Page 112 of A Dark Fall
“You’re sorry. I know.” I nod.
His expression flickers with something before he drops his shoulders then his eyes and nods. Without his gaze on me, it feels far easier to move, and so I do. He follows behind.
When I get to the door, I stop to turn around, to say goodbye, but I don’t get a chance. He moves so quickly, his mouth and body pressing me back against the door with a gentle force. He kisses me again, and this time, it’s rough, dominant, bruising almost. He runs his hands through my hair, down my face, over my neck, as though trying to commit me to memory.
The gnawing heat begins to build between my legs, desperate to pull him inside me. Right there with the need and desire, though, is anger.I’m so bloody angry with him. It didn’t have to be like this. He didn’t have to do this.But it will always be like this with him, won’t it? He’ll never let me in—not fully. That much was clear tonight.
It doesn’t matter. You’ll never feel a fraction of this with anyone else. If you think you will, you’re kidding yourself. He’s everything you want. You’re in love with him.
I need to get out of here.
I push at his chest, but he doesn’t move and continues to lap at my mouth with his tongue as he slides his hand between my thighs, cupping me possessively with hot, greedy fingers.
“Don’t leave me, baby, please,” he breathes against my mouth.
I moan as his fingers slide up my thigh, grazing the seam of my underwear. My legs threaten to buckle with need. With one final push of my body, he moves back, and all at once, every last ounce of heat disappears from me. I don’t look at him as I turn and reach for the handle.
“Tell me we aren’t over,” he says as he pushes his foot against the door. “Tell me you need some space. Tell me you fucking hate me but that it isn’t over. Tell me you still want me, Alex. I need to hear you say it.” It’s a demand.
It makes me turn my head to look at him. The intensity in his eyes is a level I’ve never seen before. Dangerously dark, sad too, but the heat and desire in them is suffocating. I can’t breathe.
“Jake, please don’t ...” I whisper, dropping my eyes again. My vision feels blurry. Am I crying? It feels like I am. “Let me go. I need to go.”
“Tell me you still want me, baby. I need to hear you say it.” It’s softer now—not a command anymore; a plea. “I can let you walk out of here if I know you still want me.”
“You need to let me go now, Jake,” I whisper.
Immediately, regret seeps into his eyes. He looks down at his hand over mine and nods before I feel the pressure ease off.
Jake steps back from the door.As I walk away from him, I feel his eyes burn heavy into the back of my head.
“That’s not a no, Alex,” he says as I slip out into the hallway.
For the third time that day, I walk to the elevator on unstable legs and with a heart that feels heavy and ever so slightly broken. I don’t look back.
I throw myself into the taxi—whichisa taxi this time, and not Jake’s driver. As I give him my address, he sighs, and that’s enough to cause the tears to break free.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s a bit far out,” I sniffle.
The driver looks stunned—a little horrified even—by my outburst. “Oh, it’s okay, love. It’s not a problem. You’re my last fare of the night anyway,” he says as he steals a look at me in the rearview mirror.
I nod, wiping the back of my hand across my face. How embarrassing. A minute later, I see his arm appear between the two front seats holding a box of tissues. I thank him, still sniffling.
“Don’t tell me. Man trouble.”
Oh, he has no bloody idea.
I laugh a small, sad laugh. “So predictable.”
“Aw, I see the lot doing this job, sweetheart. You wouldn’t believe. Once picked up a bride the night of her wedding—caught her husband and her bridesmaid at it, you know.”
“God, really?” Yes, I’m sure finding out the deeply secretive man I’ve been sleeping with, who I’ve fallen in love with despite not knowing anything about, turns out to have a son he didn’t think to mention isn’t the wildest thing he’s ever heard.
For the entirety of the journey, my temporary father figure offers me reams of assumed wisdom and advice with regard to my “man troubles,” as he keeps referring to them. It doesn’t come across as patronizing because he has such a nice manner about him. Not what I expected when I first got in. But listening to him chatter away in his warm Cockney accent stops the scene with Jake from playing over and over in my head.
“I’m sure it will work itself out,” he says. “I’m sure if it’s meant to be, it will be,” he says. “He’s likely not worth it anyway,” he says. I tell him I’ll be fine. I don’t mention that I feel as if I’ve been run over by a truck. As if my bones and body are shattered and broken, my heart crushed to a pulp.
When he pulls up at my house, I pay and tip him generously, thanking him for the friendly ear. He tells me I’m a lovely young girl and he’s sure I’ll find the right man soon enough. I’m about to tell him I’m pretty sure I did, that despite his secrets and his lies I still want him. I want to ask if that’s weak-willed and female, but I doubt he’d know.Instead, I give him my polite smile and wish him good night. I’m scared to say any of that out loud anyway in case someone does have the answers and none of them are what I want to hear. I never wanted to talk about Jake with anyone from the start because to me, he always felt like some treasure I’d stolen. Something that didn’t belong with me. Sounds as if Jake saw it like that too.