“Don’t like small spaces?”
“Don’t like small, slow-moving spaces that fight against gravity as its primary function.”
He lifts my chin to meet his gaze. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”
The Narrator Lady whispers in my ear, reminding me he’s only promising tonight.
The elevator doors open directly into his apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows are the perfect backdrop for the open concept, highlighting everything from the kitchen to the living room. It’s sleek, elegant, and everything I expected. Polished and perfect.
Kingston lifts his head from the couch and comes bolting over to us. He excitedly jumps from me to Joey. Joey scratches around the dog’s ears and tells him what a good boy he is.
“It’s nighttime. Did you want me to take him out for his last walk of the day?”
My date blinks a few times, like his brain is trying to understand seventeen wrong questions and answers at once, before he surprises me with his reply. “No. He’s my dog. I’ll walk him. You stay here, pick out a bottle of wine and make yourself comfortable.” He points to a wine cabinet next to the fridge.
Wine. Shit. “I don’t know a damn thing about wine.”
He grins. “Me either. Pick one with a pretty label and the year you like.” Joey bends over and hooks Kingston up. And as the elevator door opens back up, he says, “Be careful. There are guns and weapons hidden everywhere.”
Oh, right. This recently acquired fact hasn't hit my long-term memory yet. When I hear it, it’s like I’m learning it for the first time. But how else do you get a penthouse without doing something sketchy or immoral?
I take a minute to do a full three-sixty in his space. It’s all crisp, clean, and polished. Hanging glass shelves next to rich wood cases. A few bowls for decoration, but no pictures, nothing personal. It’s almost… sterile.
But the only thing I care about is the bookshelf. Am I a judgy little bitch? Yes, yes, I am.
There’s a copy of Dune with a broken spine and some nonfiction books that were in every airport five years ago on the top shelf. Tracing the books with my fingers, I pause when I see his Knights of the Night collection. Paperbacks, trade editions, they even have the buy one, get one half off sticker. My little nerd heart dies. What monster puts a fucking sticker on a book cover?
But next to it is Jim Henson’s biography and a little plastic Kermit. At least he has taste.
I’m still poking around when the elevator door opens and Kingston drags his leash behind him as he jumps up on me and then heads back to the couch. Three circles and then he plops down, looking out the window.
“No wine?” Joey asks as he takes off his jacket. His shirt hugs his body and every muscle is barely hidden.
I shake my head. “I got distracted by your bookshelf.” I smirk. “Not a single special edition. Peasant.”
His expression changes, and I’m in trouble. He steps closer, crossing his arms and stiffening his back. “Peasant? You’re standing in a penthouse apartment.”
I shrug. “But do you have foil covers and sprayed edges money?” Sighing, I nod to the shelf. “I’m willing to ignore that since you like The Muppets.”
“I’m glad I got a stamp of approval.” He wraps his hand around my wrist and ushers me over to the kitchen island. It’s oddly clean. Where does he keep his pile of random mail he’s convinced he’s going to go through sometime? “Jenny.” His voice refocuses my brain. “Put your hands on the counter but face me.”
I grip the chilly marble behind me. It’s not super comfortable, but that’s the point. Joey’s dark eyes and heated expression fill my view. Is tunnel vision a symptom of arousal? Because suddenly he’s the only thing I see, and the anticipation of what he’s going to do to me, makes my core clench.
He drags his hand across his chin before placing it on my cheek, holding me to his gaze. He’s a wolf, and I’m his prey.
But his smile drops. “No.”
Rejection. My stomach sinks and I want to turn away…run, scream, and hide under a boulder. Am I not enough? Was he insulted by my jokes? Am I not pretty enough? Too brash? Too much everything…just like everyone else tells me. Now he thinks so too. It just took him all night to realize it.
He takes a step back, the space between us cold, and closes his eyes. “I don’t want our first time to be some power play.”
Wait what? First time? Is that what he said? He’s got more than one a night in him? Nice.
His hands slide down my arms, and he gently tugs them off the countertop I’ve been white knuckling. His lips brush against my forehead, and I sink into his chest, letting his warmth soak into me. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and lifts my chin with his finger. I’m forced to look him in the eye, and I’ve never wanted to shut them faster in my life. But the lust and dormant emotions want to take over. To bask in the darkness of his eyes, the way his lips part, the last remnants of his cologne. My stomach tingles and my face burns. It’s only when his eyes flutter closed, it's safe for me to close mine.
His lips are soft but firm. He moves slowly, as if he’s lingering in this moment, savoring it. A moan escapes our lips, but I can’t tell if it was him or me. I feel like I’m floating, and if I don’t hold on to him, I’ll hit the ceiling. When our lips part, I’m a melted puddle, and I sink into him.
“Much better,” he whispers and flutters his eyes open. The darkness has returned; the sweetness vanished. “Our first time shouldn’t be kinky.” I try to hide my twinge of disappointment, but I guess he’s right. Vanilla sex is fine, but sometimes I get bored, and my mind wonders, and the Narrator Lady won’t shut the hell up, which makes everything worse.
