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Description : Resist

At 11:23 a.m., I turned past the historic fig trees. The gate opened. I pulled the Honda in and parked next to the Jag. I checked my face in the mirror and went up to the porch. I dropped my bag and knocked. Waited. As I was about to knock again, the gate clattered closed. The button for the gate was just behind the front door, so he must have been there. I had no idea how long he’d make me stand outside. Patience was always a part of his game.

The door opened. His hair was brushed back and clean, his face shaved. He wore a tan polo that was tight in the arms, accentuating his hard, smooth biceps. His jeans hung on his hips as though they were made for him. And the motherfucker had the nerve to wear a belt.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said. His eyes, however, didn’t look sore at all. He looked as if nothing ever touched him. I had no idea how he did that.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine. It’s going to be fine.”

I had been waiting to hear that before I dealt with the other issue that had kept me from eating and sleeping for two days. “Then, what the f**k?”

“What the f**k, what?”

I crossed my arms. “What. The. Fuck. Jonathan.”

He put his fingertips on my jaw and slid them to the side of my neck. I sighed at his caress. His thumb brushed my cheek, his pinkie tickling the sensitive part of my throat. I involuntarily tilted my head into him.

“Your safe word?” he said.

“Tange-fucking-rine. Now explain—”

He grabbed the hair at the back of my head and yanked me to my knees. I lost my breath, the motion was so sharp and hard. I was kneeling in a second, and he flipped his pants open in a few...