When Bella got over her control issues, she gave herself to me, and I loved every damn second of it. Actually, it was less about her control issues and more about the orgasm I gave her when her clothes were on. Then, she practically demanded I do the same, minus all the clothes in the way.
I’m lying on my bed, waiting for Bella to come back from the bathroom. My cock is hard again, and with my mind flicking back to being inside her every five seconds, that’s unlikely to change anytime soon.
She was incredible. Hands down, the best sex I have ever had. No one can get to me the way she does. My back stings from the scratches she gave me. It’s a very satisfying, dull pain.
She walks back in from the bathroom with my discarded T-shirt on.
Fuck. Me.
I don’t usually like to share, but she can wear my clothes any day. Her hair’s a mess, and her lips are swollen. No one has ever looked so sexy before.
“Are you going to take that off?” I ask.
Her lip quirks. “No. Why?”
“You look good in it—don’t get me wrong—but I prefer what’s underneath.”
“I have things to do, so you’ll just have to get your libido in check.”
“Or you can do that for me.”
“Sure,” she says with a shrug. “I’ll leave now, and you’ll have no choice but to cool it. Or you could give one of those girls a call. I bet one would rush right over.”
“They definitely would, but in case you haven’t noticed, I like you,” I say, dipping my chin toward my rock-hard erection. I’m ready for her. Again.
“So I see.”
“Do you need to be somewhere?” I ask.
“No.”
“Why are you trying to leave?”
“The sex is over, so…” She purses her lips and picks her top off the floor.
“Ah. You’re running out.”
I don’t want that.
Wow, first time for everything.
“Not running.” She wriggles two fingers back and forth. “Walking.”
“You should stay. We could go get some food.”
What am I saying? What the fuck am I doing? I shouldn’t get her to stay.
This is bordering on something, and I shouldn’t let anything happen. Being her friend is a stretch, but taking her out again is far too much.
She looks surprised as she reaches down for her clothes. “You want to go out?”
“I’m hungry,” I reply tightly.
We both know this is more than eating out together; we’ve done that before. We just had sex, and it wasn’t dip-and-then-slip sex either. No, I definitely don’t want to slip away after shagging her. I want to take her out to fucking eat.
“Okay”—she tightly grips her jeans in her hand—“we can do that.”
She looks about as convinced as me that this is a good idea.
We both know that we can’t be anything. Cinderella will be going off to uni, and then she’ll marry her rich prince and live in a castle. I’ll still be here, fighting for money and taking what I need. I can’t be anyone’s Prince Charming. The best I can do is the Beast, and that would get old for her really fucking fast. And, apparently, he owns a library. I don’t even have one book.
“Where do you want to go?” she asks, chucking her clothes down on my bed and taking my T-shirt off.
Every inch of her glorious body is on show.
“I changed my mind.”
“Get your head out of the gutter, and put some clothes on. You’re buying me food.”
I watch her get dressed while I pull on my jeans and the T-shirt she just took off. It smells like her. I’m half-tempted to take it off so that I’m not one of those people, but it’s my fucking shirt.
Once we’re ready and out the door, Bella gets in my beat-up Jeep and kicks a few cans out of her way. She doesn’t care that my drive is a banger and that I’ve not cleaned it since I acquired it.
“Where are we going?” she asks absentmindedly while checking her phone.
“Not too far away.”
Tilting her head, she glares. “That wasn’t the question. I didn’t ask the distance.”
Here we go. I love this.
“Well, that was my answer.”
“Why can’t you give me a direct reply?”
“I did. It just wasn’t the one you wanted.”
“Whatever. Whatever, Rocco,” she says, holding her hand up.
“Checking in with Mummy and Daddy?”
“Piss off,” she grumbles.
That’s a yes. I’ve not had to check in with someone since I was about five. I can’t understand why she needs to at eighteen. She’s legally an adult.
“Where do they think you are?”
Her eyes slide to the side and glower.
“I’m just askin’. Fuck, you’re touchy.”
“And you’re judgmental. You don’t need to know where my parents think I am. Why do you care anyway?”
I don’t know why I care.
“I’m only making conversation.”
“No, you’re being condescending and kind of a prick.”
“I’m taking you out for dinner, aren’t I?”
“Only because we had sex.”
“I think we should have some quiet time,” I say. Talking to her is like taking punch after punch to the head. Repeatedly. And, still, I crave it.
“You started the conversation.” She shakes her head and looks out the window.
And I suddenly feel like I’m married.
“My parents think I’m at a friend’s house. They’re happy, thinking that I’m finally fitting in.”
“You don’t fit in,” I say sarcastically.
Instantly, I want to kick myself. She’s sharing willingly, and I’m being a dick.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I’ve never been one of the popular people, and I really couldn’t care less if people liked me or not. I have no time to be fake or pretend to like what I should be interested in.”
“Good.”
As frustrating as she is, she should never change for anything.
“Why do you care what they think? You don’t have to tell them where you are.”
“I live in their house, Rocco. They’re my parents, and they’re very protective of me and Livvy.” She looks away again and takes a deep breath.
What else is going on?
“Why?”
“Because…they’re our parents, and they love us.”
“Obviously. But I want the answer you’re holding back.”
“I’m not holding anything back.”
“Bullshit!”
“It’s not bullshit.”
“If you’re going to lie, Isabella, at least make it convincing.”
“Oh my God,” she growls. “You’re such a dickhead.”
“And you’re a liar.”
“They’re protective because our other sister is dead!” she shouts. Her eyes immediately widen.
Fuck.
Oh, shit, I didn’t expect that.
I look at her and glance back at the road now and again. Thinking of her being in pain sucks.
“Bella…I’m sorry.”
She shrugs and tilts her head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” Her voice is weak.
It’s not okay, and maybe it has been a while, but she’s not over it.
“Yeah, but something tells me that doesn’t just go away.”
Dipping her head, she wraps her arms around her stomach. “No, it doesn’t.”
I pull into the car park of the only half-decent restaurant on the border between her side of town and mine.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I would really rather not. Can we just eat, please?”
“Sure.”
After looking out the window, she turns to me and asks, “Why did we come so far out? Are you scared we’ll be seen?”
“People have seen us together dozens of times. Get out of the car. I’m starving.”
I want to talk about her family. I want to know more about the sister who died, but I don’t want to push her. It’s not like I don’t understand what it’s like to not want to talk about your past. I don’t exactly start my conversations with, Hey, my mum overdosed.
Bella gets out and follows me into the restaurant. It’s not posh here, but it’s definitely a few hundred steps up from the cafés we’ve eaten at before. We’re seated straightaway at a table in the corner.
“This place is nice,” she says.
The server takes our drink order and gives us some time to look over the menu.
“You sound surprised.”
Rolling her eyes, she laughs. “Well, I’m used to you taking me to greasy dives.”
Everything is different now.
I want to spend more time with her. I want to treat her like—
Oh God, don’t even think about wanting her to be your girlfriend.
“We can get back in the car and—”
“No,” she says, kicking me under the table. “I like it here. I like this.”
Me, too.
“What’re you getting?” I ask her before this conversation goes somewhere I’m not ready for.
She purses her lips and hums. “The barbeque chicken sandwich sounds good. Do you know if it is?”
I shrug. “Never been here before.”
“Really? Why did you decide to come here then?”
“Ellis once mentioned it and said the food was decent.”
“Ah, you want to take me to decent places,” she teases.
“I’m not a complete wanker, Bella.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Not a complete one.”
“I’m real close to dragging you out of here.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah?”
“Not what I had in mind, but I’m open to suggestions.”
“I bet you are,” she says dryly.
We place our food order—her going for the sandwich and me a big, fat steak.
“Bella…”
She narrows her eyes and stirs her Coke with the straw. “You’ve already asked if I wanted to talk about it, and I said no.”
I love how she knows what I’m going to say before I say it.
“All right, I’m sorry. If you ever want to, I’m here.”
With a small smile, she dips her head. “Thank you.”
The whole weight of the world is on her shoulders, so I hope she does talk to me someday.