Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(35)

“Ahhh. Now I know, don’t I?” His voice rumbled at her neck, making her shiver. “I know when you mouth off and push me, you need your * taken care of. That’s my job. My privilege. Next time just ask like a good girl.”

Her climax was blinding, the buildup of frustration she’d only been aware of peripherally, rolled off her in a tidal wave. Flesh quaked, hands scrambled for purchase, as the tension within her was obliterated. “Russell, Russell, Russell . . .”

“I’m here,” he murmured. “If you’re coming, angel, it’s a foregone conclusion that I’m there every f*cking time. Understood?”

“Yes,” she sobbed, collapsing back onto his chest. “Every time.”

Russell kissed the side of her face, holding her close as he moved them into a sitting position, Abby between his outstretched legs. His heart thundered against her back, bringing a drowsy smile to her face. Whatever questions lay between them, wasn’t their equally erratic heartbeats the most important answer? Russell had a dominant side—was that the reason he’d been keeping her at arm’s length? She couldn’t wait to tell him how ridiculous that was. It had all become clear since he’d entered the room. Since the beginning, that part of him—the gruff, commanding, often angry part—had attracted her. His stern manner, his protective nature. All of it. Knowing it was darker and even more demanding didn’t repel her in the least. Oh no. On the contrary. She wanted to be drawn into the eye of his storm and spun madly. The counterpoint to his nature had been right there inside her, she’d just been waiting for him to act. Waiting to put a name to the urges and sensual imagery in her head but not knowing if they were normal. They were. And Russell’s own needs intersected them. Thank God, she didn’t have to wait any more for answers.

“Russell—”

A knock sounded on the door, followed by Honey’s muffled voice. “Hey, Abby. You fall asleep or something? Wouldn’t be surprised after that belt of tequila.” A beat passed. “Have you seen Russell? Ben says he’s touring the perimeter, looking for Abby-specific hazards.” Another round of silence, this one infinitely more uncomfortable than the prior one. “Okay, last chance to get decent, I’m coming in.”

Abby started to call out that there was no need, she’d be down in a second. But Russell started to untie her hands, his movements jerky. When the task was completed, he surged to his feet and strode toward the bathroom, the sudden distance she felt yawning between them catching her off guard. As he closed the door behind him without even looking back or making an iota of sound, Abby could only sit huddled on the floor, positive her heart had just been ironed flat.





Chapter 12



RUSSELL BALLED HIS fists on the white-marble sink and breathed through the compulsion to shatter the bathroom mirror. Looking at his reflection was unbearable, but it was a laughable degree of misery compared to what followed when Abby’s soft voice drifted through the door, telling Honey she was fine and would be downstairs in a few minutes. She sounded anything but fine, and it was on his head. Sat there like an eight-ton elephant.

An image of Abby sitting on the bedroom floor by herself assaulted his mind, and Russell dry heaved, deflating onto the sink. He’d panicked out there. Just panicked. He’d heard Honey outside the door and thought, This is it, once our friends know, she’ll be stuck. He still believed that with his whole heart. Abby was so loyal. She would never leave his side once their relationship was acknowledged even if it was the right thing to do.

There was an even more sickening scenario, though, and it had propelled him toward the bathroom like a man shot from a cannon. If he didn’t get the business loan, if the officer took one look at his no–college degree, no–accomplishment, no–savings account ass and laughed in his face, he would do the right thing and walk away from Abby. No way in hell would he leave her scorned in the eyes of her best friends. Jesus, walking away would be hard enough without embarrassing her in the process.

And for Chrissakes, the pressure to succeed once they were officially boyfriend and girlfriend might kill him. He already felt halfway to dead, just knowing she sat a few yards away, probably wondering if she’d done something wrong, when she’d done everything so f*cking right. But his feet were leaden, refusing to carry him those few yards to permanently claim the future he couldn’t have but had come too close to stealing. He’d never make it a day for the rest of his life without replaying what they’d done. Abby, hands tied behind her back, that enthusiastic mouth perfect on him. So perfect. Big, hazel eyes glued on him, back arched, tits swaying as she moved. Sucked. Ruined him.

The way she’d accepted his impulses without question, the way she’d seemed turned on by them . . . resisting the compulsion to explore became harder by the minute.

What if it scares you, angel?

What if it doesn’t?

Was he corrupting her and hurting her at the same time? Was there an end to the damage he was capable of here?

He had memories of his parents’ marriage, going back to when he’d been a small child. His mother laying her head on his father’s shoulder at the dinner table. His parents leaving them with a babysitter for a few hours, then coming back through the front door laughing. But somewhere along the line, it had all gone to shit. He remembered it perfectly. There had been a tangible shift in the air, sometime around his ninth birthday. Remodeling work had slowed down for his father. His mother had started drinking. Lines formed around her mouth. Angry lines. The family had stopped having dinner together, eating whatever they could scavenge individually from the refrigerator. Sometimes his mother didn’t come home at all, sending his father on a drinking binge.