Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (54 page)

“You’re the dirty one,” I gasp. “I was nice until I met you.”

“Good,” he says, still thrusting slow and deep, pushing me closer and closer. “I fucking
love
that you’re only a filthy sex tiger for me.”

He fucks me deep and I groan, whatever I was about to say flying out of my head.

“I love the way your cock feels inside me,” I whisper.

He goes it again.

“Like that?” he growls.

“Yes,” I gasp, and he does it again and again. “I love the way you fuck me, Alex.”

We lock eyes in the mirror and he gets this look on his face like he’s about to say something, but then doesn’t.

“Say it again,” he orders.

“I love the way you fuck me, Alex,” I say, and I’m almost at the boiling point. I can’t stop. “I love the way you fight me,” — thrust — “and I love how you lick me,” — thrust — “and I love how you groan when your cock is in my mouth and I love how you touch me,” — thrust, deep breath — “and I love how your bare cock feels when it’s deep inside me and
FUCK!”

Then I’m just shouting as I come, Alex still fucking me slow and gentle which isn’t the way I wanted it but it’s the
right
way because it feels like I come in slow motion, sparks breaking over my head as I
shatter
, totally overwhelmed.

“Alex,” I gasp. I’m still coming, still riding the slowest, most perfect wave. “Jesus, Alex. Fuck.
Fuck
.”

“I love watching you come,” he whispers. “I love how your pussy feels when you come.”

I’m still coming. Somehow.

“It’s because you make me come so hard,” I say, and then another wave washes over me and I squeeze his hand and push my face into the bed.

“
Fuck
, Alex,” I moan, my voice muffled by the bed. “Oh my
god
, Alex.”

It’s not eloquent, but give me a break.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says.

I take a deep breath and turn my head to the side, then gasp as another wave overtakes me. I whimper. I feel like I might be dissolving into this bed.

“Come inside me,” I beg.

He growls, and a fresh wave breaks over me, this one so intense it brings tears to my eyes.

“I need to feel you come inside me,” I gasp, barely aware of what I’m saying. “
Please
.”

“
God
, Tessa,” he whispers, and then he thrusts again. He drops my hands and bends over me so his chest is against my back, so nearly every part of us is touching.

I’m
still
coming as he whispers, “I love how you fuck me too, tiger,” and then I can feel his cock throb.

“Come for me,” I say, and then he
explodes
inside me so hard I can feel it.

“Fuck yes, Tessa,” he moans, and he says my name over and over again into my ear until he’s totally spent and I am too, finally, and he’s just lying on top of me naked.

We don’t say anything, we just look at each other, and at last he rolls off and I roll over, still breathing hard.

“
O
kay
,” she says at last, and she rolls off the bed and gets up, going into the bathroom, butt plug still in place.

She closes the door and I grin.

I can’t believe how lucky I’ve gotten. I feel like I’m living a life that was meant for someone else, but then I wandered into it by accident and now I’m here.

Not that I’m complaining.

I exhale hard and then roll off of Tessa’s bed. I find my pants in the corner of the room and pull them on for the first time in seventy-two hours, and remember that this is what I was wearing Thursday.

Something about that strikes me as funny.

I wander into the kitchen shirtless, because even though there’s no possible way I can get another erection this weekend I know she likes having a muscled, tattooed man in her kitchen, and I like giving Tessa what she wants.

Especially
since what she wants is me.

I fill a glass from the sink and drink it, vaguely trying to figure out what I need to do now. I’ve gotta go back to my apartment tonight, which is disappointing because I’d rather be here with her, but I can’t go to work tomorrow wearing the same thing I was wearing Thursday and reeking of sex.

As I’m thinking all this, Tessa’s phone buzzes where it’s charging on the counter, and I glance at it without really meaning to.

It’s a message from someone named Aidan.

I frown, and then look away from the phone. It’s not my business. Aidan is probably a coworker or something, or just a friend.

The phone buzzes again and it’s another message from Aidan, and now there’s a little ball of black fire growing in my chest, because who the
fuck
is Aidan and why is he texting Tessa?

I can’t help it. I pick the phone up and read the messages, despite knowing I shouldn’t.

The black ball explodes and I grind my teeth together, looking through the message history. I’m snooping through Tessa’s life and I know I shouldn’t, but my raging jealousy can’t be stopped. She last texted him Thursday afternoon, to meet him for drinks at some bar downtown, and their messages are friendly and flirty.

It’s a date. Someone else is texting Tessa about a
date
and I might completely lose my shit right here in this kitchen, even though she thought I was dead when she set it up.

I text Aidan back because
like hell
is someone else going on a date with her.

I put the phone back down, knowing full well I shouldn’t have done that, because Tessa is going to be
furious
.

She comes out of her bedroom, wearing a flannel bath robe.

“Who’s Aidan?” I ask as she opens a cabinet and grabs a glass.

“Aidan?” she says carelessly, furrowing her eyebrows a little. “Oh, I think he’s some guy from a dating app.”

Her phone buzzes again as she takes a drink, and she picks it up and opens the message.

It’s just a sad face emoji. From Aidan.

Tessa looks at it for a moment, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing.

“Did you text him back?” she asks, shocked.

I just shrug, arms crossed over my chest.

“Oh, so maybe
the ghost
in my apartment texted him back while you just happened to be standing here
,
” she says.

“You’re gonna be busy,” I say, and I try to smile at her. The smile doesn’t take.

“You can’t cancel dates for me,” she says, her eyes flashing. She types on the phone with one thumb.

More than anything, I want to know what she’s typing.

“You’re not going, though,” I say. Now I’m
exploding
with jealousy, at the thought of someone else taking Tessa on a date, holding hands with her,
kissing
her.

“Yes, I am,” she says.

She tosses her phone onto the counter and glares at me again.

“It’s not like you’re my boyfriend,” she says. “We’re still dating other people.”

“I’m not,” I fire back.

I feel like she’s stabbed me.

“Well, I am,” she says, and takes another drink.

I think her hand is shaking, and I want to grab the glass and throw it against the wall. I want to punch a hole in the cabinet. Two years ago I’d have done both those things.

Now I just leave the kitchen and start pacing, even if I want to break shit more than
anything
.

“What was this, then?” I ask. “‘I love it when you fuck me, Alex’? That’s not a boyfriend thing?”

“It’s just fucking,” she says rigidly.

“That’s what this weekend was?
Just
fucking?”

“Pretty much,” she says, and there’s something hard and cruel in her eyes.

“So we’re just fuckbuddies,” I say.

She nods.

“That’s all you want from this. Fuckbuddies.”

She nods again, her whole body stiff.

“And you want to go on dates with other people.
Nice
guys,” I say, still stalking back and forth. The black fire inside me has grown and now I’m
consumed
by it.

“I thought you weren’t jealous,” she spits.

“I wasn’t jealous of who you fucked in the past,” I say, even if I was. “I didn’t fuck anyone either, Tessa, not for a year and a half.”

“I never asked that,” she snarls. “I thought you were
dead
and you never told me otherwise.”

“I couldn’t,” I say.

She rolls her eyes.

“You were a
slut
before this,” she says. “You bragged about it when we met. The guys you killed mentioned it, but I have
never
brought it up, not once, because it’s none of my business because
we’re just fuckbuddies
.”

“Sure, I fucked a
whole
lot
of women,” I say. “I got my dick sucked a lot and left a lot of houses at three in the morning and I got into a
lot
of fights with angry boyfriends, and you know what? I didn’t know half their names. I never fucked them twice. I never spent a weekend with them, I never wanted to
date
them.”

“We can’t date, Alex,” she says, like it’s obvious.

“But you can date
Aidan
.”

“
Aidan
never kidnapped me,” she says. “I’ve never watched Aidan murder someone or break a guy’s jaw.”

“So Aidan’s a good boyfriend and I’m not,” I say. “Because
Aidan
went to the right college and has the right parents and probably has a consulting job somewhere.”

“We can’t be together,” she says, her voice starting to rise. Her arms are crossed in front of her, like she’s protecting herself. “You’re never not going to be the guy who kidnapped me, and the whole world knows it.”

“What do you want, Tessa?” I ask.

I walk over to her and put my hands on the counter behind her back. I’d never hurt her, not in a million years, but I’d fucking
love
to punch the wall behind her.

“You want me to be your dirty secret? The guy you call for dick after your real boyfriend disappoints you?”

“Don’t put it like that,” she says.

I snort.

“That’s how it is,” I say. “You think I’m not good enough for
boyfriend
material so I’m just here to fill your holes until something better comes along.”

“You killed people,” she says, and her voice starts to shake. “I saw you. You were
professional
about it. A shot in the chest and a shot in the head. You broke someone’s jaw after he was down, and I’m
positive
that there’s a list of shit you’ve done that’s worse.”

She swallows.

“You’re dangerous and violent and that’s
how you are
,” she whispers. There’s steel in her voice.

“I would never hurt you,” I say. “
Never
, Tessa.”

“We’re not dating,” she says.

Then she walks out of the kitchen and back into her bedroom, and I hear her pulling on clothes. I go in and pick my shirt up off the floor and put it on. I don’t know where my fake glasses are and I don’t care, because I feel like she stabbed me right in the heart and I just want to get
out
of here.

“I’m leaving,” I call to her from her front door. “Call me when you need
just
a fuck.”

“Ale—” she calls, but I slam the door behind me and stalk down the hall. For a second I imagine that she’s going to come running after me, say she was kidding, that she just likes me when I’m angry. But she doesn’t.

I go down the stairs. Her underwear is gone and above where it was is a note in all-capital letters that begins THE STAIRWELL IS NOT A DUMPING GROUND FOR UNDERGARMENTS.

I rip it off the wall and throw it to the ground, and then I leave Tessa’s building.

A
lex slams
the door and my mouth snaps shut. I hold my breath and I can hear him stomp down the hallway and open the door to the stairs.

Then he’s gone.

I’m the world’s biggest asshole, and I feel so bad I’m almost nauseous. I slide my back down the wall and then I just sit there, covering my face with my hands because that’s not how I meant any of that to go, not at
all
.

It’s true that we can’t date but how the fuck can he not see that? He kidnapped me and the whole world
knows
that. I still have nightmares sometimes about the sound of that man’s jaw breaking, that sickening
crack
.

Even now I don’t know which one is really him. Every part of me, right down to my
bones
wants to believe it’s the one who told me about his brother and who kisses my hair and who swears he would never hurt me, the one who bandaged my feet and held me in the shower and taught me to throw a punch, but what if I’m wrong?

What if the other one, the violent one, is the real Alex? If I had
any
goddamn sense that’s what I’d believe. He pried into my life, after all. He texted Aidan back, and that’s pretty fucked up.

I just wish I didn’t feel like a monster. I wish I could stop seeing the betrayed, broken look in his eyes when I told him we were
just
fucking.

That’s what it was. Just fucking. If I keep telling myself that, it has to be true sooner or later.

I go to bed without cleaning the rest of my apartment, but I toss and turn all night.

* * *

I
force
myself to keep the date with Aidan, since my stubbornness about it was what caused all this in the first place. Monday and Tuesday I work late, watch TV, and then go to bed. The more I do, the less I can think.

Wednesday I work late again, and then rush out the door to meet Aidan. We’ve never met before, just chatted through Fizzlr, where he thought I was cute and I thought I may as well meet him.

I see him right away when I go into the bar, and he stand up from the table and waves at me. I walk over and he kisses me lightly on one cheek.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Aidan.”

“Tessa,” I say, and look around the bar. It’s Portland hipster standard: refurbished wood everything, old-timey dim lightbulbs, bearded bartender wearing a vest with his sleeves rolled up.

“This place has really good gin cocktails,” he says. “They use a pre-Prohibition recipe that the owner’s great-grandfather had, and they’ve even re-created the gin recipe from back then.”

He’s excited about it, almost like a little kid, bouncing in his seat a little.

“That sounds great,” I say, looking at the cocktail menu. “Which one’s the best?”

He starts down the list, explaining each one in detail, and I can tell he just wants to please me, because he’s a
nice
person.

We drink our drinks and chat about what we do. I mention that I moved from Los Angeles six months ago, though I don’t say why. He’s a Portland native, and offers to show me around. He tells me about the best hikes to go on. He offers to make me a list.

He’s funny and cool and cute enough and
nice
in a way that I’m positive will make someone else very, very happy someday.

Outside the bar he asks if I’d like to do it again, his eyes hopeful. I
hate
this part.

“You’re a great person,” I say, gently. “I just don’t think you’re the one for me.”

He looks puzzled.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I did have a good time. I really did.”

Aidan nods, looking disappointed.

“Okay,” he says. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before walking away, and now I feel like a monster for being an asshole
twice
this week.

* * *

I
open
a bottle of wine in my apartment, then stand in the kitchen while I drink one glass, leaning my forehead against the cabinet.

Why can’t I like nice men?
I think.
What the hell is wrong with me?

I think of Alex calling me his
dirty fuck goddess
or whatever it was, and heat pools inside me instantly.

I have the feeling Aidan would never call me that. Not even if I asked.

I drink some more wine. I look at the side table by the front door and think of Alex saying
your cunt fits me like a glove
and it sends a delicious shiver over me. My phone is right there. It’s got his number in it.

I’m pretty sure he’d come over.

I have another glass of wine, and after three drinks total, I’m tipsy enough to do it, because after all, isn’t the worst he can say
no
?

Probably not. Probably the worst he can say is
I never want to see you again
or
I found someone else
.

I text anyway, and then flop into a kitchen chair and wait for him to reply.