He nearly rubbed his hands together as he moved silently up the stairs. At least this would give him the opportunity to vent some of his frustration at someone. Three nights’ worth of frustration, to be exact.
I will not think about her. I will not remember her tracing my face with her fingertip.
No woman had ever touched his scars before. His face was not soft and boyish; it was fearsome and blunt. The sensation of her reverently touching his injury, her gaze full of appreciation rather than pity, had nearly caused his knees to buckle.
But it needed to stop. He’d become too preoccupied with her. Had foolishly let her overshadow everything else in his life. He wouldn’t make that same mistake again, if she decided to return. Lessons and nothing more.
At the door, he withdrew his key, silently placed it into the lock and turned gently. After a slight click, he entered his apartments. All appeared as it should, with his practical and worn furniture spread around. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the semidarkness before continuing on.
There weren’t many places to hide. The floor was composed of four large rooms, mostly open. He checked behind the sofa and in the small kitchen. That left the washroom and the bedroom. His hands fisted as he ghosted across the floor and into his most private space. Whoever had broken in would live to regret it.
Silhouetted against the open window was a slight figure. Definitely a woman. Her back was to the room as she stared out into the night. Who in God’s name . . . ?
He threw the switch and the overhead gasolier brightened. The woman gasped and turned.
Florence.
All the breath emptied from his lungs in a rush. She was here. In his bedroom. Looking so damn beautiful, like a perfect angel. How in blazes had she gotten up here?
Then he remembered their conversation a few nights ago and felt the familiar anger tighten in his chest. He quashed any excitement over seeing her. She didn’t want him. She merely wanted his knowledge.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “What are you doing?” It came out more harshly than he’d intended but he didn’t take it back or apologize.
“Waiting on you.”
“I was working in my office, which you must’ve realized, considering the club is still open. So why not come there instead?”
“Because I didn’t come here for lessons.”
He blinked, focusing intently on her face, as his brain tripped over those words. Hope flared but he smothered it. She’d made her position perfectly clear the last time they saw one another. And he wasn’t a man who begged or cajoled.
So why was she here?
Needing to see her better, he moved toward the window. “What have you come for, then?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, her cheeks tinged with color. He wished he knew why. “Are you embarrassed?”
“I shouldn’t be,” she said with a small laugh. “It’s not as if I’m . . .” She sighed and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. “This is so much easier for men.”
“Not true. At the moment I’m confused and twisted inside out with possibility. You know how I feel about ambiguity.”
She dropped her chin and stared right into his eyes. “I’m here to sleep with you.”
Heat rushed through his veins and centered in his groin at the unexpected and entirely arousing declaration. She’d changed her mind about screwing him. Why?
Don’t question your good fortune, man. Go on and kiss her before she reconsiders.
No, he had to be certain. Clay did nothing without careful and methodical evaluation. He deserved an explanation, even if his body was suddenly as eager as a young teen. “What changed your mind about trusting me?”
“I realized I do trust you. I’ve trusted you to teach me, to take me seriously. I’ve trusted you to keep me safe and protect my anonymity here. I’ve trusted you enough to kiss you and pleasure myself while you’re in the same room. I do trust you.”
A crack opened in the stone that used to be his heart, and a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time welled up to warm him. Tenderness.
He fought to shove it back down. Buttoned it up. This was not about feelings and emotion. She was here for danger and excitement, a colorful break from the monotony of her beige uptown existence. Not for a grand love affair with a criminal. He was not a long-term choice, merely a short-term diversion.
So . . . danger and excitement. That he could do.
“You want me to fuck you?”
Her lips parted on a sharp inhale. Then her gaze darkened, almost glowing in the dim light. “Yes.”
Ah, the power in that single word. He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them, his body alert and ready. A thief stalking his mark. Anticipation crawled through him as she watched, unmoving, color still high on her cheeks. When he was within reach, he cupped her face and bent his head. He dragged his nose alongside hers, breathing her in. Everything blurred, his vision filled with this gorgeous creature.
“Sweet Florence, I am not one of your pampered and vacuous uptown men. I won’t give you timid or soft.” He sank his teeth into the skin of her neck, biting down gently. She whimpered and grabbed his arms to steady herself. He nearly smiled. Yes, he knew how this was going to go. “You want a bit of trouble, princess? Here I am. And I promise I’ll give it to you anytime you like.”
He placed a kiss on the edge of her mouth, teasing them both, drawing out the anticipation. He was almost fully hard, his shaft pulsing as need rushed through him. The depth of his craving for this woman scared him, not that he’d ever admit it.
Then she tilted her head and sealed her mouth to his, her lips moving eagerly, and he forgot how to think. There was only her. With kisses that were bold and thorough, her hands gripping him tight. She didn’t wait for him to coax a response from her; she was an equal, demanding a response from him with her clever lips and slick tongue.
He loved it.
The kiss deepened, their hands gliding and groping in haste. He wasted no time and kissed her hard, urgently, and all the desperation he’d stored the past few weeks resurfaced to burn him alive. His tongue caressed and worshipped, telling her without words how much he’d suffered in wanting her. Her mouth was wet, a glorious haven. He could sink into it and die a happy man.
They stumbled a bit until her back landed against the wall, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, his cock grinding into her corseted belly. It wasn’t enough. He needed her soft flesh, the friction of her channel gripping him. He needed her naked underneath him.
He needed everything.
Breaking off their kiss, he propped his hands on the wall above her head. His chest heaved with the effort to breathe. “I want to undress you.”
“Good, because I want to undress you.” Her hands traced his shoulders and chest and she licked her lips. He worked to maintain his size and strength—intimidation was his currency, after all—yet he’d never been more grateful for that effort than right now. For some reason Florence wasn’t scared away by his size or his scars.
Danger and excitement, remember?
Already coatless, he began unbuttoning his vest while she watched. His fingers worked fast and soon the piece dropped to the floor. Then he lowered his suspenders, removed his shirt collar. Next, the shirt buttons. When enough had been unfastened, he yanked the fabric out of his waistband and whipped the shirt over his head. Her attention never wavered, her gaze heavy-lidded and intent, her body slumped against the wall.