throat.

I straddle him, kneeling over him and preform the sluttiest, dirtiest grinding lap dance in the history of lap dances, rubbing my bare pussy over his erection still covered by his pants.

I can feel how hard he is. How much he wants me.

It strains and pulses the air.

The fabric of his pants is a delicious, excruciating tease but I don’t stop, don’t let up.

I whip my hair, arch my back and slither over him.

“Christ,” he mutters and grips the edges of the table.

The song ends and he’s on me.

He takes my mouth in a hard, brutal kiss that steals my breath and whatever is left of my sanity.

His hands are everywhere.

He pulls viciously at my nipples and I cry out. Then he’s lifting us, turning and slamming me down on the table.

I’m panting.

Gasping for air.

My body is on fire.

I claw at his shirt, but he just unzips his pants and impales me.

At the force of his entry I keen, arching up off the table. “Leo. Fuck.”

He grips my hips and pounds into me, his expression hard and demanding.

He’s ruthless.

He thrusts, his fingers digging into my skin where I’m sure to have bruises.

He pulls out. Growls. And slaps me, full on the clit.

I scream. “I’m going to come.”

“No.” He’s Leo, unleashed. A cruel, selfish bastard that will wring every last bit of pleasure from my body before he’s satisfied.

He does it again.

And again.

I arch up. It hurts, but, oh my god, it feels so good.

It’s like something has broken between us.

He starts fucking me again.

Pounding harder into me.

Thrusting faster.

Just as I’m about to come he rips away.

And slaps me full on the pussy and I swear I see stars. “I can’t…”

“No.” He slams into me.

Harder. Faster. Unrelenting.

“Leo?” I cry out his name.

“Now.” His voice is vicious and harsh.

He thrusts into me while he slams my hips down with his hands and that’s all it takes. I’m coming so hard my vision blurs as it rolls through my body. I shudder, quake and lose myself in the sheer bliss of him.

I have no idea how long we stay like that but it feels like forever as we melt together boneless and satiated. Finally, he raises his head and looks at me before brushing my hair off my face. He smiles. “You are going to be doing that all the time.”

“So you liked it?”

He kisses me. “Hot as hell.”

I laugh. “Do I have to dance to ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me
’
?”

“Fuck yes.”

I smile and close my eyes. We’ll see. Not worth arguing about now.

His mouth skims up my jaw. “Jilly?”

“Yes?” I might never move again.

“I can’t wait to marry you.”

I grin. “It’s going to be epic.”

“It is.” His voice is soft and sweet, his tone just for me. “I love you so damn much.”

“I love you too.” I kiss his lips. Brush my hand over his cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He straightens. “There’s a million things I need to do to you tonight.”

“Then we’d better get started.”

He runs his thumb over my lower lip. “At home.”

Home. With Leo. The only place that really matters to me. “Home is definitely in order.”

“Oh, and, Jillian?” His expression turns wicked and my heart skips a beat.

“Yes?”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the belt.”

I sigh in an exaggerated pout. Of course he hasn’t. Bless his deviant heart.

Layla

We sit down on the bed, hands clasped. Michael squeezes my fingers. “Start talking, Layla.”

I blow out a hard breath and gather my thoughts. “You’re right. I did make this into a pass/ fail. I think I thought if I could conquer this last little bit it would make me normal again.”

It’s a struggle of mine. To feel normal.

“I’ve told you before, sugar, you’re never going to be normal. And that’s not a bad thing.”

I nod. “I know. But… I want to be. You know?”

Another squeeze. “I know.”

I nibble on my bottom lip. “In my head, my idea was if I was able to do this, you would be able to finally be yourself around me.”

He jerks his head toward me, brows furrowed. “I am myself around you.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you’re perfect?” I wrinkle my nose.

He laughs. “Where do you get these ideas?”

I blow out a breath. “I’m serious. Do you know how hard it is? To feel all crazy, irrational and messy when you’re all calm and reasonable? It makes me feel like I never get to you. I’m one big mess of flaws and faults and you’re just… well, you. Unflappable.”

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Layla, what am I going to do with you?”

“I don’t know.” My stomach clenches. “I worry. You know?”

“About what?”

He’s not going to like it, but I trudge on. “That someday, you’ll get tired of all my crazy and decide to find an easier girl to love.”

His jaw hardens, and a flash of anger passes over his face. “Don’t you have any fucking idea how much I love you?”

“I know you love me. I just don’t know how to be perfect for you.”

He lets go of my hand and stands, and then starts pacing around the room, clearly agitated. “I don’t want you perfect. Even when you’re driving me insane.”

I motion with my hand. “Yes, more of this.”

He stops, and just stares at me for several long beats before he takes a breath. “Here’s the thing, if I was crazy, you couldn’t handle it.”

I vault off the bed and throw my hands in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about though. That’s exactly it. I
can
handle it. I’m tired of you acting like I can’t. I want all of you, not just the part you think I’m okay with. Is that so hard to understand?”

“You are twisting my words.”

“Then what are you trying to say?”

“What you need, who you are requires someone with a long fuse. You might hate it, but you wouldn’t last two seconds with someone that was messy and irrational. You need an anchor.”

I pick up my dress from the floor and slip it on, not asking for permission. When I straighten, covered now, a muscle in his jaw jumps. Before he can say anything about breaking the rules I say, “Yeah, I get that, Michael. But I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you. We talk ad nauseam about what I need. My point is what do
you
need. And how can I begin to fulfill those needs if I don’t even know what they are?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “So you’re saying you don’t know me?”

I screech and throw up my hands. “No! I’m saying I don’t want our entire relationship to be about managing my needs. I’m saying sometimes it’s okay to get pissed at me because I’m being a bitch. That it’s okay to get sick of me because I’m too moody, or I’m crying for no reason. Or be aggravated because I’m having a panic attack and you just want to kick back with a beer after work and don’t feel like dealing with it. I’m saying it’s okay to be human.”

“I’m human, Layla.”

“If you feel those things, I don’t know it, because I never see them. Tonight was the first time you actually ever communicated your frustration with me.” My throat gets tight. “And I need that too.”

“That’s not true, Layla.”

“It is!” I insist, stomping my foot for good measure. “Michael, think about it from my perspective. When you were shot, and lying in the hospital bed I left you. That was a shitty fucking thing to do and when I came back, you were forgiving.”

One dark brow rose up his forehead. “I was forgiving because I knew you were going to leave and I knew you were going to come back.”

“So what?” I shake my head at him. “It was still a shitty thing to do.”

“Yeah, it was.” He shrugs one big shoulder. “But it wasn’t because you are a shitty person, it’s because you were scared.”

“I know,” I say, my voice softens. “And you can still be mad at me.”

“So you want me to be mad at you?”

“I want you to be furious with me if that’s how you feel.”

It seems like a myriad of emotions pass over his face before he finally steps toward me. “You’re right.”

I blink. “I am?”

He nods. “Sometimes I force myself to cool off before I deal with you because there’s a part of me that is always worried you have one step out the door.”