"Why?" he asks, dropping one hand to my hip, using his other to angle my head so he can place soft kisses against my jaw, working lower until his hot breath against my neck leaves me shivering. "What changed? Because right now, these pretty tits are begging for myattention, and fucking hell, I can only imagine how much your cunt is crying for me."
I stutter out a breath, closer to a whine than any other sound, "I don't?—"
I don't like talking about the night in question. The one in the photos. That was the worst night of my fucking life, and even though Cormac was thebestpart of it, he wasn't even close to the most memorable.
"Boyfriend?" he suggests before grazing his teeth against the sensitive flesh beneath my ear.
My sharp inhale and sigh are followed by a brief nod, wishing at the very least that he'd stop talking about it. Having his hot mouth against my skin while reminding me of that night is causing emotions that are... tumultuous, to say the least.
"Not anymore, I hope," he chuckles against my skin before sucking it between his lips, dragging another pathetic sound from my throat. "I can't imagine he'd be very happy to know you're moaning and drenching your panties for a psychotic killer."
"Not anymore," I confirm, not offering anything more than that.
"Good." The single syllable is harsh. Final. Gritty and commanding.
He doesn't care about my relationship or how it ended. Doesn't care about any of the bullshit that came of it.
Leaning back, his gaze slowly circles my face as if he's cataloguing every slight change from the rush of desire he's caused. I can feel the heat in my cheeks and chest, my frantic breathing, and the heaviness of my eyes.
And he drinks down every single drop of my expression, admiring it as if at any moment, it could disappear.
"Bring the offer letter next time you come by Mingle, yeah?" he asks against my lips before placing a final, brief kiss on them.
"What?" I ask, frozen.
A vicious grin pulls at his kiss-swollen lips, "I left another bottle in the fridge if you don't trust the one I opened."
"You're leaving?" I ask.
"What, you want me to stay?" He teases. "I thought you were calling the police."
Shaking my head frantically, I try to extract myself from his body, "No, that's not what I—" I clear my throat. "I could go find it now, then I don't have to bring it by."
With a knowing smile, he releases me, placing my phone on the counter. "Nah. This gives you an excuse to go back. In fact, I'll help make it easier on you. If youdon'tbring it to Mingle this weekend, I'm going to come back here to find it. Maybe even when you're sleeping. And given how sweetly you react to myunwantedadvances, I might take it upon myself to steal more than a kiss next time."
With the threat in the air, he steps away, taking the handful of long strides it takes for him to exit my apartment, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his delicious cologne, the wine on the table, and me scrambling to determine if avoiding Mingle is worth the risk that ignoring him would invite.
Nevermind that my skin pebbles with excitement at the thought of either option. Seeing him in his own domain, his little kingdom of depravity, or giving him implicit permission to return and make good on his threat.
"Fuck," I mutter to myself, running my fingers through my hair. My eyes land on the bottle sitting on my counter."I shouldn't."
I do anyway, just another in a line of bad decisions I'm certain is going to get longer.
Chapter 12
Performance Anxiety
BRIGIT
October 2021
Icannot fucking believe I'm doing this by myself.
It was bad enough when I thought I'd be here with Ian.
My internship is almost over, at which point I'll be a full-time employee and won't have to keep sneaking around with my supervisor. We'll be colleagues, not boss and employee. We'll fill out the proper HR paperwork claiming our relationship.
But tonight was supposed to be our unofficial first time out together.
