Broken Girl(31)

I do.

I open my eyes and look in the mirror, painfully I see every last mental scar people have left. People who were supposed to love and protect me. I see the fear of a nine-year-old who grew into a woman, I see the searing pain of a teenager rejected by her parents, and I see the shame of a woman who longs to find someone who wants to love her in spite of all the mistakes she has made.

He caresses his hands across every body part as he describes them. “Now look at the flawless curve of your hips, the marvelous swell of your breasts. Look at the unsullied bend of your neck and the arch of your creamy smooth thighs, My Rosebud, keep your words as beautiful as you are,” he whispers across my flesh.

Dropping his fingers down below my navel, he tickles his fingertips across the outside of my *. “Mmmm,” I breathe as I push my hips into his touch. I ache, no yearn for him to heal the scars I carry around with me every day of my life.

“Find your stilettos and put them on before you go to the bathroom,” he says as he pushes my body out of his embrace. The chill of the room rolls from my shoulder blades down to my ankles.

“And Rose, leave the bathroom door open.” He gives me an impish smile.

I find my heels and put them on, making sure I don’t look at myself in the mirror at the end of the bed. My darkest demons, better left unnoticed come alive in mirrors. I leave the door to the bathroom open and he watches me pee and wash my hands. I find the extra toothbrush and toothpaste he left out for me on the counter. Never taking his eyes off me, he sits on the bed and watches me. I steal a deep breath and make a decision to keep my past experiences buried deep for the next several days.

“Well, are you just into staring?” I ask in a low breathy tone. I push my ass out and spread my legs just enough to invite him over. “Or did you want to come get what you paid for?” I tease over my shoulder, caressing my hands up to my ass.

“Ahhh, my fragrant Rosebud. Yes, I want you, but this isn’t about me . . . right now this is about you.”

“About me?”

“Yes, right now, this moment . . . is about you.” he says as he pats the bed next to him. Anyone else does that to me, I’ll tell them to f*ck off, but Mr. C? Well, he’s paid for it. I come over and sit next to him. He slips the back of his fingers across my bare shoulder; sweeping my hair off before he pushes his lips to my chilled skin.

“Why do you think I pulled up to you? Out of all those women, I could have had anyone of them . . . why do you think I stopped in front of you?” He withdraws his lips from my skin. His steamy blue eyes invite me to push my lips to his. God, I want to kiss him. No other date, no other man deserves the pleasure of that privilege but his words, his actions they mesmerize me.

“I don’t know.” I swallow hard, my tongue buzzing to tangle with his.

“I chose you because of the way you carried yourself. Unrefined, and raw, certainly, but you have something those other women don’t. You have a spark, an allure that pulls at my deep-rooted need to . . . take care of you,” he whispers against my flesh. My heart falls into my stomach and my skin runs cold.

I can’t believe what he just said to me.

“Great, I’ve become your charity case? Thanks, but this weekend isn’t about your charity, it’s about me taking care of your needs. That’s all.” I push off the bed and head for the bar.

“Stop!” he demands.

I keep walking.

“I said stop!” he commands louder.

“I’m thirsty, I need something to drink,” I rebut. I keep walking, totally naked, utterly pissed and completely ready to give back his money so I can leave. “You, Mister, you’re asking for something I can never give. I’m not your charity case.”

He gets up off the bed and comes charging over. He clutches my biceps and drags me away from the bar.

“I never called you a charity case.”

“No, you just treated me like one. And for your information, I don’t need your money. I got plenty of my own. You wanna know why I got into your car? I got into your car ‘cause I felt sorry for you. That’s right; you looked so lonely with those sad puppy dog eyes.” I walk in circles scanning the room for my clothes. I’m done, I’m the f*ck out, but not before I finished telling him off. “That’s why I got into your car. You didn’t choose me . . . I chose you! Yep, um-hum, that’s why I got into your car.”

He remains at the bar, watching as I’m frantically searching the room.

“It’s want to, because, and yes not wanna, ‘cause and um-hum.”

“What?”

“When you are speaking to me, I expect you to speak properly.”

A bullet of a whole-hearted-f*ck-you-mister shoots from the barrel of my mouth and how-f*cking-dare-you is the finger pulling the trigger.

“Are you f*cking kidding me? You gotta be kiddin’ me? I’m trying to leave and you’re all bent out of shape about my goddamn grammar?” I explode.

“When you decide to stop acting so irrational, I will expect you out on the terrace.”

“The f*ck I am. I am not your—”

Before I can even finish my words, he wraps me up from behind. One hand on my mouth the other around my ribcage he thrusts me against the wall. My face pressed up against the cold cream plaster, my body sandwiched between him and the wall. His breathing fierce, as a deep growl grows in his throat. His hands pulse down my torso, catching my nipple in one, pushing the other between my thighs.