When Amy realizes that I am heading for her house, she becomes furious. “Why are you taking me home, Logan? You promised we would spend the night alone. You can’t be ditching me because the little whore back there decided to get herself fucked.”
“Watch it Amy. I’m not going to argue with you tonight.”
“Then tell me why? You’re going to drop little Miss Trailer Trash off at her shitty ass trailer and then go home by yourself? That doesn’t make any fucking sense, Logan. You either want to be with me or not.”
My jaw is clenched to the point of pain as I struggle to maintain control. To my horror, she continues. “You never let me spend the night anymore, we hardly ever go out, I can’t even remember the last time you fucked me.”
At hearing the last part of this little charade, my eyes snap up to see Rowan smirking. She’s enjoying this far too much, and it’s driving me crazy. Amy finally resorts to sulking when she doesn’t get her answers, and we drive on in silence. After dropping Amy off and arguing with her for a few more minutes, Rowan and I are finally alone. She crawls over the console and into the front seat. She lounges against the passenger door while she continues to watch me.
“Your girlfriend’s a real bitch, Logan. You know that?” She’ll get no argument out of me on that one, and I ignore her. But she’s incessant in her drunken state. “Are you taking me to my house, Logan?”
“You know I’m not.”
“Then you’re taking me back to your place, Logan?”
“You know I am.”
“Why didn’t you let me stay with Sara, Logan?”
“Shut up.”
“Why did you drop Amy off, Logan?”
“Shut up.”
“How much do you want to fuck me right now, Logan?”
I pull over, throw my car into park, and turn to her, leaning forward. “I will never fuck you, Rowan.”
She also leans in, meeting me at the center console, and replies. “But you want to, don’t you, Logan?”
I do want to, so much that my cock is stiff as hell and begging to impale her. Every sultry seductive utterance of my name from her lips has me wanting her more. She’s toying with me in her drunken confidence. Without moving her head, she shifts her eyes down to my crotch and back up to meet my eyes. She then reaches over and cups my crotch in her hand, gasping as she realizes just to what extent I want to fuck her. She smirks again. I grab her hand and shove it back to her, right myself, throw my car into drive, and take off. She again leans back into the door, and we drive in silence the rest of the way to my place. I’m angry as hell, horny as fuck, and I intend to make her suffer for her little game.
I march upstairs with Rowan staggering behind. We enter the apartment, and she collapses on the couch. I sit down next to her and take her shoes off. I turn on the TV and wait for her to start sobering up. About two hours later, she starts to moan as she rouses from drunken sleep. I wait patiently. Soon, she pushes herself up and sits looking pale and very uncomfortable. I wait patiently. A few minutes later, she starts to stand, still dizzy and looking yet even more uncomfortable.
I smile at her sweetly. “Are you not feeling well? Someone should have told you alcohol can do that. Can I get you anything? Perhaps another beer would do the trick.”
She is off heading for her bathroom. She tries to close the door in my face but is unsuccessful. I enter, not exactly wanting to see her puke but definitely wanting to punish her for the evening. I sit on the side of the bathtub, studying her as she kneels. As she nervously looks over at me, it’s my turn to smirk.
“Logan, please … just leave. I’m going to be sick. I don’t want you here.”
“That’s too bad. I think I’ll stay for the show.” I’m emotionally torturing her, but while I’m hit with guilt and even sympathy for her, my anger pushes me further. I’ll feel guilty later.
She whimpers as she keeps begging me to leave, until she can beg no longer and empties her stomach. She reaches up quickly to flush the toilet, sparing me the view of her dinner. When her head comes up, her face is flushed and wet with tears, her nose is running, and she has slobber hanging from her mouth. This definitely isn’t her best side. I continue to watch. She grabs some toilet paper to wipe her mouth and finally, shakily, finds her way to her feet. I think that should about cover punishment for now. She flushes her face with cool water and starts to brush her teeth. I follow her to the sink and stand beside her, watching her. Her eyes find mine in the mirror as she feels me looking at her, and she glances away. She is hurt, angry, and humiliated. And while my anger is still very present, her embarrassment has finally softened my rage. And though I know I shouldn’t, I place my hand under her shirt at the small of her back and start to massage her lower back. She meets my eyes again, and she starts to cry.
She finishes brushing her teeth, and I turn her to face me. She is still crying and so embarrassed she can’t look me in the eye. I take her hand and help her to her bed. She lies down, and I help her out of her jeans. I crawl in with her and pull her back to me, and I find that we are right back where we started little over a week ago. A lot can change in a week, and sometimes, you end up going full circle. We stay that way for the rest of the night, and I can’t help but be glad that she is lying next to me again. I’ll finish being angry with her in the morning.
As I wake, my head is splitting, and my mouth is so dry I can hardly swallow. I can’t imagine what my father sees in this. Logan is sleeping behind me with his arm around me. I love the way it feels being in his arms, but I don’t want to face him this morning. It’s not a choice. He’ll wake soon, and I might as well enjoy this while I can. I close my eyes for another half hour or so until I feel Logan stirring. I roll toward him, wanting to savor every last minute. I put my arm around him and feel his smooth muscled back with my hands. I lay my head against his chest and wait for him to wake.
When he comes to, I look up at him nervous of what mood he’ll be in. He looks down at me. He isn’t smiling, and he isn’t frowning. He is just studying me. He finally trails his hand down my back to my bottom, rounds the cheek with his hand, and then cups it in his hand. He massages while I keep holding onto him, nearly holding my breath at his intimate touch. We lie there for many long minutes not speaking. He finally dips his head and kisses the small area where my shoulder meets my neck before pulling away from me to stand. He leaves without a word as I struggle to piece the events of the night together in my mind.
A few minutes later, he comes back in with a big glass of water and some Tylenol. He sits down on the bed as I sit up, and I take the Tylenol, washing it down with the water. “Logan, I…”
“I don’t want to do this right now.”
“But I…”
He cuts me off again. “Rowan, I’m angry. I’m not doing this right now. Get up and get dressed. I’m taking you home.”
Logan leaves the room and I get up, dressing in my jeans that are lying at the foot of the bed. I stroll out to the living room, and Logan is already in his coat with his keys in his hand. He really is ready to get rid of me today, and I feel the same sting of rejection I felt a week ago. We make our way silently down to the car and say nothing to one another on the way to my house. When he pulls up, he doesn’t look at me or say anything at all. I sit for a moment, expecting him to say something before finally giving up and opening the door. I feel pathetic, and as I start to remember my evening, I’m mortified.