Page 87 of Arran's Obsession
“That’s what I want.”
“No,” I corrected. “For me. I’m the one taking.”
His eyes darkened. “Don’t torment me. I want you in all fucking ways, but there is no chance I’m letting you tie me up or blindfold me.”
“Because you don’t trust me, and that sucks,” I snapped back, suddenly shrill. “I don’t know anything about you that isn’t available through gossip or public record. Every time I try to get closer, you slap me back. I hate it.”
“Why do you want to get closer? Why do you want to know more about me?”
I swallowed, emotions too close to the surface again. “It isn’t to sell you out, but because when you touch me, something happens.”
That serious gaze claimed mine, nothing in his features giving up his thoughts. Then some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “Same, little maniac.”
I could’ve laughed at the nickname. He’d used it in my flat when he’d come to visit, and that felt like a million years ago now. But my humour was buried under other feelings I didn’t understand.
“Tell me how it is for you,” I asked.
Slowly, Arran shook his head, not giving me what I’d asked for. Then he changed direction again. “The grave I took you to in the woods was my mother’s.”
“I know that?—”
“She was killed in front of me.”
My mouth opened and closed. He watched me as if for confirmation that I already knew this. All I felt was shock. Horror on his behalf.
Then his words from the car came back to me, and I exhaled dismay.
“Your dad did that.”
He inclined his head again. “You wanted to know more about me, what’s your list of questions?”
I gave a huff of breath. “Everything. Who are you? What do you like and dislike? How did you get this place? Where did the money come from if you’re not taking it from the women? Your friends in Scotland, how are they connected? Those are the kinds of things that got stuck in my head, but none of it seems important now. God, Arran.”
He held up a hand, stopping me. “I don’t want this. I never wanted you. At the same point, I want you with every beat of my heart, and the thought of letting you go is a stab wound into my chest.”
A thrill struck my heart just as swiftly as pain followed.
“Give me free use in exchange for answers. Or anything you want. I’ll sell myself out just to have your body. Just to have you.” He advanced on me. Touched his forehead to mine.
Fresh desperation flooded me.
I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. Taking up his offer meant forcing him to compromise himself. It didn’t feel right. As badly as I wanted him, my desperation was to be closer, not to extract information like I was pulling teeth.
I backed away from his touch. Took another step, ignoring the insistent tug to stay with him.
“I need a shower,” I mumbled.
A muscle ticked at Arran’s jaw. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”
On my bare feet, my heels left beside the sex frame downstairs, I walked away. The first turning off the hall was a bedroom, so I kept going. The next contained a spacious, all-white bathroom. Switching on the light, I went through the motions to get the shower running and sourcing towels.
My movements were autopilot, so I followed them, shedding the hoodie to a laundry basket and my ruined underwear to the bin, then stepping under the hot water. It sluiced over my skin,and I took a minute to scrub off my makeup, washing away the traces of the night. The track marks from my strange crying session.
Then I curled my arms around myself, upset crinkling my lips. What was wrong with me? Arran was offering anything I wanted in exchange for sex. Sex which would be good for both of us. I should accept, lie back, then leave him.
I didn’t want any of that now.
My unfortunate heart ached for him. I wanted to uncover the story of his mother. I wanted to hug him and tell him I was sorry he’d lost her. I wanted unity and shared conversations. Not the push and pull of anger and hatred barely masked by lust.