97
“We’ve crossed the line, Jake: we can’t go back from this.” There are tears in my eyes because I know this changes everything. He swears under his breath and rolls back over me, leaning in while trying to bring me back to him, but I resist. His eyes search my face trying to gain contact, caging me in with his muscular arms, but my walls rise.
“Emma, don’t do this. It’s sex; don’t overthink it.” His words are like a slap in the face.
This is the problem right here!
This was just another meaningless screw to him, another faceless woman. But it wasn’t. It was me, Emma! And now everything is destroyed, and I’ll never go back.
“I’m not you!” I spit angrily. I shove his chest hard, the emotions bubbling up, ready to burst forth, that inner self-doubt and fear flooding through. “I can’t just have sex then shrug it off meaninglessly.”
Why did he have to say it like that? Like this is nothing. This is why I should have never let it get this far.
“You think that’s what I’m going to do?” he says with instant hurt, then anger. His arms tense over me, keeping us apart to glare eye to eye, his face a picture of rage and betrayal, but I am so far gone in my own mind.
“Maybe I should ask Marissa!” I snap at him, close to breaking down. Jealousy rips through me saying her name, heart wrenching pain hits me hard, and my eyes smart with the instant need to cry.
Is that what he does? Screws and then forgets it? Is this who he is?
I know that’s who he is; I’ve seen it a million times. Why am I shocked at this?
“Fuuuck … Emma,” he groans, dropping his face into his hand and rolling onto his back away from me. It sounds like he’s asking God for strength as he pushes up and moves away entirely, jumping to his feet and stalking off toward the bathroom to deal with the condom. I turn away; I don’t want to see him naked. Not now, not ever again.
The beginnings of a panic attack overwhelm me. I leap up, fully submerged in emotional madness and regret, and run to my room. I slam the door, lock it behind me, and brace myself against it, panting, unable to reel in the chaos inside me.
I let him kiss me. I allowed him to have sex with me. I let him touch me in places with his mouth no one ever has. How can I go back to normal after this? How can I just rewind and delete what happened? It’s monumental. It changes everything between us; how I feel about him.
He pounds the door behind me a minute later, causing me to jump and hold the handle tightly. My heart races in sudden fear. I just can’t face him.
“Emma, open the fucking door.” He sounds livid.
“No.” If I do, I’ll break, and I can’t break; I must stay strong. I need to put distance between us until I can grasp what we’ve done.
“You’re being childish; we need to talk about this.” He’s enraged, and it just closes me down more.
“Why?” I spit. So he can inform me that it’s casual sex, and I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.
Is this the chat he has with every woman he fucks?
“For God’s sake, this is the fucking problem with you, Emma. You’re like a fucking swing door.” He raps the wood with a slap, and I jump, still clinging to the handle.
What the hell does that mean? He’s the one with the crazy moods and bad temper.
I glare at the door and flinch away when he pounds on it again. My body is a trembling bag of nerves at his reaction.
Seriously, Jake!
“Open the door, or I’ll fucking kick it in.” He is beyond mad and sounds terrifying. I’m scared; I’ve never known him this insane. Jake has never intimidated me before in this way, except maybe the night he beat Ray, but now I’m shaking so badly I think I may throw up or pass out. I believe that he will kick the door in; he’s strong enough. And angry enough. It makes me pale. Memories of a thousand mad men flit through my brain as my blood runs cold, and I shrink back.
“Jake, you’re frightening me,” I cry out desperately, my voice overtaken with emotion, tears stinging my eyes. My body trembles as I revert to teen Emma. He seems to still for a long, drawn-out pause.
“Open the door. Please.” He switches to talking through gritted teeth, lowering his voice as though he’s trying to quell his temper and soften, but he’s still pissed.
The shrill tone of our room door buzzer goes off, and he curses, only quieter, as though he’s turned his face away from my door.
Go away, Jake.
I silently pray.
“Emma, open the door for the love of God.” His voice is calmer yet still booming through at me.
“Someone’s at the door, Jake.”
Go answer it and leave me alone to freak out. Leave me to calm down and stop shaking like a leaf.
I’m trying to sound cold and cool, but I’m petrified.
“I don’t give a fuck; now open the door. Why are you hiding?” He’s exasperated and hurt.
Why am I hiding? Because I’m scared. The overwhelming realization of what I’ve just done is drowning me. Jake’s anger and aggression are scaring me. I’m suffocating, and I can’t think straight. I can’t look at him; how could I? I’ve just seen every part of him naked and let him do intimate things to me. Pleasurable things!
For the first time in my life, they didn’t feel wrong. Yet I’m experiencing the most guilt and shame I’ve ever felt. My head feels like it will self-implode and take my body with it. It’s too much.
The buzzer goes again, only this time longer and repetitive; someone is making it clear they have no intention of going away. He thumps the door once more, making me jerk, as he storms away, cursing. Whoever is out there is persistent, and he knows they’re not going to just leave.
Now that I know he’s gone, I run to grab a robe. I’m vibrating all over, and I know it’s not just from fear. My body is still reeling from what he did to me, the overwhelming climax that rocked my entire world.
I pull off the remains of my clothes until I’m fully naked, shrouding myself in the plush bathrobe, hoping to feel more secure, hoping to feel a slight easing of this crazy cold fear.
There are voices in the living room. I can’t quite make them out, but one is Jake, and the other sounds like it might be female.
Who’s he talking to?
My curiosity calms me as nosiness becomes the overriding emotion, pulling me out of my head. Knowing he’s with a woman out there, my suspicions are aroused, and a little green-eyed monster pushes herself out. At least it means he’s leaving me alone, and for that, I’m grateful, but I need to calm down and pull myself together. I need to get my emotions in check. I’ve no idea what I’m going to do; I need to think, work out my next course of action, and put it all back in the little black box.
I still hear the voices; they’re raised now, and I hold still. I strain to hear, but I’m scared to get too close to the door. I don’t know how to navigate this. I don’t know how to fix what I’ve done.
What happens now? I don’t want to be another one of his playmates that he picks up and drops on a whim. How could that work when I’m with him all of the time? I pale at the sudden realization.
He won’t want me around anymore if I’m just another fuckbuddy; he never keeps them around. He doesn’t date anyone beyond a month at most and never goes back to dating someone he’s seen before. Very rarely anyway. It’s not his style to backtrack. We can’t work together if this is what we do. He’ll replace me. Fire me.
I’m not sure I want to do that again anyway; I feel dirty and ashamed for letting this happen. I did what every other female on the planet does. I fell at the feet of Jake Carrero and gave him all of me. I am no better than any other woman he has ever had sex with.
No, in fact, I am worse!
I am a broken, emotionally messed-up woman who turns every little act into a huge brain-fuck and overthinks every tiny detail. I am a woman who let herself fall for him, despite knowing what he is.
Why would he want to deal with all the mess that I am?
The voices in the room have moved away, and I realize they’re more muffled than they should be. Whoever is here has been moved into his room, and he’s shut the door. I physically slump, knowing he would only take someone who has shared his bed into his room to talk, someone here in a non-professional manner.
Despite all my inner chaos, this thought causes sharp pain in my chest. I pull the robe tighter around me and slowly slide forward to unlock the door, peeking out as I do. I can see his door from here, and it’s shut, the living area clear. My hands trembling, I move out slowly, pulling the robe tighter. Fear gives way to paranoia as my gut aches with warning.
I see the remains of my skirt and panties on the floor, and Jake’s clothes are still lying in a heap. Whoever came here would have seen them too.
I move forward to try and listen, my turmoil held in check for the time being. I want to know who’s in his room with him. I want to see if it’s one of his playmates, even though I don’t have the right to care. It’s getting to me on extreme levels, jealousy eating away inside, agonizing.
I get close enough to distinguish the voices and freeze as the raised, clear, overly familiar voice hits me like a ton of bricks, that snarly, whiny bitch of a voice.
I gasp as my ribs retract, my heart thumping against them painfully.
Marissa Hartley!
Fuck.
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