Page 12 of Hunted Obsession
I’m getting that needy vibe, but at the same time, I’m thinking it’s a manipulation tactic.
Emmie has been trying to lead me around by my dick since she wormed her way between my sheets. She doesn’t think I know what she’s doing, but I do. I’m not someone who has ever, not fucking ever, let a woman best me.
And I will not let Emmie.
Even though she plays a mean game and is a great lay.
She will never lead me around by my dick. There is no pussy in the world that could ever do that. Not even Lucille’s, and I am really fucking into her, always have been. She’s the one who got away, the one I pushed away because I felt way too goddamn much for her.
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I ignore the text and head straight toward my car. I told her that I would be at her place when I could. And right now, I cannot. All the sexy pictures in the world won’t send me there. Not when I know she’s trying to force me.
I walk to my car and reach for the handle, but something causes me to pause. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. Looking over my shoulder, I try to find the source, narrowing my eyes while searching for anything and everything that stands out.
Usually, you can see that something is out of place when you’re being watched. If you know what you’re looking for, you can always find the person who sticks out. But whoever has been watching me, they’re good.
Professional.
It bothers me, but also, I’m impressed as fuck.
I wish I could meet them and let them know just how impressed by them I am. But at the same time, I’m not sure why they could be watching me, so maybe I don’t want to know. What I do know is that it isn’t Emmie. She’s not that slick.
Tugging the front door of my car open, I sink down into the seat, tossing my computer bag on the passenger side. Scrubbingmy palm down my face, I shake my head a couple of times before I start my engine.
Instead of going straight home, I head to my favorite coffee drive-through and order a double shot of expresso in a black coffee. As much as it should probably keep me awake, I know it won’t. This has been my go-to drink for so long that I have no doubt I’ll be able to sleep like a baby as soon as my head hits my pillow.
Thanking the barista, I pay her in cash, adding a few hundred bucks for a tip. Then I make my way home. After sliding my car into my marked spot, I groan at the sight that greets me. The goddamn audacity.
It’s Emmie.
She can’t get into my building. It’s locked down tighter than a bank vault. With a heavy sigh, I grab my computer and coffee before I push the car door open and unfold. As I move toward her, I watch as her bottom lip pokes out in a pout.
Stopping in front of her, I arch a brow. I don’t say a fucking word. I want to hear what she has to say to me first. Because nowhere in any of that conversation the other day, and especially during the text that I ignored less than an hour ago, did I leave it open for her to show up at my place.
“I missed you, baby,” she purrs.
Pressing my lips together in a thin line, I watch her and wait for her to say something else. When she doesn’t, I assume she’s waiting for me to speak. She’s probably expecting me to wrap her in my arms and carry her upstairs.
That won’t be happening.
“I told you I’d come to you when I was able,” I state.
She closes the distance between us, lifting her arm and placing her palm on the center of my chest before she tilts her head back, and her eyes find mine.
“I know, but I wanted to see you. I missed you.”
Shaking my head once, I clear my throat before I speak. My words are not friendly, and my tone is even less so.
“Emmie,” I warn, “when I need to do something for work, I need to do something for work. You know that my schedule is not Monday through Friday, nine to five. Sometimes, I’m gone at odd hours. I gave you the courtesy to let you know that I would not be available for a while, but you need to give me the same respect.”
Her hand falls from my chest before she takes a step backward. She dips her chin slightly, attempting to look as if I’ve scolded her like a child. If I have, it’s only because she’s behaving like one. This is also just a fucking game for her. She’s not really hurt; she might be pissed because she didn’t get her way, but she’s not hurt.
“I’m sorry, Theron. I just wanted to see you,” she whispers.
I already know it’s bullshit, but I decide to entertain her. Because if I totally brush her off, she may get pissed and end things. I don’t want to marry her or anything, but she’s easy and pleasant enough. Emmie scratches an itch, and right now, that’s what I need. I don’t have the time to invest in someone else for the same outcome.
“All right, Emmie. How about I come over after I’ve got some sleep, and we’ll go to dinner?”
Her eyes light up, and her lips curve up into a smile. “Okay,” she chirps.