Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(22)

So, encourage she would. And if Russell thought he was the only one who could shock someone, he had another think coming.

“Russell.” Abby ran a hand down his back, let it mold to the tight swell of his ass, the bold act ratcheting up her excitement another ten degrees. “Do you want to bang my little, virgin brains out on the floor or against the wall?”

His breathing cut off—he didn’t move—for what felt like hours. His erection remained ridged between them, though, so she didn’t give in to the urge to start rambling. No taking it back now, was there? Good. She didn’t want to.

Finally, he pulled back and drilled her with a look. “You sure as hell better not let me off the hook for saying that to you, Abby. You better get pissed, or else—”

“Or else what?” His gaze darkened in a way she’d never seen. It didn’t alarm her, though. No, they were on the edge of breaking past something, and she wanted to race straight into the eye of the storm. “What are you going to do? Frown me to death?” She deliberately let her attention fall to his mouth. “Or something more interesting?”

His fists thumped the wall above her head. “You’re getting yourself into trouble here, angel.”

The nickname sent another shot of bubbles twirling inside her, but she squashed each one to nothingness. It wasn’t special. She was an adult with realistic expectations, and this encounter didn’t have to be a fairy tale. Right now, her only wish was for Russell to stop holding back. “What does trouble mean? Show me—” Her words ended in a gasp when Russell dropped a hand from the wall and reached under her dress. The feel of his big, work-roughened touch squeezing her bottom—tight, so tight—burned away any remaining doubts that she wanted to take it further, but Russell’s dark expression told Abby she had work to do.

“You deserve a man who will ask permission before he does this.” He pulled the material of her thong tight against her center, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he performed the breath-stealing move. “This, too.”

“I gave it to you.” Her voice shook, thighs clenching as moisture rushed between them. “Stop treating me like I don’t know my own mind.”

Something resembling panic glimmered in his expression before it was gone. “Look. What we did the other night, what you’re asking me for now . . . you’ll do that with your husband. Or . . . or a boyfriend someday. Not me. Not now.”

She reached up and ran her nails over his shaved head, feeling encouraged by the shiver that passed through him, his eyes closing. “Russell—”

“No.” He snagged her wrists and pinned them to the wall but seemed to realize immediately the new position had been a mistake because it only brought their bodies more flush. Determined to use every advantage, she pushed her breasts higher, tilted her hips, and absorbed the groan that rumbled in his chest. “Abby, please. I like things you’re not used to.” His gaze strayed to her breasts, and they swelled beneath his attention. “You’ll end up with someone who knows what a girl like you needs. Someone who treats you right.”

“No one treats me better than you,” she whispered against his mouth. “You only pretend otherwise. I trust you.”

A broken sound left him, but still he shook his head. “Think about it. You want to introduce me to you father? Huh?”

The one thing she hadn’t been prepared for him to say impacted her like a snowball in the face. Not because she would feel an ounce of shame introducing Russell to her family—how dare he even suggest it—but because for the last half hour, she’d forgotten about the difficult situation with her family, the responsibility on her shoulders. God, she couldn’t introduce anyone to her father even if she wanted to. An image of her desk, her overflowing in-box popped in to say hello and polarized her. Stress stomped through her stomach like a college marching band.

“That’s what I thought,” Russell said, pulling away, his face grave. “It’s a good thing, all right? Believe me, the last thing I’m in the market for is a girlfriend.”

Abby sagged against the wall in the absence of his weight, her mind performing a frantic dance to catch up. Did Russell actually think her reaction had been over the thought of his meeting her father? A knot twisted in her stomach at the realization. He was walking away without giving her a chance to explain—and suddenly she didn’t want to. This friend who knew her better than anyone thought her nothing more than a materialistic rich girl who cared about appearances. Just like everyone at the office.

For the second time that afternoon, she probably should have run from the house without so much as a backward glance. But that would have been too easy. She wanted—needed—to regain this sense of loss that multiplied every step Russell took away from her. More than that, though, she was tired of being controlled by the expectations of others. You’ll end up with someone who knows what a girl like you needs. How could he spout such nonsense when she didn’t even know?

Well. She knew one thing. Her body felt . . . hot and neglected. Even after he’d reduced her to a petty rich girl, she still wanted him to touch her. Enough to make her flesh heat over the way his body moved. Shoulder muscles bunched, backside outlined by his faded jeans. Swaggering. Always swaggering. She wanted to rid him of that self-assurance—that assurance of everything—and turn him as needy as she felt.