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That’s not what scares me, though. What scares me is that I’ll try it and love it. Maybe I really am that fucked up.
I’d rather not find out. “Listen. I realize this is—an offer. Not a threat. But we’re having an extremely unnerving conversation, and I wish we weren’t. ”
Something subtle changes about Jonah’s expression. I remember the way I was thinking about him earlier tonight—that this was a man who could be broken. Some of that vulnerability is visible now, if you look hard. “I would never force a woman against her will. Never. If someone held a gun to my head, I’d tell him to shoot. That’s not a line I’d ever cross. ”
“But you fantasize about raping women. ”
He raises an eyebrow. “You fantasize about being raped. You know the line between dream and reality. So do I. ”
How can he not see how different it is? My fantasy comes from a very dark place, but a very real one. For Jonah, this is probably just a way to get off.
I should walk away. I should suck up my pride, go back into the party, grab my purse and keys, and get home as fast as I can. Tomorrow I ought to call Shay and tell her not to invite Professor Marks to any more parties.
Instead I stand there, breath catching in my throat. Jonah’s eyes crinkle at the corners, a smile too dark to show. He knows exactly how aroused I am. The shame I feel is just fuel for my desire.
“What about you?” Jonah says. “Have you done this before? I doubt it. ”
Not the way he’s talking about. “No. ”
He cocks his head, studying me intently. “We could start slow. Not too much at first. We’d work up to what you really need. ”
Jonah knows what I really need. And I can’t stand him knowing.
“This is crazy. ” I tuck a few strands of hair behind my ears and straighten my camisole, trying to pull myself together. But I can’t help noticing that my nipples are obviously hard beneath the thin black fabric; even though I haven’t caught Jonah looking at my breasts, I know he’s seen that too. “Like you said, it’s just a fantasy. I think we should leave it there. ”
“Too bad. Would’ve been a wild ride. ”
It takes a lot of gall to be that confident about something this outrageous. To hell with being intimidated; to hell with being polite. “Where do you get off, asking me to do something that kinky when I hardly even know you? We’re supposed to make plans to fuck before we’ve even touched?”
Jonah doesn’t answer at first. Then he cups my face in one hand, rough and possessive, and brings his mouth to mine.
His kiss is hard. Insistent. His tongue pushes my lips apart. I don’t want to kiss him back, but I do. My head falls back as he steps closer, claiming me with an arm around my waist. I surrender to his touch. He wakes up every nerve in my body—like I hadn’t known I was sleepwalking until this second. Desire sears my mouth, my breasts, my cunt.
Just when it feels like my knees might buckle beneath me, Jonah suddenly pulls back. It throws me off balance, and I nearly stumble. He must see that. He must see me flushed and breathing hard. This man already knows how much power he has over me, and he wants even more.
Jonah says, “The ball’s in your court. ”
With that he strolls back toward the house, like what happened is no big deal. I can only stand there and watch him go.
Five
I can’t sleep.
Carmen’s party wrapped up a couple of hours ago. I made up for my freakout by staying until the very end, until I was helping Carmen scoop up beer cans and toss empty Tostitos bags in the trash. If anyone made a joke about anything, I laughed, even if I didn’t think it was funny. More sangria? Sure. The life of the party: That’s me. I pretended Geordie hadn’t spilled my secret, and for the most part people either didn’t know or didn’t care. The only one who put me on edge was Mack, who kept staring at me. Then again, Mack always stares.
Jonah must have left right after he kissed me. I can imagine him walking back into the house, then out the front door, without even saying good-bye. Apparently no one saw our clinch in the backyard. That’s a relief. The last thing I need is Carmen asking me if I think he’s cute.
Cute. Jonah is—handsome. Attractive. Overpowering. Hot as hell.
Not “cute. ”
I go onto the UT website to look him up. Earth sciences, Shay said. A professor. That’s virtually the last profession I would have guessed for him. Maybe—SWAT team member. Navy SEAL. Hit man. Not a teacher.
When I pull up his faculty page, the photo there isn’t reassuringly ordinary, with Jonah in glasses or a cardigan or whatever else the PhDs usually wear in their official pictures. Jonah is shown standing outside—someplace rocky, with a broad expanse of sky behind him. He wears khaki pants¸ a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and a frown, like he wanted to punch the photographer. The frown doesn’t make him any less attractive. He doesn’t look like any professor I’ve ever seen, unless you count Indiana Jones.