Not So Perfect

15||

"Do it. I dare you."

He wasn't able to get her flat on her back, but he was able to get in between her legs.

Tayson eyebrows scuffed into an erudite frown as he let the words shipwreck in his brain cells. One moment she was sprawled on the floor, and next moment she was sitting on the bed. Tayson crouching in front of her on his one knee, pressing a white piece of cloth painfully against her palm to stop the blood. She was so caught up staring at him when he entered in her room, that she forgot about the knife in her hand. She thought it was an brilliant idea to ditch her palette knife and to experiment with a sharp fruit knife.

His grey blazer was roughly thrown beside her, his shoulder tensed and lips set in a straight line. He was pissed. Yet gentle.

"You said that I will crawl to you," she said, leaning close to, "who is one on knees right now?"

A muscle in his jaw clamped, highlighting his sharp jawline and his collar bones. He didn't indulge in conversation, ignoring her. "Has anyone told you?" she asked him with a easy smile. Tayson didn't retort, so she continued, "You have pretty face."

He heaved in a bothered breathe, annoyed. "And you are fucking psycho. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Umm," she hummed, pretending to think, "now, where do I start?"

Before Tayson could speak, Ryan entered. He calmly spruced up the canvas, and not much glanced at her when he handed Tayson a first aid box.

After he left, Tayson commenced to clean up her would. It was strange. The proximity, the warmth and the gentleness he showed as he held her hand, as if it was oh so precious. It was to him obviously, he needed her to work for him. It was the only reason why he looked so worried.

"You don't have to worry, my hands are gonna work just fine." She shifted, assuring him. "And you should probably leave."

Tayson looked at her like she had lost it, and perhaps she did. "I'm your employer, and not the other way around." Then he went back to bandage her hand. His long gruff fingers softly worked, slithering heat in her bones. Suddenly, she was hyper aware of his body so close to her that she could inhale in his cologne and count his inky lashes fluttering against his cheek bones. His shoulders were broad and she fantasized how her legs would look on them. Blood rushed in her cheeks, fogging her mind with the thoughts that seemed foreign. She hastily pressed her palm against his chest, pushing him away.

"That's enough," she said, "I'm good."

Tayson nodded, and stood, towering her. "Did you eat yet?"

"No, not that's any of your bus-"

"Shut up and get ready. We are going out," his demanding voice sliced through her, buzzing in the pit of her stomach and pooling in between her legs.

"I'm no-" She was interrupted by his eyes snapping at her. "I will throw you over my shoulder and take you out or you will nicely walk on your legs. Choose."

Tayson was a man who meant things literally. If he said, he would do, then he would do it. She figured that much about him. Rolling her eyes, she muttered, "Asshole." But nevertheless, she ambled towards the bathroom.

***

One more thing Leona learned about Tayson was that he was an organized man, he didn't like messy things. His lavish apartment didn't have a trace of dust and now his royally prolific car was highly orchestrated in a definite manner; simply, classy and opulent. Like him.

She gazed at him as he drove them. He looked drop-dead handsome. Leona encountered men who were God's favorite in department their looks, but something about Tayson tickled her chest.