His touch is different—it’s sensual, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Where have you been?” I manage to get out, disregarding the tremor in my legs.
This is how he was at the club, pensive and smoldering. It’s the way he looked at me before making me come on his fingers. My core clenches in response, but when he flips that hand and drags it down my neck where he massages my collarbone, a whimper sneaks out of me.
“Hm?” I mutter, even though I know he’s not going to say anything.
He steps closer, forging his front to mine, the hold he has on my neck tightening. I blink up at him, and he stares down at me, no words, just his overwhelming presence. It’s loud enough on its own, because even without words, he makes me weak. Just a few minutes ago, I told myself he doesn’t get to make me feel, yet here I am, caving without so much as an ‘I’m sorry.’
There’s a low groan from him when he peers at my lips, wetting his in silent protest. Easton kisses me, slamming his mouth on mine and snaking his tongue toward the back of my throat. It’s sloppy, aggressive, and hurts a little. But I don’t stop him, I couldn’t if I wanted to. He grabs my ass while continuing his assault on my mouth.
After a beat, I break away with my hand on his chest. “Where’d you go?” I ask.
Still nothing.
He tries to kiss me again, but I stop him.
My shoulders slump, a twinge of annoyance seeping through me. We’ve been at this stage before of him shutting me out. I thought we had passed that. In his own way he let me see a piece of him, his love for his family, though I sensed there’s more to that story. His talent with cooking the steak he made, even the little connection he has with his neighbors. This Easton, the one standing in front of me, is not the guy from last night.
Frustrated with him and confused by his boomerang attraction to me, I sigh. “What do you want, Easton? Hm? Do you want me? Or do you just like playing me?”
There’s a long pause with me continuing to search his features for answers.
“And nothing,” I huff and look away, stepping back to create some distance between us. “Thanks for coming by—Easton. But I have a lot of work to finish tonight.” I press my lips into a straight line and glance in his direction again. “So, you should go.”
I tighten my grip on the clipboard I’m now remembering is in my hand. I step back further and try to turn toward the closest bookshelf to begin counting my inventory. My back is to him, but I can still hear him breathe.
“You want to know me?” he deadpans behind me.
“What?” I frown, confused about what he means, and tilt my head to find that the distance I’d put between us no longer exists.
“Delirium. You want to know what it’s like in my world?”
I shake my head, my frown growing bigger. “You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want me in your world,” I snip.
“Are you afraid of me, Arloe?” he asks in my ear, his voice low and wanton.
I grunt, then spin to face him and throw my arms out at my sides. “Get to the point. What do you want from me?” I peek at the floor only to move my eyes up and meet his gaze again. “Because I’m pretty sure we aren’t on the same page here. You show up when it’s convenient and then you’re gone just as fast until you’re bored. So unless you can be real with me right now and tell me what it is you intend to do with me—leave. I’m tired of this game.”
“I need to know,” is all he says.
“Need to know what, Easton?” I screech with my face twisted out of aggravation.
“If you’re afraid of me. If I let you see me—are you going to run?”
I blow out a breath, taking a second to let his question roll around in my head. Of course I’m afraid of him, but only because I don’t know who I’ll be at the end of this. He’s going to ruin me, I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his words. He wants me to fear him, it’s probably the only way he can let go. The only way he can feel, because something tells me that love isn’t an option for him.
“Yes.” That’s the honest truth.
He doesn’t blink—or breathe.
“But I’m not going anywhere. I can handle whatever it is.”
“I won’t be gentle. I don’t know how.” His words come out more like a question.
When I don’t respond he continues.
“And I can’t be changed. I don’t do romance, amore.”
Still, I stand my ground, unfazed by his protest. “What do you want?”
“To throw you up against that shelf and show you that fucking me is better than anything you’ll find in one of your little books.”
He stomps toward me, and I stumble back, pinning myself between him and the bookcase.
“I want to mark your skin with my handprint and wring every drop of cum from your cunt.”
I lose my wind, all of it, the feeling of suffocation taking over me. He’s in my space, so imposing as always. But I like it. I like the lust in his eyes. The fight he’s slowly losing the battle against.
“You want to hurt me—don’t you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Only in the name of pleasure,” he adds reverently.
“Show me,” I whisper, but he hears me anyway.
Easton steps back, calm and collected, then pivots over to the door. The latch is loud when he locks it, the sound shooting through my body like lightning. He squares his shoulders and releases all the air in his lungs, but as he faces front again, darkness flashes in his eyes.
He plays with the tie around his neck, yanking the two ends apart, though, stopping briefly to pick up something from the counter on his way toward the back. It’s after dark, and the only light coming from the moon and the glow from my office. So while he walks in slow torturous strides, all I can see until he is in front of me is his silhouette.
My heart pounds with anticipation, fear, and uncertainty following right after it. Easton stares at me through hooded lids, and all I can think about is what I’ve gotten myself into. His hand is around my neck again, this time squeezing harder than he did earlier. My breath hitches, a near yelp leaving my lips from how fast he moves.
He kisses me long and hard with his tongue so far down my throat I can’t breathe. Easton lets go of my neck to hook his fingers under the hem of my top. He pulls it up and over my head, then drops it to the floor with the flick of his wrist.
Standing in front of him in only a bra and jeans, I feel raw, exposed, and cold. It’s summer, and the temperature is set to the perfect degree, so I know he’s the only reason my body is responding like this. The sheer thrill of what’s to come chipping away at me.
I want him, more than I have any other man in my life. Despite the way we met, despite the secrets, despite the crime, I want him. He’s finally giving me what I’ve asked for. He’s going to show me him, and I’m scared shitless over it. But it’s something…it’s more than the cryptic conversations we normally have. It’s Easton and I’ll take it.
“Turn around,” he orders.
I swallow a gulp and slowly follow his instructions. He brings his body to mine, my back against his front, the scent of his cologne filling my lungs. I push away a shudder, willing my nerves to settle.