Page 29

He snorts. “Tiffany’s? Seriously?”

You know, I had a bad experience kind of like that once.”

“Let me guess… a jealous woman?”

“Bingo.” I wince, looking away. “Except it was reversed. It was my mom. She caught my dad cheating in a bar that was similar enough and that was the end of their story.”

The elevator dings. He holds the door for me, silent.

“What did she do?” he asks softly, as I unlock my apartment.

I hesitate, keys trembling in the lock.

“She gave him a black eye. And the other woman? Scars. On her face. I was screaming, trying to stop her. It was like she didn’t even hear me.” Inside, the air feels heavier. I glance over my shoulder. “You saved me from playing out my own version of it where I would have been on the wrong side of the equation.”

He shrugs, dismissing it as if it’s nothing. He looks around my apartment until his gaze catches on the photo above my couch.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Was.” I close the door behind us. “Cancer took her in 2012.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft and gentle.

“It’s fine,” I nod. “Anyway, I need to change. Think about what you want to eat. I’m starving.”

I slip into my bedroom and shut the door behind me, resting my back against it. My pulse’s still skittering. I hadn’t meant to dredge all that up—but I guess some memories never stay buried.

I undress then open my dresser and stare. Lace in black, white, electric blue… I bite my lip, considering.

G-string? Thong? Something bolder? My fingers hover, indecisive—until I bend down and—a low whistle slices through the silence.

“Fucking spectacular.”

I freeze. My pulse spikes.

I feel him, then his arms snake around my waist, hot skin on mine. His bare chest presses against my back, his breath warm at my ear.

“What’s that?” I murmur, playing coy.

“That body,” he breathes. His lips graze my shoulder. “Jesus, your figure…”

My eyes flutter closed. Oh, Idefinitelymade the right decision leaving that lunch behind.

I gasp as his hands glide over my stomach, searing trails into my skin. Like fire on my skin—and craving the burn. The drawer snaps shut with a bang, forgotten.

“I thought…” my voice trembles, breaking on a whisper. A shiver of need coils down my spine, electric and sharp. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

His lips brush my ear, his breath hot, his voice low and rough.

“I am. But not for food.”

His hands climb higher, stroking up my torso like he’s memorizing every contour. My resistance crumbles.

I lift my arms over my head and grip the top of the dresser for balance, heart pounding, thighs parting of their own volition. I’ve waited so long. An ache, thick and constant, pulses under my skin. Now that he’s here, that hunger I was denying blazes to life.

His palms cup my breasts. His fingers tease and circle. I arch into him, my breath hitching as his thumbs flick over my nipples. A soft moan slips out as his mouth finds my shoulder. Heat blooms in the wake of his lips dragging over my skin.

He presses closer. My knees weaken.