Touch the Nerve || Chapter 11. Wrennie and the Second Proposal

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His hot palms are groping your arse, your hands are pulling at his hair, and he bites you bottom lip. Someone jerks the door, but you just don’t give a fuck. His large body is moving under your hands, and you moan into his mouth. He growls, literally bloody growls, you can’t believe it, like a giant wild animal, and starts backing you up towards a desk in the middle of the office. He picks you up like you weigh nothing and drops your butt on the desk. With his knee he spreads your legs and presses his upper body into you. Fuck! Your head is dropped back, he is bending you backwards almost painfully and is sucking on your throat. You wrap your legs around his hips and grind your pelvis into him. Another delicious growl rumbles through his chest, and you think you are going to come right there.

Then he abruptly stops and makes a small step back. With his palms on the table on the sides of your hips, he drops his head and is panting loudly.

“Fuck, I have no self-control with you…” He’s snarling through his teeth. “Give me a moment.” You were not doing anything. You are way too mortified. What the fucking fuck?!..

Then you feel awful. All you can think is Phil. The problem is that when you feel bad, that non-existent filter between your brain and your mouth turns into a pump sucking your thoughts out and pouring them through your lips.

“I have a date with Phil tonight.”

He barks a joyless laugh. “Of course you do.”

He straightens up and looks at you. Your cheeks are flaming, lips feel swollen, and your hair is a curly mop around your head.

“What is it about you?” He is staring, as if actually trying to suss you out. “Don’t seem like anything special.” Well, that’s just rude.

“Maybe your perception is blunted by the legions of other women going through your hands.” Yep, the pump is working full scale. He laughs, almost genuinely actually.

“You are quite something, Wren.”

“I didn’t know we are on the first name basis.”

“Might as well.” He gestures to your disheveled appearance.

Then he narrows his eyes, and you recognize the gesture from the tapes of his surgeries. He has exactly the same face before he inserts an endoscope into a person’s nasal cavity. He is now focused and is going for his goal.

“I don’t date, Wren. I have neither time, nor inclination for it. I also don’t trust people, women especially. But I can offer you monogamous relationships with the maximum comfort for you in them. I assure you, I can be chivalrous and generous. Also, I think since our life pursuits are in the same field, we both will be understanding towards time constrictions for our affiliations and the amount of involvement into each other’s life.”

He looks determined and rather pleased with himself for this speech. You swing your leg over another and just let it fucking go.

“Is that your very eloquent, posh way to offer me to be fuck-buddies?” It seems you don’t have to articulate your answer to his proposal. His eyes get cold, and he steps further back.

You give him a sly smile and continue, “Don’t get me wrong, I understand that somewhere in your giant brain, you have reconsidered some of the features of this agreement after the previous time, and you think you are making a much more generous offer, but to me it still sounds that you are establishing a convenient line for booty calls.”

You are not even upset. The rage is white and keeps your spine straight. You finally feel almost at peace. This chapter’s done and over with. Now you can go home, smugly think that you actually broke through his self-control once, and never think of him again. Maybe get yourself a nice boyfriend. A nice blond six foot three boyfriend. Or maybe not. You have the grant now, you’ll be very busy.

He turns around and walks to the door. You breathe out. And then he stops in front of the locked door and doesn’t move. What?… He slams a palm into the wall, and you jump up. He turns around, and he is terrifying!

No cold exterior, no decorum, no posh upbringing, just blazing eyes and teeth bared in a gnarl.

“So, what do you want from me?”

You are scared, seriously. You gulp and start sliding off the table in case you need to run. He grabs your shoulders and lowers his face to yours. There is foot difference between you, and it feels like he is going to crush you.

“What do you want from me?” He snarls every word separate from another.

“Nothing!” You are yelling at his face. “Fuck you and your trust issues! I am not trying to get anything out of you!”

He is kissing you again, but this time you are fighting. You are pushing him away, your hands flail and you graze his cheek with your nails. He hisses and steps back, pressing his hand into it.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry! It was an accident!” You stretch your hand to him, and he flinches. “John, I’m so sorry…” He’s breathing heavily and makes another couple steps back.

“It’s fine, not your fault.” He looks at his fingers, and his eyebrows jump up at the sight of blood. His face is clearly adorned with nail marks. Well, that will be embarrassing. Or maybe it will just support his reputation of a player. “Will serve me right.”

You bite your lips. “I am really sorry.”

“Again, not your fault. I behaved unacceptably.”

“I…”

“Stop apologising!” he snaps, and you wince. “It was my fault, I behaved like an animal. I just can’t seem to think straight around you.” He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. You remember the gesture from that night. It is John-Thorington-returning-to-reality-gesture. “You can go now, I am sane again.”

“Don’t dismiss me, I’m not your servant,” you bite back.

“You are anything but, that’s for certain.” He walks to the same damn desk and heavily leans on it.

Why aren’t you leaving? You are shifting between your legs but do not unlock the door or leave. You just can’t seem to bring yourself to pop that weird bubble you two are in. You suspect that the reason is that you seem to finally break through his shell, and he’s more open and vulnerable than ever before. You just didn’t know before that you were trying to get through that shell.

“What happened to you?” He lifts his surprised eyes at you. “Did your wife cheat on you with your best friend? Or did your partner steal all your money and set you up with a honey trap?”

“What?” He’s almost back to the baseline, even his tie is straight again. You still remember the sensation of the Hermes silk in your palm, you did pull at it.

“You obviously have trust issues. And I should know, I am one big trust issue wrapped in smaller ones. But yours are also rooted in anger. Very unhealthy,” you tut-tut, and he chuckles.

“So?” you ask and cautiously move closer. You sit on the other end of the desk. Your feet are dangling off it.

“Are we having an intersubjective confession session?” Ouch, Dr. Thorington is familiar with the therapy terms.

“The fact that you know the term is endlessly alarming,” you sing-song. He gives you a sideway glance, and you think you see a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I gave up on the third shrink,” he mutters. Yep, that’s definitely a hint of a smile.

“Like any medical scientist, Dr. Thorington, you should know they are phony rubbish.” You smile to him. “You should have seen my child psychopathologist.”

“I am afraid to ask…” The corners of his lips twitch.

“I’ve had aggression issues. Too many foster families in one year.”

He gives you an attentive look. “Are you also a delinquent, Miss Leary?” Little wrinkles gather in the corners of his eyes, and his voice is low and velvety. “I should have known, two slaps and a scratched face were sort of a clear sign.”

“Fully your responsibility, John.” He tilts his head and gives you an inquisitive look.

“I am wrong about you every time around, am I not?” You shrug. He exhales, and you see his shoulders relax. He stands up and walks to stand in front of you.

“I still don’t date,” he feels the need to state again, apparently. Whom are you trying to convince, John? 

“Fine with me.” You are smiling. He leans in and whispers into your lips.

“And you still don’t want to, as you so graciously put it, be my doxy.”

“Mhm.” You shake your head vigorously.

“That’s quite a stalemate we have in here, Miss Leary.”

And also I spent the night in your nephew’s arms.

Katya Kolmakov
Katya Kolmakov. Mother. Writer. Artist. Fanfiction and Wattpad. First novel on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00XJ16W7W.

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