There’s something about elevators that really gets me going. Makes me feel naughty.
It’s the forced proximity, the way you’re locked into this tiny metal cube with someone; your personal space nonexistent.
It’s the sensation of that lurch in your stomach as you shoot up or drop down.
It’s the fact that it’s a moving box that feels like you’re in a private little world while still being in a space that’s open to anyone who has the audacity to hit the button and interrupt your moment.
But most of all, it’s the fact that you’re time-boxed. You’ve got forty seconds, if you’re lucky, to do all the things you’ve been dying to do.
So when Connor and I finally escape the police investigation and step into the elevator that will take us to his penthouse, it’s like every over-the-top movie elevator scene brought to life, where the characters can’t keep their hands to themselves.
Our hands are all over each other, our mouths are all over each other, our noises are like two barnyard animals in heat.
He hoists me into his arms, and the kiss is like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. Desperate and dirty. Fucking with our tongues and our lips.
Meanwhile, Grace is safely tucked away in her apartment, playing house with Connor’s security.
And by “playing house,” I mean she’s likely insisting that she can’t possibly sleep alone after such a traumatic experience, and would he mind terribly if he got into bed with her and maybe even let her lie on top of him.
She insisted on choosing which protection guy would stay with her, and surprise surprise, it’s the one she was making eyes at earlier. There’s no real danger to us—Deano was acting alone—but still, having a gun aimed at you can shake you up, make you want to keep the night light on.
The elevator doors slide open to Connor’s apartment far too slowly and we stumble out down the hall toward his apartment, still trying to devour each other’s faces.
Connor breaks away from me long enough to dig around for his keycard in his back pocket. He swipes his key card, then presses his thumb to the scanner, then punches in a code that’s seems longer than a barcode.
If he doesn’t get this door open in the next five seconds, I swear I’ll just have to roll up my sleeves and bust it down myself.
“Oh my god, this is too much,” I groan, tugging at his belt like a woman possessed. “Let me in already. I’m dying here, Connor.”
He lets out a lust-filled chuckle.
And then, finally, after what feels like an eternity of waiting, the lock gives way and the door swings wide open, dumping us into the sheer extravagance of Connor’s penthouse.
I never thought I’d step foot in this place again.
We’re barely through the door when our clothes start flying off. I’m ripping off his tux like a woman possessed.
But Connor gives as good as he gets. In his impatience he rips my T-shirt. Literally rips the damn shirt, and it was my favorite.
“Hey,” I breathe, trying to sound indignant but my body is already betraying me, grinding against him. “I have to walk to Grace’s tomorrow. I need something to wear on top, unless you want me to cause a scandal by strutting around Manhattan topless.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not leaving this apartment. Ever again,” he growls, his voice rough with desire.
I laugh, a giddy sound that bubbles up from the overwhelming rush of emotions.
I’ll worry about my walk of shame tomorrow. Right now, I can’t believe we are together. I’m with him. I have him. I have his love. I feel like my heart will burst with all the emotions spilling out.
I grabble with his dress shirt and trousers, desperate to get them all off, even though he looks like a million bucks in that tux. It’s almost criminal to take it off.
But it looks better on the floor, and he looks better naked with them off. My god, I’ve missed that body. I used to think I imagined how good it was; now I realize it’s better than I remember. Or maybe he’s been working out even more.
He unhooks my bra. Our hands are all over each other, frantically undoing buttons and unzipping zippers.
He yanks off his boxers with the desperation of a man on fire, until he’s completely naked and erect.
Oh. My. God.
And to think, just a few hours ago, I was staring down the barrel of a gun. Now I’m staring at something else loaded that could potentially kill me with pleasure.
