The constant need to check the time.
The restlessness that the clock was ticking too slow.
All because of a woman with the beauty of an angel who descended straight from heaven. Yet she haunts my dreams until I’m certain I’m in hell.
My hand twitches to reach for the glass of bourbon I poured myself when I reached my apartment. However, I can’t bring myself to take a sip. If I take one, I’ll crave another. The last thing I want is alcohol impeding or clouding the moment when I have my angel again.
And if I peer deeper, there’s another reason.
One I don’t want to admit out loud.
When I’m with her, the fucked-up parts of me disappear.
It’s dangerous the power she’s slowly having over me. To stop it from escalating and reminding myself of the nature of our secret relationship, I invited her to my apartment instead ofmy house. The tighter the boundaries, the lesser chance of lines blurring.
Again, a hotel would’ve been more impersonal.
And too harsh.
She’s too imperceptive not to surmise to both. It’ll cut her deep, even if she’ll put on a brave face. She’s trusting me with her body, rendering control over to me, and I don’t want to cheapen it because of my issues.
As long as Arya is mine, even in the shadows, I’ll give her all the pleasure for submitting to me and fulfill all her deepest fantasies.
Clinging to the denial that I don't care about her, I told myself it’s risky to meet at a hotel because anyone could recognize us and spill about our rendezvous to the reporters.
Nobody knows I own a place in the city, so chances of us being seen together are less likely. The developer of the building, the Merchants, keep the identities of the residents under wraps and offer utmost privacy.
I’m jolted out of my musings when the doorbell rings.
It’s nine p.m. sharp when I glance at my Rolex.
Is punctuality her trait or is she eager to see me?
Either way, my dick hardens.
Pushing away from the railing, I saunter out of the living room to the front door. I wait a few seconds before pulling it open, as if that’ll save me from the effects she has on me.
It doesn’t.
Her beauty smacks me square in the chest. Without a layer of makeup, her natural blush darkens her high cheekbones. Her pouty lips are swollen and red, as if she bit them the whole way during the ride here.
Her equally lethal body is concealed beneath the trench coat.
Exactly as I ordered in the text.
A deep brown shade with a silhouette that accentuates her slim curves. The knowledge she’s naked underneath makes my blood heat. So do the curled strands framing her heart-shaped face.
She shifts on her feet when I say nothing.
I drag my gaze from the top of her head to the tip of her red-painted toes like a junkie looking at his next fix. That’s who she’s turned me into in a short time. As though I wasn’t fighting enough fatal addictions.
“Hi,” she rasps when I meet her soft brown eyes.
“Lose the coat.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, looking left and right in the empty hallway. Nervously waiting for someone to jump out through the door across from mine. Glancing back at me, she asks primly, “Can I come in first?”
“After you undress.”
