We spend the entire journey in silence, and I have a hard time grasping what he's trying to do. I know it must be some sort of punishment, or humiliation, since from him I can't expect anything better.
After all, he's already embarrassed me in front of my family, making me seem like a besotted fool who can't tell right from wrong. And so far all my attempts to rectify that have backfired.
I would have thought that if I turned the tables on him and acted as he expected me to, I would have had an advantage. Instead, he's only managed to repeatedly disarm me, and show me that for all my bravado, I'm all talk and no action.
It is the truth, though, isn't it?
I'd tried to entice him with my body thinking it would embarrass him, but I'd ended up being the humiliated one.
What did I expect when I had no experience to back up my words? I'd put on a seductive front to fluster him and make him flounder. He's a man after all, and as we've proved, one that isn't immune to me—or at least my body. I'd based my behavior and actions on things I'd read on the internet and seen in movies, and for a while the femme fatale persona I'd assumed had given me a freedom unlike any other. But it had also backfired on me, putting me on the spot and showing me exactly what happens when I'm backed into a corner with my own weapons turned on me.
My cheeks heat as I remember the way my body had reacted to his nearness and to his obscene words.
I should have been scandalized, yet instead, I'd been turned on.
I'm a mess.
He turns me into a mess.
Out of everyone in the world, why is it that I have to react like this to him? Why is he the only one who's ever awoken these types of feelings in me?
My thoughts are interrupted as the car draws to a stop. I peer out the window in an effort to gauge what he has in plan, but all the buildings are nondescript.