I trace the curve of her shoulder with my eyes. Follow the line of her spine down to where the sheet pools at her lower back. There’s a freckle just above her left hip that I discovered last night with my mouth.
This is insane.
I followed her across Manhattan. Sat in my car for ninety minutes watching her with another man. Nearly broke that same man’s jaw on her front stoop.
And then I fucked her like I had something to prove.
Which I suppose I did.
She stirs slightly, her nose scrunching in that way that looks so cute on her. I’ve been lying here long enough to memorize everything about her. Long enough for the gray light to shift toward something approaching dawn.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I run a biotech company. Develop facial prosthetics that help burn victims look at themselves in the mirror again. I negotiate multimillion-dollar licensing deals with hospitals that think they can lowball me because I’m younger than their golf buddies.
I don’t obsess over my secretary.
I don’t lose control.
Except, apparently, Ido.
Fuck.
Bree’s eyes flutter open. For a moment she looks confused, that soft vulnerability of someone surfacing from deep sleep. Then she registers me watching her and the vulnerability hardens into something warier. “You’re staring at me.”
“I am.”
She pushes herself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping to reveal more of her. Additional marks I left on her neck, dark against her skin. Claiming marks.
Evidence of possession.
Mine.
“How long have you been awake?” she asks.
I shrug. “A while.”
“That’s creepy.”
I nod slowly. “I’m well aware.”
She sits up fully now, gathering the sheet around her chest in a gesture of modesty that seems almost absurd given what we did last night. Given how many times I made her cum. Given the way she screamed my name when I shattered her and shattered her and shattered her again.
“Are you going to apologize for following me and my date?” she asks.
I should give her that. I know I should. But the problem is that I’m not actually sorry. If I had to watch her kiss Aiden or whatever the fuck his name is, I would have done something far worse than grab his shoulder.
“You’re not going to apologize,” she states.
I don’t break her gaze. “Would you believe me if I did?”
She purses her lips. “No.”
I force a smile. “Then what’s the point?”
She shakes her head. “Jesus Christ, Nico.”
I sit up, the sheet pooling at my waist. Her eyes flick down my chest, cataloging me the same way I’ve been cataloging her.
