Until I'm Yours (9 page)

“Fuck me, Bishop.”

He goes still against me before pulling back, eyes narrowed on my face. I lift my lashes, giving him a glimpse of how uninhibited I’ll be once he has me under him.

“No date. Let’s just fuck.”

He smiles only a little, running his tongue across those full, sculpted lips.

“Um…as flattering as that offer is,” he says, carefully extracting my hand from his pants, “I had a little more in mind.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to?”

“I’m saying I’d like to get to know you a little first.”

“First? So you
do
want to?” I just need to know it will happen, because I’ve never wanted anyone this badly.

“Is there any doubt?” He shakes his head, his smile deepening until the dimples pop in his cheeks.

“Haven’t you ever heard of a one night stand?”

“Yeah, I have.” He nods, dark eyes wicked and teasing. “Even had a few.”

“And?”

“And I’ve had enough to know they don’t interest me at this stage in my life.” He leans an inch closer, his minty breath misting my lips. “Besides, I think you’ll want me more than once.”

The look he pours over my body, the promise behind his words, penetrate me as surely as if at any moment I’ll feel him move inside. I’ve never felt this before. He doesn’t want one night stands at this stage in his life? Well, I don’t want complications.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Yes, you do. It’s just that no one’s ever asked you for it before.” His lips straighten and his jaw clenches as his eyes skim my face. “You want a quick fuck, but I want more.”

More. Dammit. He’s making me do this.

“Look, I’ll sleep with you, but anything more is getting too personal.”

His lashes fall to cover his eyes, but not before I read disappointment there.

“Then this is as far as we go.” He steps back, inserting a chill between us. His pupils are dilated and a swallow works the muscles of his throat, but those are the only clues his body offers that I may be affecting him as much as he’s affecting me.

“You’re saying you don’t want me?”

He grabs my hand, his thumb caressing my fingers. He squats until our eyes are level, and I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I drop my eyes before he can find it.

“I’m saying I want more, Sofie.”

I reach between us and wrap my fingers back around the lengthened stiffness hiding in his sweatpants.

“This tells me you’ll settle for what
I
want, Bishop.”

He blinks once, but his face remains otherwise unchanged.

“My cock doesn’t rule me, Sofie, and neither will you. I have two heads, and that’s not the one in charge.”

I tighten my fingers around what is, even by my standards, an impressive stretch of inches.

“You sure about that?”

“I do Ironman triathlons.”

“And I enjoy long walks on the beach. Are we just sharing random facts about each other now while I hold your dick, or did you have a point?”

“Not random. I
do
have a point.” He pushes my hand away from his pants. “Do you have any idea how much discipline it takes to do an Ironman triathlon?”

“I can only imagine a great deal, but I fail to see how that relates to us screwing this out of our systems.”

“A great deal of discipline, yes,” he says, barreling past my words. “And I take it to another level.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“When I’m training, I abstain.”

“Abstain?” I frown so deeply I’m sure I almost unibrow. “From what?”

“Sex.”

“Well, that’s just uncalled for. All that build up can’t be healthy.”

He laughs and shakes his head, his hand finding the sensitive skin of my nape.

“Fighters do it all the time.”

“For outrageous amounts of money, yes.” My voice thins to a breathy whisper as his fingers trace the downy hairs on the back of my neck. “Who voluntarily does that?”

“Lots of people do.” He drops his hand back to his side, depriving me of his touch. “My point is that I’m used to going without. I
can
go without.”

“But you’ve never had this. Never had to go without this.”

I’m done playing games. I grab his hand and slip it into the band of my workout pants, positioning his huge hand to cup the bare mound between my legs, willing him to penetrate me with at least one of those thick fingers. He doesn’t. A heavy arc of lashes falls to conceal his eyes. I don’t want him hiding from me. I want to see the lust overpower his resolve. I want to see want knock down those walls, but he doesn’t give me that. He takes his hand back and steps out of my reach until I’m left empty-handed. He puts a few feet between us before looking back at me, the same determination in those dark eyes and in the locked jaw.

“Dinner. Let me know when you’re ready, Sof.”

“Oh, I’m ready now. If you had put those fingers to good use and explored the landscape down there, you’d know just how ready I am.”

“I think the problem is you’ve been sleeping with boys who settle for just what’s down there.”

“Settle?” I give a short laugh so harsh it’s like a tiny razor in my throat. “Oh, I’m sure they don’t see it as settling. They’d tell you it’s the grand prize.”

“That’s the other problem. I think you actually believe that. Who convinced you the best thing you have to offer is in those expensive panties of yours?”

“How dare you?” I snap, eyes wide, brows jerked together.

“How dare
you
assume I’m anything like anyone you’ve ever had?” Irritation heats up his dark eyes. “Judging me by the assholes you’ve been with before.”

“They may be assholes, but they’ll have something you never will, apparently.”

“Well, that’s fine, because I want something
they
never had.”

“And what’s that?”

“Have dinner with me and I’ll show you.”

“These are the terms.” I set one hand on my hip. “We fuck or we don’t, but there’s nothing else on the table. Are we clear?”

“No, we’re not clear. I told you I want to get to know you, and that’s what I meant.”

“Let’s just skip the part where you pretend to find me fascinating and get right to the part where we fuck, you get to say you had Sofie Baston, and we go our separate ways. Isn’t that the end game?”

His brows settle into a frown low over his eyes.

“This isn’t a game, Sof. I want—”

“No, you don’t,” I cut in, words like a blunt instrument. “You think you want. It’s not happening.”

“So you’d date that quarterback, but you won’t even have dinner with me?”

“That about sums it up.” I sigh and roll my eyes. “Look, I’ll admit I’ve felt this itch ever since we met, and we can scratch it, but that’s all. No dates. No promises. No relationship. This is every man’s dream.”

“Don’t presume to know what I dream about, Sofie.” He steps close again, his body caging me against the wall, his breath on my lips. “Dinner or nothing.”

I’m through with this shit. He may be one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen, and his dick would probably thrust me into another stratosphere, but I’ve heard the lectures. I’ve heard him talk about following the fire and being incited to do something you’re passionate about. Beyond the bedroom, this man is more than I can handle. I’ll admit that only to myself. He’s good and brilliant and sees way too much. I truly think he does find me fascinating, wondering what’s beneath my guard, but when the layers finally fall away, in the end he’d wonder what he was even looking for.

“Then it’s nothing.”

I fumble with the lock behind my back until it turns. I grab my coat and bag, slip on my UGGs, and leave without giving him a chance to protest anymore. We’re done. I wish he’d just go back where he came from so I can forget about even the possibility of him.

The studio is deserted. Jalene is probably in her office. I’m through the door and on the street, walking back toward my Fifth Avenue penthouse that sits atop the world, a symbol of all I’ve accomplished. Without my parents. Without a man. Without anyone but myself. I’ve learned that I’m the only person I can depend on. A man like Trevor Bishop could make a woman forget that, and it’s the only thing that has kept me moving forward, one foot in front of the other, all these years.

And that’s what I’m doing now. Pressing through the early morning crowd, now out and on their way to offices and jobs, avoiding touching whenever possible. Maintaining the force field around themselves you need to survive in a city that could swallow you whole like you never existed without anyone knowing you were ever there. One step at a time puts as much distance between Trevor and me as possible when a hand breaks the rules, grabbing my elbow. Trevor pulls me around to face him, as wide and strong as a wall with the crowd rushing around him like water.

“Dinner, Sofie.”

The intensity of his eyes on my face. The gentle way he holds me, like he’ll let me go if I want, but he hopes I won’t pull away. The determined set of his jaw, like he’s fully prepared to fight for this. Only I know once he has what he thinks he wants, he’ll be disappointed.

“I said no.” I make my voice as hard as it’s ever been, and it’s been hard before. “Maybe this kind of thing works on the country bumpkins you usually take on sweet dates, but not on me. Back off. Is this the same man who spouts all those lofty principles?”

“Sofie, stop.” His eyes, soft and hot on my face, cool and harden. “I know what you’re trying to do, and—”

“You don’t know what I’m doing. You don’t know anything about me, and if you have any of the self-respect I
thought
that guy from the videos had, you’ll stop. You’re just making a fool of yourself now, and it’s beneath you.”

I gesture to the people milling around us, several slowing their steps to study me closely.

“Everyone walking past us right now knows exactly who I am. I don’t need a scene in the middle of the street with some do-gooder who wants to take me to dinner before he gets his rocks off. Now do I need to get a restraining order? ’Cause I will.”

I hate how hard his face has grown. Whatever he thought he wanted from me, I’m sure I’ve convinced him now it doesn’t exist. That I don’t exist outside of billboards and
Playboy
spreads and runways. That what you see is all you get. That what you see is all there is. I think he believes that now because with one last livid look, with a press of his lips so tight the dimples pop in his cheeks, he turns on his heel and walks away.

And I should feel good. Watching the broad back and shoulders headed in the opposite direction, hunched into the Princeton hoodie against the morning chill, I should feel good. This is what I wanted; the only way. I should feel satisfaction that he finally got it through his thick skull.

Then why do I feel like a petty bitch who just tossed something precious away like trash? Tossed out the possibility that what he thinks he sees in me, might actually be there.

I see you, Sofie.

He said it to me on the rooftop, and those words tugged something in me up and forward in a way no one’s words ever have. What exactly does he think he sees? Whatever it is, he may be the only one who’s ever seen it, and I just shoved him so hard I don’t have to worry about him ever looking back.

Panic grips me by the throat, strangling anything I would say to stop him. I can barely see him now, a distant shock of cinnamon bobbing over the people around him. He’ll be gone soon, and the look on his face when I landed my last verbal blow tells me he’s not coming back.

I don’t know if it’s a decision I make, or if that part of me that’s keeping secrets about how I feel about this man from the wiser, saner parts of me takes over, but across the dense, bustling crowd, a stone’s throw from Fifth Avenue, I call his name loud enough for anyone to hear—doing exactly what I accused him of doing. Making a fool of myself.

“Trevor!”

It feels like everyone on this street looks at me except him. He keeps moving forward, every step taking him farther away. I’m gripped by a sick urgency that I’m letting something special die before it draws its first breath. If that kiss in the studio was the first time I moved in his direction, then this is the second. I’m rushing after him now. Plowing through shoulders, bumping against briefcases without so much as a pardon me.

“Trevor, wait!”

He still doesn’t stop. Maybe his resolve shifted that fast from having to have me to being determined to never see me again. I don’t know, but I have to find out. I stop in the street, lean over, and press my hands to my knees to work up a scream that he can choose to ignore but will have no choice but to hear.

“Bishop!”

I bellow it. Even over the horns blaring and the collective hum of the early morning commute, he hears it. I know he does because he turns around, not even a block away, and stares back at me. He makes no move to meet me halfway. He won’t. The angry set of his mouth, the stiffness of his posture, the fists balled into the front pocket of his hoodie—all signals that if anyone’s taking steps this time, it will have to be me. I ignore the stares of everyone around us on the sidewalk and eat up the block in rushed steps until I’m right in front of him. I’m so close I feel his displeasure like a heat wave in the cool morning air.

“Bishop, I’m sorry.”

Every time he’s looked at me, I felt like he was searching for something. Probing, plumbing, diving deep with every glance. Not now. His eyes are flat, guarded, not letting me in and not asking anything of me. Maybe waiting to be done with me.

“I…what I said back there about…” I can’t finish.

“You mean about my having no self-respect?”

Even though his words are so deep and low no one else could hear, I feel exposed and want him to stop immediately.

“What I meant—”

“Or maybe the part about my making a fool of myself?” He tilts his head, lifts both brows over dark, flinty eyes. “No? Oh, you must mean when you threatened to take out a fucking restraining order. Is that what you’re sorry for, Sofie?”

“Bishop, I—”

“I kept telling myself there had to be more to you than what everyone said, but maybe that was my imagination. Maybe you are just a pretty face and a great set of tits. I’m so sorry I was making things complicated for you by thinking there was more. By wanting more than just a quick fuck, which is obviously what you’re used to. I just thought I saw…forget it.”