She rests her head against the wall, looking past me, her focus fixed on the ceiling. “Can I ask questions, so I can make an informed decision?”
Her exposed neck begs my lips for attention. I swallow. “Yes.”
“Are you doing this because Grae made you question your sexuality?” Her lips spread into a wicked grin. “I’m not holding it against you. I just want to know if I’m a mental security fuck or not.”
My fingers pull her chin down, so she’s forced to meet my gaze. “It’s very rude to talk about another man while I’m actively trying to seduce you.”
“But you’re not answering the question.”
“No. It has nothing to do with him. I saw you in the club a year ago, and I knew I wanted you in my bed then.”
Another wicked smile. “Grae seems like the kinda guy who won’t touch you unless there’s written consent witnessed by a lawyer and notary.”
I add, “And he’ll send your mom flowers in the morning.”
“Look at you, cracking jokes.” She adds under her breath, “It is pretty hot.” She pushes her hair behind her ear. “But in the last few days, you pulled a gun on me, insulted me, beat up my ex-boyfriend, tried to kick me out of my home… Do you see where I might have a few concerns?”
Shit. I take a step back. “You’re right.”
“Furthermore, you’re a Mafia boss with admittedly not the best track record with relationships, and we’ll be living in the same building. There’s an unfair power dynamic here.” She drags her finger down the front of my shirt, circling each button. “Plus, there’s the issue of is this sex, or are feelings involved? Am I a distraction from your ever-growing stressful reality, or does that not matter?”
I swallow again. “We can figure that out in the morning.”
Her finger circles back up toward my neck. “And yes, there will be a tomorrow, no matter what. If this goes tits up, our lives are still entwined. I’ve mastered the illusion of having my shit together—it’s what I do to make people like me. But bad choices have consequences for a future version of myself.” She pats me on my heart. “But you… Your lists have lists. And I’m not sure if you’ve considered the fallout from whatever I choose.”
“I did. I don’t care.” It’s the most honest thing I’ve said all day.
She leans into my space, pressing her chest against mine. Her lips part as her breath caresses my neck. “I choose to go back to your place.” I’m almost dizzy as the blood races from one head to the other. She whispers, “But if you don’t make good on your promise of making me come on your cock, I’ll never let you live it down.”
I pin her against the wall, trapping her with my body as my lips launch the attack they’ve wanted all day. There’s a second when she struggles against the force, but her moan and lips give away any false pretense. My mouth, her tongue, in a violent dance of pent up or repressed feelings.
My hands caress every one of her soft curves in the dark and dirty hallway. I squeeze her ass, bringing her core closer to my throbbing cock. “You’re mine tonight.” The words sound more like a promise and less a threat. “Drop the brat act.”
She moves her hips, trying to get some relief from her mounting pressure. “You like it,” she counters.
From her, I do.
Chapter Thirteen
Jenny
We pull into the parking lot under the building. I don’t have a car, but the free monthly spot that comes with the condo was a selling feature. Joey’s car roars like a dragon emerging from a cave, the tires screeching as rubber and painted concrete meet. But as soon as he turns off the car, the space fills with silence. He’s been quiet since we left—no flirting, no banter. So, I’m stuck thinking about the ramifications of my choice to go back to his place.
Will this end badly? Probably.
He has all the power, and I’ve got nothing. Tomorrow morning, I’ll wake up in his bed, take out the dog, and then what? It’s safe to assume it’s a one and done thing. But what did he mean when he said he saw me at his club and wanted me in his bed? What’s the subtext?
While I’m gathering my purse, and my thoughts, he opens the driver’s door and walks to the other side, opening my door and extending his hand. I shift my weight and step out of the car in the most graceful way I can.
Which is to say, I looked like a baby giraffe falling out of its mom and trying to take its first steps. I don’t like low cars. It hurts too much to get out.
But he doesn’t laugh at me. Instead, he braces my arms and holds me until gravity becomes my friend again. Then he places his hand on my hip as he leads me to the elevator.
“There aren’t many residents in the building yet, a few on the tenth floor. This is the service elevator until we get the building to fifty percent capacity," he explains, probably because it’s a slow-ass elevator.
His thumb rubs little circles on my hip, and I can feel his eyes watching me. “Nervous?”
“Nervousness is a Future Jenny problem.” This elevator is slower than my computer when I have all the tabs open. “Right now, I want to get out of this elevator.”
