“Okay, Mr. Coincidence,” I say. “So, this is me.”
“Don’t pretendyou want to leave and have that be the end of it,” he snarls.
I turn away from the door. Stare at him. He’s got that smirk on his face again, his dark eyes glinting. His huge chest rises and falls with each breath.
“I don’t know anything about you. Yes, you’ve been kind to me, but…”
“I know you, Mara,” he growls. “I know you’re going to be the best photographer in the whole city, the whole damn state. Your passion alone tells me that. I know you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be. I know you’ve been eye-fucking me just as hungrily as I’ve been eye-fucking you.”
He leans in. I should stop this.
Should…
But there’s something about doing the opposite that makes me ache. I stay where I am, letting him lean all the way down. No 90/10 kissing rule in play here. He crushes his rough lipsagainst mine. He growls through the kiss, parting my lips with his tongue, opening my mouth, finding my tongue.
I gasp, muffled, as his tongue strokes against me. My sex has never ached like this, pulsing with desperate need. My head swims.
Was he following me? Why? Is he a criminal? A PI? What and who is he?
The questions sink into my gut.
Tell him you’re a virgin, at least. Now’s a good time.
But I can’t even blurt that out. My lips move, but no words form, no sound emerges.
“You need to ask me inside,” he snarls, keeping his lips close to mine, staring into my soul.
“You’re very bossy,” I whisper, laughing.
Laughing. It’s the first time that’s even seemed possible since I found my dad’s body.
“Maybe you need me to be bossy,” he says. “You need someone to take control. Like your car, for example. You’re going to need me to arrange for that to be sorted, right?”
I roll my eyes. Smiling. Grinning like a fool and somehow forgetting about how heartbroken I’m supposed to be.
“Okay, Dad,” I say.
I lean back. Gasp. Cover my mouth with my hand. I didn’t mean to say that. It just popped out.
He shudders. Makes a groaning, almost helpless sound. “What the fuck did you just call me?”
My sex is flowing. Wetness flooding my panties. It’s tidal down there. My nipples have never been this hard.
“Why do you sound like you … like it?” I murmur.
“Say it properly,” he demands.
“I don’t?—”
“And don’t lie to me. You know exactly what I mean.”
I risk a look down. At his crotch. His huge cock is outlined clearly under the denim, pushing against his zipper, massive, but trapped.
He’s right. I know what he’s asking.
How fucked-up is this?
But my body aches all over, taunting me to say it.
