If someone walked in, they would think I’m pinning him to the glass, but that’s not the case. Though his back and hands are pressed to the window, he’s stronger, bigger, and more aggressive. He’s allowing this, and the flicker in his eyes tells me he likes it.
“You want to know if I intend to fuck you?” His fingers curl around mine.
Then he dips his head. Before I can blink, he kisses me. A brutal whiplash of a kiss that sucks the air from my lungs and skyrockets my pulse. I anticipate the lash of his tongue, but it never comes. His teeth catch my bottom lip, a sharp twinge of pain, and he leans back.
“No,” he says coldly. “I will not have sex with you.”
But that kiss. It lingers on my mouth like a trail of fire.
“What?” I dig my fingernails into his palms. “Why the fuck did you kiss me?”
“Because I can.” He swings us around, reversing our positions. Rather than closing in, he breaks away and lowers in the chair at his desk. “Good night, Danni.”
My gaze falls to the thick column of his neck, the starched white collar, and the squared shoulders beneath the stiff fabric of his suit jacket. Focused on his laptop, he wakes the screen and launches a spreadsheet, his demeanor all business, his dismissal unquestionable.
Maybe I’m delusional, but it feels like I made a tiny bit of progress, if I count that angry kiss. My curiosity is more piqued than ever, my fascination not even close to being satisfied.
It’s not like I want a relationship with him, but I can’t stop myself from recalling the torrid sensation of that huge hand wrapped around my throat or imagining it spanning over my bare ass, slapping and reddening my skin as he plows into me with hard-hitting thrusts. No doubt he’s massive, rock-hard, and strong everywhere, an image that produces ripples of pulsations through the long-neglected muscles between my legs.
Christ, I need to get out of here.
“Call me when the restaurant is open.” I stride toward the door.
“You’ll be here tomorrow morning.” He doesn’t glance up from the laptop.
“Why would I—?”
“You’ll meet with HR and fill out your paperwork. Eight o’clock.” He reaches under the glass ledge of the desk, and a sharp buzz sounds overhead. “Don’t be late.”
The door releases from the wall and swings toward me. I shuffle backward into the hall to avoid colliding with the swinging wall of steel. It clicks shut, and the sound of electronic tumblers announces that he locked me out of his office.
A shocked laugh escapes my lips. I bet that dick move makes him feel all powerful and authoritative. I want to be annoyed by it, but instead, I find his social ineptitude oddly addictive.
As I exit the 30th floor and amble through the parking garage, my blood sings and my heart thumps wildly, enthusiastically, for the first time since Cole.
Chapter Seven
THREE YEARS AGO
Stay by Rihanna plays on my phone where it sits on the plywood subfloor in my brand-spanking-new dance studio. The aroma of sawdust and sweat and excitement infuses the air as I rock my hips and study my reflection in the newly hung mirrors.
Cole kneels several feet behind me, installing the final ballet bar in the room he recently added on the rear of my house. Dust coats his Converse and faded jeans, his torso scrumptiously bare and rippling with overworked muscle.
I still can’t believe he built me a dance room. Who does that? When he showed me the designs and told me he was paying for everything, I sobbed hideous snot-laden tears of joy. Then I tried to talk him out of it, which I’ve learned is a wasted effort when his mind is made up.
It’s been nine months since we met in the street on that fateful morning. We fucked like animals that first night, and he moved in a month later. To say it’s been a whirlwind is an understatement. Every second of every day is a combustible haze of touching, kissing, intoxicating delirium that obscures our awareness of the world around us.
Inseparable to the point of infatuation, we’re sickeningly, obsessively, can’t-get-enough-of-each-other in love. I can’t imagine this fever ever fading. It’s too strong, too real, too deeply and intricately woven into the fiber of my being.
His dense lashes lift, and his brown eyes connect with mine. The need to kiss him hits me directly in the chest, and my pulse kicks into a wild crescendo. Is it possible for two people to kiss too much?
When our mouths aren’t locked together in aggressive passion, we’re grinning stupidly at each other. Like now.
That smile of his puts me in my feelings, and his dimples dare me to come closer, for a taste, a touch, for a full-body saturation in all things Cole.
“You’re distracting me, baby.” His gaze darkens, drifting lazily over my body.
“And?” I lift the hair off my damp nape and hold it on top of my head.
Now that I have his attention, I work my stomach muscles, contract my spine, and let my hips flow sensually to the provocative vocals.
I feel silly dancing around in his heavy work boots, but he demanded I wear them to protect my feet. Always so demanding and protective, but he does it in a manner that makes me feel cared for and loved. A girl could get use to this. She could become attached.
What am I thinking? I’m way past attached.
Sitting back on his heels, he swipes the back of a hand over his glistening brow. “If you’re going to tease me with that sexy ass, do it on the pole.”
He surprised me with the stripper pole a couple of hours ago, having installed it while I was running errands. I haven’t danced on it yet, deciding to save that erotic show until after we’ve both showered.
“What do you have left to do tonight?” I sashay toward him, singing along with Rihanna, twisting my hips, and sensually moving my arms above my head.
“Danni, you’re killing me here.” He groans, and his fingers clench around the drill in his hand. “I was going to start on the wood floors tonight.”
I’m tempted to pout, but I won’t. He’s doing this for me, and I’m so damn grateful. I’ll be thanking him with my body all night long, because holy hell, he wears dirt and sweat like a sexy tatted-up rock star.
“Stop looking at me like that.” His jaw flexes, his expression a storm of unrestrained desire. “Christ, you’re making me hard.”
“I wish I could stop, but when I see you, all I want to do is rip your clothes off and wrap my pussy around your cock.”
He curls his fingers against his thigh and looks around the unfinished room, an internal battle straining his gorgeous face. Oh, he wants to fuck me, but he knows as well as I do that anticipation makes it so much hotter.
“If you behave,” he says, his tone hard and uncompromising, “I’ll give you my cock. When I am ready.”
A shiver pulses through me. One thing’s for certain. He’ll fuck me rough and dirty, overpowering me in a way I never imagined wanting or enjoying. Now that I’ve experienced Cole’s brand of sex, I won’t ever go back to grunting and groping in the dark with a passive man. I hope to never touch another man again.
He returns his attention to the ballet bar, but I know he’s aware of my every move. Each time I shake my hips, flick my wrists, or swipe my tongue along my lips, a smile takes hold of his mouth.