He's glaring at me.  His nostrils are slightly flared, his mouth is in a hard angry line and his body is practically buzzing with rage.

I can't move.  I'm frozen to the spot open mouthed, eyes wide and body tingling at the sight of him.   In my shock, I still manage to register that he looks completely edible in jeans and a casual red and white checked shirt unbuttoned at the neck.  The skin of his throat is rough looking and slightly golden and makes my mouth water.   His hair is mussed and half wet as though he's just showered.  I want to kiss him.  Then I remember that I stood him up, and he looks pretty angry about it so he probably isn't here for anything good.

"So he's what came up is he?" he says quietly.

I really don't know how to answer that question so I don't.   Instead, I take a step back into the hallway and he follows, stepping inside closing the door behind him.  He's in my house.  Jake Lawrence is in my house.  It's surreal again.

As we stand looking at each other in my hallway I decide that anger looks extremely sexy on him.  Okay, even in my own head I know how wrong that sounds, but there's something about his body tensed and on edge that makes him look even more delicious than normal.   I noticed it at the club when he was facing off with Matt - his ferocity has sensuality to it.  God, what the hell is wrong with me?  Ferociously sensual?  Sexy Anger?  Who on earth am I right now?   Also, this anger is directed at me, I caused it because I stood him up.  Maybe I should be scared?  My next thought is that I should be scared, though, my next question is why on earth did I stand this man up?  I am a total idiot.  A stupid, stupid idiot of a woman.  Look at him.

Okay, what now?  Not standing him up would have been the best option for a whole myriad of reasons, but since they haven't invented the time machine yet that option is off the table.  An apology.  Yes, he deserves that; in person.  I'm just about to speak when he does.

"Are you fucking him?" He growls.

I flinch back, stunned. "Excuse me?"  I don't think my ears have quite heard him right.

"Are you fucking him?" he repeats, a little gentler this time though his face is still hard. Okay, well apparently my ears heard him perfectly fine.

I frown "Um, is that any of your business?"

"Since you agreed to go out with me, yes it is."

Does he have a point?  I'm still not sure my agreeing to go out with him means he should be party to any sexual partners I may or may not have, but for some reason, I decide to answer him anyway.

"No.  I'm not fucking him," I reply.   The word sounds vulgar and strange coming from my mouth.  Unlike when they came from his.  From his, they sounded raw and coarse and entirely natural.

He says nothing, just continues to stare at me hard, as though trying to decide if I'm telling the truth or not.

"So just kissing without tongues then," He states. There's a sarcastic edge to his tone. 

The burn of embarrassment crawls up my neck.  So he saw everything. I stand him up and then he sees me kissing another guy on my doorstep. How mortifying.  And exactly how did he know there were no bloody tongues?   I turn on my heel and head toward the living room.

"Don't walk away from me Alex," he says from behind me, using the kind of tone you would on a misbehaving child.

It occurs to me again that maybe I should be afraid, that maybe I should have worked harder at shutting the door on him instead of just letting him walk into my home.  Did I let him just walk in, though?   Seemed more like he just walked in without invitation as though he owned the place.   But I don't feel afraid.  Which may be due in part, to the fact that I'm half drunk.   As always in his presence, I only feel warm and aware of every part of my body.

I sense rather than hear him following me, his presence like a force field whenever it's near my own.  I pace over to the window and then turn around to face him, folding my arms across my chest.  I almost gasp at the sight of him there by the fireplace.  Him in my hallway was bad enough, now he's in my living room where I sit almost every night.  Where I read, where I stroke Fred, where my mum and dad drink tea when they come over.  Surreal doesn't even begin to cover it

"Why are you here Jake? Don't you think it's a little late to be turning up at people's houses?" I glance at my watch - it's midnight - and then back up to his eyes.

"I was in the neighbourhood," He says, eyes intense.

Perhaps he was in the neighbourhood, I honestly have no idea.  I narrow my eyes and nod, trying hard to ignore the way he's looking at me and how it's made a dull throb start between my legs.  I need him to go.  I don't trust myself around him.

"Well, you should go," I state.

It sounds half-hearted, and he must think so too because he smirks.  It both irritates me and makes me a few degrees warmer. Yes, he definitely needs to go before I do something out of character I later regret.  Specifically, jump on him and rip his clothes off like a woman possessed.

Even though I have no intention of following through with it, I go towards the phone on the table next to Sam's sunflowers.  He's closer to it, though, and quicker than me all round, and he yanks it out of its cradle before I'm anywhere near it.  His smirk is deeper when he looks back at me, taunting me almost.  Maybe I'm being utterly naïve in not being afraid of him?   For the first time in my life, I wonder if it would have been better if I'd been a big angry dog person instead of a cat person.  Fred is most certainly not going to save me should I need to be saved.  He's most likely snoozing at the foot of the bed totally oblivious.

I think about all I know of the man in front of me which isn't much.  But of what I do know, and what I've seen of him, do I really believe he would hurt me? He has a temper and his threatening behaviour toward Matt last week certainly wasn't hollow which makes him potentially violent.   But then, he could have hurt me that night at my surgery and he didn't, and he's apparently known where I live for weeks now and he hasn't been near me. 

No.  He isn't going to hurt me.

The thought is clear and sharp in my head.   Jake Lawrence is not going to physically hurt me.

Still, when he moves I startle like a cat.  He doesn't go towards the door to leave, instead, he moves toward my floral armchair and sits down, keeping his eyes firmly on me as he does.  His eyes are softer now and not as dark, not as angry.  Okay, perhaps still a little angry and a little dark, but they're not seething with rage like they were when I first opened the door to him. 

Actually, the sight of him there in my Laura Ashley chair is so incongruous that I almost giggle out loud.   His muscled ferocious form sitting in my dainty feminine armchair isn't an image I ever thought I'd see.  I don't giggle, though.  I don't think he'd appreciate the joke - he doesn't look like he's in an odd juxtaposition-joke type of mood. I feel utterly sober, like the four pints of strong cider with Sam never happened.  Except that, they did happen and that's the problem here.

When I take a few steps toward the sofa the current of electricity seems to intensify with the proximity of him, the heat and crackle more obvious the closer I get.   I wonder if he feels that too.  When he moves forward in his chair I don't flinch this time.  He settles his elbows on his thighs and puts the telephone on the floor between his feet and runs his hand over his mouth.  Then he squeezes the bridge of his nose between his eyes hard as though he has a headache and lets out a loud breath.  He looks tired and that makes me wonder if he's sleeping all right and whether he snores.

"Surprising you seemed to work well the other day, or at least I thought it had, so I thought I'd give it another go," His voice is quiet and considered, thoughtful even, as he looks at me. "I was close by and so decided to come past - maybe re-arrange in person.  I wanted to see you I guess," he shrugs.  Oh. That makes me feel good and bad at the same time.  He had wanted to see me and I'd cancelled on him for someone else.  Idiot.  "I saw your car and the BM but all the lights were out.  So I got worried - I tried calling you.  Then I started to get suspicious... so I waited." His eyes darken again.  Then he saw me, giggling arm in arm with Sam, looking like a couple enjoying each other.  I feel guilty and embarrassed again and so I look down at my hands away from his eyes. "So you're not fucking him but you two are what?  Together?  You're with him?"

I look up and shake my head.  "No, I'm not with him.  I wouldn't have agreed to go out with you if I was with him," I explain. "Sam's a colleague.  We work together." 

His eyes narrow. "So what, you kiss all the guys you work with?  Or just him? Work night out was it?  Spend the night talking about stitches and urine samples over dinner did you?"  He says snidely.   It was stool samples actually and we didn't have dinner but I doubt it would be helpful to correct him right now.  So I decide to be sarcastic instead.

"Oh and how about you? Felt yourself inside any of your staff lately?  Or are they just a little possessive of their boss?" I snipe back.   I just sound jealous.  Jealous of a slutty barmaid called Gemma.  Also, I have absolutely no idea if she is a slut and I feel guilty for even thinking it.   It just makes the idea more palatable if I imagine she is.  Actually no, it doesn't.

"I've already apologised for using that language with you," He says evenly.  He's correct, he did, but that wasn't what I was getting at and I think he knows it.  Is he saying he's sorry for using that language with me but that he's not sorry for using it in general?  He probably says it to girls all the time.  In fact, it's most likely his favourite greeting.

Jake: Hey Gemma, I want to feel myself inside you.

Gemma: Yes please Jake, I'd love that.

"But since you asked, no, I haven't fucked anyone lately," He says, dispersing my Jake/Gemma sex vision.   His eyes are sincere and pathetically it causes relief to skitter down my spine.  Then I wonder what his idea of lately is.  This week?  Today?  In the last few hours?

There's a long heavy silence until finally Jake shakes his head and lets out another loud sigh. "Why did you cancel on me tonight Alex? You seriously wanted to be with him instead?" he sounds incredulous.   Like he honestly can't believe that it would be the case.

"You blindsided me the other day. You appeared from nowhere, and I momentarily forgot that I already had plans." I say really hoping he believes me because it's the truth.   Being around him makes my brain malfunction so that I forget things (like sense, breathing etc.) and switch to a setting that only allows thoughts of a sexual nature. I certainly can't diary manage effectively around him.

Jake shrugs like he could care less about my excuses "Then you should have cancelled on him."

"Sam and I made plans first.  That would have been unfair."

"Life isn't fucking fair Alex. You should have cancelled on him. You and me are-." he stops abruptly, unspoken words hanging in the air between us.  I wait for him to finish the sentence but he closes his mouth again. 

"You and I are what?" I prompt.

His eyes burrow into mine as though he's trying to communicate something telepathically.  Unfortunately, I'm not receiving anything. When it's clear he isn't going to answer, I let out a sigh of my own and he lets go of his fettered cheek and runs his hand over his mouth again.

"I should have let you know earlier in the week as soon as I realised what I'd done.  It was rude.  I'm sorry," I tell him sincerely.   It's just that I was trying to decide what kind of person I wanted to be for the rest of my life.  It took longer than I thought.

He gives me a bewildered look. "The late notice wasn't the problem, I'd still have been pissed off.  I still am."

"Oh, you are?  I never noticed." I say.

His mouth twitches with the hint of a smile "Yeah, I am."

A long moment passes between us, less heavy than before, but heavier with something different now.  I let it gain a little more mass before I get the need to fill it.  "You're scary when you're angry you know." Scary and sexy.

"I know," he replies.

"You could do some damage with a temper like that," I point out. 

He gives me a serious look then. "I'd never hurt you, Alex.  Ever." His voice is quiet but leaden with force.  I know he wouldn't hurt me and the sincerity in his eyes is too much so I look away.

"I know," I nod.

"Good." He says.

We sit in that same heavy silence for a little while longer before something catches the side of my eye, and I turn to see Fred saunter into the living room with his tail in the air in greeting.  He doesn't hesitate before walking straight over to Jake, stopping paws turned out at his feet to stare up at him.  Jake smiles softly and reaches down to scratch at Fred behind his ear and then over his spine, soliciting an almost immediate chorus of purrs from my normally moody tortoiseshell.   Unbelievable.  Fred is indifferent to nearly everyone and regards everyone else with a quiet disdain.  His reaction to Jake makes my mouth fall open in shock.  Especially since Fred is now curling himself around Jake's leg like he's made of catnip.  Scent-depositing, ownership-claiming galore.

"He's Fred," I tell him with a shake of my head. "He isn't usually so friendly." Jake looks up and smiles at me before returning his attention to Fred, stroking him in long tender practised strokes.  He knows how to stroke a cat - which surprises me because not a lot of people do.  But then most people don't like cats.  Jake seems to, though.  In my head, I tick off another box on another list. 

"I like how cats never give anything away," He says still looking at Fred.   "How you never know what they're thinking.  Well, normally you don't." He smiles.  

I look from Jake to Fred and marvel at where we are now compared with ten minutes ago; how comfortable I feel now with him being here in my house in my armchair stroking my cat.  The sight him there feels almost natural now, which is in itself distinctly unnatural - it concerns me.  A thought enters my head then, pushing in uninvited and sudden.  It's something I wanted to ask him if I ever saw him again, something that completely slipped out of my head at the deli when he blindsided me.

"Why did you call your club Surgery?" My voice is tentative. I hold my breath.

His hand stills for a fraction of a moment but he continues stroking Fred.  He doesn't look up at me. "You know why," He says.

My held breath stays held.  I can't breathe. I don't think I do know why. It can't be what I think. 

"Do I?" I ask quietly.  My voice is thin and barely there. 

He lifts his head then and he offers me a small half smile.  "Ok. I liked the name.  It felt...right." He says watching me intently.  I still can't breathe properly.  It is a good name. I have to admit that. That's why it felt right.  Because it's a good name. 

"What is it you want from me, Jake?" I ask. He stops stroking Fred and his stare intensifies on me.  It's that stare of his, the one that strips me away to nothing.  I feel naked and wide open, stripped bare of everything else. 

"You know the answer to that too Alex."

I laugh nervously. "Oh yes, that's right.  You want to make me fall in love with you so that we can live happily ever after with our reams of children," I shake my head.  A flicker of something passes over his face and he shifts in the chair.

He sits up straighter.  "Is this all a game to you?" he says in a low tone, angry again.  "I don't like people playing fucking games with me Alex." I notice that when he's trying to make a point, or when he's annoyed at me he says my name at the end, which I like.  I guess I really just like hearing him say my name; I don't particularly care about the context.

I harden my stare on him.  "Actually the game was your idea, Jake.  You wanted to chase me remember?"  I can see his mind ticking as he bites the inside of his lip.

"Chasing you wasn't a game Alex. It was a means to an end."

"What end?"

He stares at me for a long moment before he speaks again.  "Catching you.  Having you.  Being with you." He shrugs.  The shrug makes it look almost nonchalant but it's not.  The look in his eye is anything but nonchalant.  I find myself unable to breathe again.  He's watching my reaction closely, too closely.  I wonder what my face is saying.  It feels very hot.  "So how about you tell me the real reason you cancelled on me?  And no more bullshit about last in first out Alex.  I want the truth from you.  I'm a big boy, I can take it."

I honestly don't know how to answer that question.  No clue.  I don't really know the real reason why.  When I said yes to going out with him it was because I wanted to.  I wanted him.  He was there in front of me looking irresistible like he does now, and I wanted him.  It was only after he was gone that the doubts started creeping back in.  The 'good girl reasons' as he called them.    I look down at the floor away from his expectant glare and fiddle with the pearl around my neck for something to distract me whilst I think about how to answer him.

"I don't know. It seemed like the sensible thing to do at the time," I say finally.   My hope as the words settle around us, is that I sound diplomatic and reasoned.  Even if I don't feel it.  I feel like an idiot for cancelling on him.  Even though all of the reasons why I did so are still valid.  When I look back at him he's looking at me with a confused look on his face.

"You thought it was sensible? Standing me up? Messing me about? That was sensible?" His voice is laced with something dark.  I swallow.

"No of course not.  Messing you around wasn't my intention.  Cancelling you instead of Sam I mean, that was what I thought was sensible.  God, I don't know Jake.  This..." I motion between him and me "It's not something... it doesn't..." I flounder.  Like him, apparently, I don't have the words to describe what this is either. What is it?  Terrifying, intense, exciting? He's looking at me, expectant, interested, waiting.  "Sam is... a nice guy," I finish.  It's pathetic and of no consequence whatsoever but they're words and they'll do.  I brace myself, ready for Jake to laugh or say something sarcastic.

"And I'm not." He says.  It's a statement, not a question.

I shake my head. "That's not what I meant."

"You don't want him, Alex." He says.  Another statement.

His words take me aback and I frown "What?  You don't know what I want. You d-".

He cuts me off.  "Yeah, well, I know you don't want him.  I saw it."

"What are you talking about?"

"When he kissed you, I saw it.  You don't want him.  That much was fucking obvious from a distance.  Like our friend from the other night too.  You didn't want either of them," He sounds so bloody certain.  Maybe even a little smug.  Why does he have to be so bloody perceptive?   "In fact, it's one of the only things that kept me in that car and stopped me from kicking his fucking head in.  Seeing that you didn't want him."

Is he actually saying that if he'd seen any sign that I'd wanted Sam then he'd have hurt him for it? That my sheer indifference stopped that from happening?  Why am I not more repelled?  Horrified?  I'm so confused.  I can't think straight with him this close to me.  I need him to leave.  It's much safer fantasising about him alone. I stand up from the sofa and grab hold of the pearl at my neck again, for strength this time.

"Well, your eyesight must be really spectacular," I state.

He nods. "Yeah, it's genetic.  I have really good genes." He scoffs, as though laughing at a private joke I'd never understand. 

I sigh and run my hand through my hair feeling too hot and too magnetised by his presence to think straight anymore.

"I think you should go now, Jake.  It's getting late and I'd like to go to bed (and fantasise about you there)." I put my hand against my forehead as if it will bring home the point.  I contemplate doing a fake yawn but decide against it.  Too obvious.  His response is to lean back in the chair as though it's sign language for immovable.

"I could come with you.  I'm a really good cuddler," He smirks.

I feel the goosebumps spread and ripple across my body in anticipation. Oh, I imagine that's true.  He's so warm and so muscled and he smells absolutely divine.  Yes, being cuddled by him would be better than good.  I take a few deep breaths to slow my heartbeat.

"I don't think so." I don't sound even a little bit convinced.  He notices.

"That's not a no." He points out, smirking deeper.

I still can't say no to him and he knows it.  If he asks me to take my clothes off and let him have me on the floor then I'm in serious trouble here. He starts to bite his lip and I decided that the next time he kisses me, I'm going to do that.  Bite his lip.  I want to bite down on it hard enough so that he cries out.  It seems so long ago that he kissed me and since I felt his mouth on mine and I've re-lived it so much since it happened that the memory is no longer as fresh as I'd like it to be. I think I've worn it out.

His eyes go thoughtful then as he regards me.  Is he staring at my mouth? Is he reading my mind again?  I lick my lips absently.

"Was he a better kisser than me Alex?" he asks, a smile playing across his perfectly kissable mouth.  I wonder how convincingly I'd be able to lie about it. 

I shake my head and do a half shrug thing.  "I don't really remember, to be honest." I try to sound bored.  All lies.  I remember perfectly. I'm not likely to ever forget either.  A worn memory it may be but the feeling of Jake's mouth kissing me is far too deeply ingrained to ever be forgotten.  

In a quick movement, he stands and in two strides he has crossed the room towards me his eyes burning with intent.   I back away from him to put some space between us despite my body flooding with want and need to be close to him.  My back hits the living room wall and then I'm pressed against it and he's crowding me again.  Seemingly the default position of ours.

"You're a terrible fucking liar baby," He breathes.  Is he angry again? Or turned on.  It's strange that I can't tell the difference. Without my heels on, I'm a lot smaller than him, and my whole body is now fully eclipsed inside his.    When he brings his right arm up I assume he's going to touch my face, I even brace myself for the shock of electricity that I know will come from the contact, but he doesn't touch me.  He just rests his hand flat against the wall above my head and leans in so that his face is only inches from mine.    Then it hits me.  His scent.  As it washes over me I almost close my eyes from the sheer pleasure of it.  It's divine.  Not artificial, just maleness.  A clean, intoxicating aroma of spice and lemon and something sweet too.  It makes my mouth water again. 

I notice that his stubble is growing in and that it's exactly the same colour as the hair on his head, exactly the same chestnut brown. Isn't facial hair normally darker, or lighter, or ginger?  His completely matches.  He's perfection.  And so beautiful up close; his nose is the perfect length, and his eyes somewhere between deep green and deeper blue and, his lips full and wet against his slightly tanned smooth skin.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to control my breathing and press my palms flat against the wall behind me to steady my legs.  That's when I realise that he isn't even touching me.  He's not touching a single place on my body and yet I feel as though I'm on fire.  Burning from the inside out.   Just as I'm wondering why isn't he touching me he brings his hand up and electrifies me with it.   He brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek and down my jaw before dragging his thumb over my bottom lip.  I soft offshoot of air escapes my lips.  How can he do that with just a thumb?

"Yeah you remember all right." His voice is a hoarse whisper as he stares at my mouth.   He begins to trace the outline of my mouth with his thumb, stopping in the middle of my bottom lip before slowly forcing my lips apart and inserting his thumb inside. 

I taste salt and heat and spice as his thumb grazes my tongue.  As he skims it along the inside of my bottom lip and my mouth waters around it I just about manage to resist the urge to bite or suck on it. 

It's such a simple thing, him putting his thumb in my mouth, it's barely anything at all, and yet it feels powerfully erotic.  I feel it all over my body; my throat, my chest, my nipples, my legs.  I feel it most in the dull throbbing ache between my legs. Oh, my god. Very slowly he removes his thumb from my mouth and leans in towards me, brushing my hair out of the way to nuzzle his mouth and nose against my ear.

"That was a just a taste of how good I'll feel inside you Alex," He whispers against my skin.

I make a strange little surprised noise and then suddenly his mouth is on mine and I can't think anymore. His taste explodes on my tongue as a dam bursts in my belly.  Our mouths mould together in a rush of wet heat against wet heat and I hear him moan through his nose.   God, I really need to memorise this kiss.  This needs to be the last time I kiss him.  I'm getting far too addicted to his taste.   I do what I thought about doing earlier and bite down hard on his bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth.  He doesn't cry out, he just groans deliciously low in the back of his throat.  It makes my legs tremble.  

There's no other contact between us apart from our mouths and I wonder why.  Why isn't he touching me somewhere else, anywhere else, everywhere else? I bring my hands up and place them flat on his chest as if I'm going to push him away but of course I don't.   Instead, I grab onto his shirt and pull him closer with a need so desperate it scares me which elicits another deeper moan from low in his throat.  My hands go to the button of his shirt and I manage to get one undone before he pulls back from my mouth; heat and taste gone.  His eyes glow bright with need and his breathing is shallow and short, his lips used and wet and red.   He's definitely not angry anymore - I know that much.  Now I have no doubt that he's turned on.  Because I turn him on.  Oh, what a heady feeling that is.  Then I notice he looks pleased with himself.  A cocky, arrogant set to his beautiful mouth. 

"That's how you kiss someone you want Alex.  Me.  You want." He states confidently.   I should be angry and embarrassed maybe by his assertion, but I'm not.  I'm just annoyed at him pulling away.

"You're possibly the most arrogant man I've ever met." Is what I say through hard breaths of my own.  I wonder if maybe I left my brain at The Pig and Hen because all I can think about is how much I want him out of that shirt and those jeans and how much I want to taste every single inch of him despite his bloody arrogance.

He smiles wickedly.  "Then tell me you don't want me.  Tell me you don't want me to fuck you.  Tell me you only fuck nice guys.  Nice guys, you don't want." He looks so confident that I won't tell him any of those things that I'm damn well tempted to.  Just to see the cocky look drop from his face.  But I've lied enough where he's concerned and I'm scared I'm beginning to make a habit out of it.

"So of all the things I could tell you, that's what you want to hear?  That I don't want you?  Really?  Strange choice." I say instead, flashing him a wry smile.  The cider has clearly made me brave.  Something dark flickers across his eyes and he steps forward into my body and I feel his heat immediately.  Ah, success.  Go me.

He narrows his eyes.  Angry again.  Ok, perhaps not success.  "Are you actually trying to drive me mental? Playing with me?" He growls quietly.   "Is that what this is? Since the second I laid eyes on you - no, actually since before I laid eyes on you I swear you've driven me fucking crazy." He scrubs his hand over his mouth looking tense and then pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut again.   Ok, I really need to check these headaches with him, do they come with dizzy spells.  What if it's something serious?

Wait a minute - I'm driving him crazy.  Since the surgery?  That is interesting information. That's more than him just wanting to see me again.  That makes me feel warm and electrified.   I know where he's coming from because he's been having a similar effect on me.  I've barely had a decent nights sleep since I laid eyes on him.  Not since before I laid eyes on him like he just said, because that doesn't even make sense.  I wonder if I should ask him to clarify that part.

"I need to know where your head is Alex.  I need to know what the fuck is going on here." He sounds utterly confused now and looks totally lost as he fixes me with that intense stare once more. "You know, normally when I want a girl, I get her, simple as that. This shit doesn't fucking happen. Ever.  It's a done deal." He states as fact.

My mouth drops open.  Is he actually serious?  Oh god, he is. 

I press my hand to my heart, "Oh my god.  I think that might be the most romantic thing I've ever heard." I drawl sarcastically.

He narrows his eyes again as his jaw tenses, his brain clearly ticking over.  Oh yes, he's definitely not used to women not spreading their legs at the sound of his voice.  The air between us is colder now but somehow still drips with a tense kind of sexuality. What on earth happened to him asking to cuddle me?  I really want to go back there.  I need to try and retrace my steps.

When he talks again his voice is quiet, sharp at the edges with a tiny hint of bitterness.

"You must be used to guys falling over their feet trying to impress you huh baby?  Expensive jewellery, expensive restaurants, the lot.  Were there love letters Alex?  Yeah, I fucking bet there were," he smirks.  "How many times did you wish that instead of a love letter, or a 5 course at the Dorchester, they'd just take you home and fuck you long and hard until your throat was raw from screaming their name?   But your Oxbridge educated twats don't really have it in them do they?"

I'm not breathing now.  At least I don't think I am.   Oh, I should be angry, furious probably.  I should be indignant and outraged at his condescending presumptions about me and the kind of men I normally date. 

But I'm not any of those things. 

I'm turned on.  I feel moist between the legs and I'm running over images in my head of him fucking me long and hard while I scream his name.  Which is exactly what he wanted me to do.   Which is exactly why he said it.  Which is exactly why he's looking at me the way he is, in that self-satisfied (sexy) manner.   I want to pounce on him.  Which means I need to get away from him.  Now.

I try and move, to extract myself from him and his heat but he just moves closer, wedging his knee between my legs to keep me stationary.  The move spreads my thighs open a little for him and I can feel the heat of his thigh against the inside of my own.  Oh god.

"We aren't done yet Alex," he informs me.

I rear my head back to glare at him.   Okay, now I'm annoyed.  Who on earth does he think he is?  This is my bloody living room, in my bloody house and I will go where I bloody well please.   He has issues, angry, arrogant ones, and I don't need them this close against me smelling this good.  I need to detach myself from his body and that face now. Right now. Any moment now, on three...

Seething, I narrow my eyes on him.  "Oh, we aren't in some back corridor of your bloody club this time Jake.  This is my house and I'm in charge here, not you.  And I say when we're done." I tell him.  To me, my voice still sounds too girly and breathy for my liking so I weigh it down when I speak again.  "And we are done. Now move."

Clear my voice still isn't forceful enough because he doesn't move, not an inch, he just smiles his sexy smile before licking his lips with his tongue very very slowly.  Oh, he's good.  Now I want that tongue on me.  I'm an utter mess for this man.

"You get more fucking beautiful every time I see you do you know that?" he whispers.  "But to be honest I don't think you could look any more gorgeous than you do right now... Know why?"  Is he touching me?  I feel something on my hip, near the hem of my top.  Scorching heat. 

I say nothing in response to his words.  My heart feels like it's going to beat its way out of my chest. 

"Because you're turned on, and angry," He cocks his head to one side and drops his eyes to my lips.  Then I feel his hand skim gently across my belly along the waistband of my jeans, tugging on the button gently causing my breathing to stop.  If he unbuttons my trousers I will be gone.  No turning back.  I won't stop him.   "And I really like you turned on.  I really like that I turn you on..." Oh, how I love the feeling of his hands on my skin, my low skin. My body leans against him.  "I'm turned on too Alex.  I'm so fucking hard for you right now.  I'm always so fucking hard for you," He groans, grabbing my hand to press it to the front of his jeans.  I try not to gasp as I feel the truth of his words there.  It feels warm and large and very hard and I have to resist the urge to look down to see my hand on it.  Touching him there.  Something else comes loose inside me, a melting away of something.   God, I want him to undress and let me see it. I want to touch it, skin to skin.  "Am I lying?" he asks me in a soft whisper.  I can't deny it.  He isn't lying.  I say nothing.  We just stare at each other eye-to-eye, hand to crotch.

I swallow, hating how weak minded I feel around him and how easy I've made all this for him.  I really wanted to play hard to get.  No - I didn't, because I didn't want him to get me at all.  Just as I'm musing this he smiles and moves himself against my hand pushing his hardness into me, urging me to touch him.  I want to touch him. 

"Are you imagining how good it will feel inside you?  When I make you come with it?" he looks down at where my hand is resting on him and groans quietly.  Oh, good god. Did I just orgasm?  Just from his words? I honestly can't be sure.  "Say the words Alex.  Tell me you want it..." he says.

I won't say that.  Ever.  I'm still not that girl. I'm not.  I draw my hand off him then and give him an indignant stare.

"Seriously, don't you have a business to run or something?" I try to sound bored again but I don't.  I sound breathless and turned on and I have the most vivid sense of deja vu.  Here I am again wedged between the wall and his bloody hard place. Wasn't this also what I did last Saturday night?

"I have good staff," He says.  I bite back the urge to ask him if he means good staff like Gemma.  "You know what I think doctor?" he sighs, leaning in.  Great, we're back to doctor again.

"What do you think Jake?  Please enlighten me," I ask, curious.

"I think you're a cock tease." He says.

My mouth drops open and I blink at him a few times as the word starts to settle in. I'm speechless.  As I consider the word I begin to get embarrassed, because maybe it might have a degree of truth to it. Okay, so I'd kissed two men in the last two days, not counting Matt because that was unwelcome and last week, but I certainly hadn't teased any cocks.  Not intentionally at least.  Okay, maybe teasing Jakes a moment ago was a little intentional.  He put my hand on it, though, didn't he?  He started it.  Oh god... I look at him aghast.  He looks pleased with himself again.

"A cock-tease?" I flare hotly, embarrassment flooding my cheeks.   "I have never... ugh get the hell away from me," I push at him and this time he steps back and lets me away from the wall.

As I march away from him towards the door, Fred who's languishing on Jakes floral chair gets up suddenly and scuttles out of sight as I pass.  He knows to run from my wrath when he sees it.  I stop and turn around to face the insulting brute.

"So let me get this straight" I try and calm my voice into some semblance of reasonable.  I don't feel reasonable at all.  "You, a man I've met twice, turns up at my house in the middle of the night uninvited, barge your way in and then because I don't allow you to fuck me hard and long against my living room wall, I'm a cock-tease?  How dare you say something like that to me in my own bloody house?  Perhaps you're used to women spreading their legs at the sound of your voice Jake, but let me assure you, I am not one of your barmaids.  And I am not a bloody cock-tease.  Now, we are most certainly done and this little game of yours is finished - I want you to leave right now.  I want you out of my house." I'm breathing hard as I finish.

He's leaning against the wall like he's waiting on a bus, staring at me with silent calculation and an out of place smile on his face.  Suddenly he leans up off the wall and walks towards me, stopping when he's a few feet away so that I need to look up to stare at him.  I narrow my eyes on him, giving him the look I reserve for figures of hate in my life.  Of which, to date, there has been only one other.  Another tall arrogant male.

"Four times." he says calmly.

"What?" I snap, irritated.

"We've met four times.   The first time when you fixed me, the club, the cafe, and then tonight.  I'm a man you've met four times," He explains sounding reasonable.  Is he actually serious?  Like this is the most important part of this?  The omission of the two other times we met.  Not the cock-tease part.  Infuriating,  I refuse to split hairs over this tiny minute detail that in no way detracts from the fact that he just insulted me crudely in my own house.  He's delusional if he thinks that's the issue here.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter.  I still want you out of my house." I say, firmly pointing at the door just in case he's forgotten where it is. When he still doesn't move I bend down to get the phone and hold it up as a threat.  He steps forward and grabs it out of my hand and throws it carelessly onto the sofa where it lands with a bounce.

"It matters." He states.

I shake my head "No, what matters is that you will leave right now or I will scream at the top of my voice and I warn you, Jake, I have very nosy neighbours. Now get the hell out of my house." I warn.  Nosy neighbours are most definitely the weapon of choice.  When you have no other weapon that is.  He still looks controlled but I'm sure I see a sliver of concern behind his eyes.

He sighs. "I'm not going anywhere while you're in this state Alex.  I'll leave when you've calmed down a bit, yeah," His voice is soft and gentle like a concerned lover.

"Until I calm down a bit? You're the angry one here," I motion between us.  "I am never like this.  You caused this!  I want you to leave - THEN I WILL CALM DOWN!  NOW LE -" he steps toward me putting his hands up in supplication, cutting me off.

"Okay, I was wrong.  I fucked up.   I'm sorry." He shakes his head.  "I was wrong about what I said."

I narrow my eyes, setting my mouth in a straight angry line.  Oh, this had better be good, very good.   He had better grovel, preferably on his knees (I like the idea of Jake on his knees a little too much I think) in apology.  I'll give him a bloody cock-tease.   Ok, that didn't sound right even in my own head.  I pull back and gesture with my eyes for him to continue.

"I was wrong," He nods.  "When I said before that I didn't think you could get any more beautiful, I was wrong. You look more beautiful right now, now that you're totally and utterly pissed off," He shakes his head. "You are mind-blowingly stunning right now.  The way your cheeks are red and your eyes are all wide and your nose crinkles when you shout you know. You're seriously fucking killing me here Alex."

I can't actually form words.  I just stand staring at him wide-eyed, wide-mouthed and speechless. I'm still angry, of course, I am, but he just said I was mind-blowingly stunning.  I've never been described like that in my life, at least not to my knowledge. I'm pretty, classy, elegant maybe even.  I am not mind-blowingly anything.  I'm not even sure mind-blowingly is even a word.  No, I can't listen to him.  He's womanising me.  He's doing it to dig himself out of a hole and it's bloody working. 

"I am not a cock-tease." Is all I manage, cheeks feeling hot.

He smiles naughtily and adjusts the front of his trousers. "Oh, I beg to differ, Alex."

I make a frustrated sound and turn away but he grabs my arm and pulls me back around to face him.

"Get your hands off me Jake," I say, attempting to pull out of his hold.  His heat and smell are far too close and they're overpowering me and I'll succumb to this if he pulls me any closer.   He doesn't let me go.  He pulls me closer to him, his vice-like grip giving me no chance against him - well if that isn't a double meaning.

"Alex, please stop..  Please calm down.  Let's talk about this.  It needs sorting baby," his voice is soft and soothing now; it's his unruly toddler taming voice.  Oh, I really do like it when he calls me baby.  I never thought I'd like being called that.  Somewhere through the haze of half drunken rage and confused lust as I'm twisting and turning to get out of his grip, I have a moment of clarity and it's as though I can I see myself from above.  And I'm embarrassed.  What would my dad think? 

I honestly don't know who the hell I am right now but I think I can put it down to one thing - since meeting him, I've been living in a state of total sexual frustration and it's completely frayed my nerves.  It's made me a crazy person.   

As I make a final attempt at freeing my arm from his grasp I twist and yank and then somehow, completely unintentionally, completely by accident, my arm swings up and backwards and my hand connects forcefully with something fleshy and hard.   As I look round at him in shock I see the blood running down his face.  His nose.

Oh bloody hell.