Did she seriously just leave?
I chuckle to myself, shaking my head in amusement as I rub my hand over my stubble.
The cheeky little shit.
For the first time in years, a woman has left me wanting more.
And somehow, I’m not even mad about it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gemma
My heart pounds as I jab the elevator button repeatedly.
I can’t believe I did that. The look on his face was priceless.
Max Browne just delivered the best orgasm I’ve ever received, and he managed to do it with only his tongue and fingers. The smug satisfaction in his eyes afterward told me everything I needed to know—he had me right where he wanted me. I had to get out of there.
This was supposed to be purely physical—a fantasy to indulge in once and get out of my system.
Not only am I extremely attracted to him—I’d have to be dead to not recognize how gorgeous he is—but our chemistry is amazing, the foreplay is off the charts, and I think I’m, God forbid, starting tolikehim. I don’t get crushes. Especially not on a man who holds my career in his hands. Not on my best friend’s brother. And especially not on someone who couldactuallyhurt me.
Because, ultimately, that’s the truth I’m running from. I think he could hurt me. I’ve spent years having emotionless fun. I’m the queen of no-strings attached. But somethingabout the way he touched me, the way he looked at me, felt dangerously close to meaningful.
The elevator finally arrives, and I step inside, leaning against the wall I was pressed against only an hour ago. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing.
I flag down a cab as I exit his building, glancing back up at his penthouse windows.
We can’t do that again. I can’t come back here.
I shake my head as I slide into the black cab.We were just messing around.I tell myself.It was nothing more than incredible, mind-blowing fun.
Then why does it feel like I’ve left something behind?
Stepping off the Tube, I follow the crowd of early-morning commuters like a zombie. I barely slept a wink last night. All I could think about was the way Max’s fingertips felt gliding over my skin as he mapped out my body and planted kisses across my back. How delectable he tasted and how luscious he smelled.
The first thing I did after arriving at my flat was make a beeline for my dildo so I could finish what Max and I had started. Only problem was, the toy kept turning into Max’s mouth in my mind. His voice whispering in my ear. His hands pinning my wrists.
Even my self-care routine failed me. I tried everything—slapped on a hydrating face mask, pulled tarot cards, burned some incense, and read my newest monster romance where the heroine gets railed by a kraken.
And nothing I tried removed that man from my thoughts.
He was even in my bloody dreams. He gives me one orgasm and somehow manages to conquer my subconscious.
Maybe I’m coming down with something… like food poisoning of the brain.
Max poisoning.
I need a pastry.
I pull my stained trench coat tighter as I make my way to Lance’s kiosk, the cutting wind nipping at my exposed skin.
On approach, I watch Lance place a row of fresh, glistening pastries in the display case. He positions each one perfectly, as always. The smell of butter and sugar wafts through the air and my stomach growls.
“Morning, Lance!” I call.
He glances up, his face brightening. “If it isn’t my favorite troublemaker!” He takes one look at me and lets out a low whistle. “Blimey, lass. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
