"You're probably right." She released my hand and stepped back from the doorway. "Do you want to come inside?"
For a moment, I could only stare at her. Then I crossed the threshold and the door clicked shut behind me. I turned andlocked it, and the darkness swallowed us whole as I turned back to her.
"Yes."
The word hung between us. Heavy and irreversible.
The apartment was so dark, I could barely see her silhouette in the ambient glow of the streetlight coming in her living room window. So I let her lead me deeper into the room, my free hand finding the wall, the edge of a doorframe. She moved without hesitation, guiding me through her space.
Then she stopped and turned toward me, and my hands found her waist. Her skin was warm through the thin cotton of the t-shirt. I felt the curve of her hips beneath my thumbs. The dip of her waist. The faint tremor running through her body.
She was shaking.
But so was I.
"Raven—"
"Don't." She cut me off as her hands wandered up my chest to my face. "Don't tell me this is a bad idea. Don't tell me it's dangerous. Don't tell me you should leave." She traced my mouth the way she'd traced my jaw in that alley. Slowly, carefully, memorizing the shape of it.
There was nothing more to say as she rose on her toes, and her lips brushed my jaw. I was way past the point of turning back now.
With a low moan, I fisted her hair and yanked her head back, crushing my mouth to hers. She gasped, and I swallowedthe sound, my tongue pushing past her lips, tasting her dark sweetness.
She kissed me back with a ferocity that matched my own as her fingers clawed at my jacket, shoving it off my shoulders. It hit the floor behind me and I kicked it out of the way so she wouldn't trip over it. Her hands found my shirt, yanking the hem free, nails scraping my stomach as she dragged it upward.
I broke the kiss long enough to rip the shirt over my head, then grabbed her again. Hauled her against me, chest to chest, her breasts soft and warm against my bare skin through nothing but that thin cotton.
"The shirt," I gritted out as I dropped hot, wet kisses to her lips, her cheek, her jaw, her throat. "Take it off. Now."
She gripped the hem and lifted it over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it out of the way.
And then there was nothing between us but skin.
I couldn't see her. All I had was touch. Scent. Sound. The same limited, heightened world she lived in every second.
My hands found her breasts first. They were full and heavy. Her nipples already hard against my palms, and when my thumbs dragged across them, she made a sound. A sharp intake of breath that punched straight to my cock.
"Christ." I palmed her, kneading, rolling her nipples between my fingers until she whimpered. "You've been hiding these under those pretty dresses you wear."
"Not hiding." Her voice was breathy, and I'd barely touched her. "People stare at me enough without giving them more of a reason to."
I lowered my head and took one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, my teeth grazing the peak. She cried out, the sound loud, raw, nothing like the controlled woman who performed for the restaurant. Her fingers dug into my hair, holding me against her.
I bit down, not gently, and she cried out my name for the first time.
"Milo—"
I released her breast and kissed my way up to her throat. Found the spot where her pulse hammered wild and desperate beneath the skin.
And I bit there, too. Hard enough to bruise. Hard enough that she'd feel it tomorrow and the day after that. A mark at the base of her throat that no dress would hide.
Mine.
"Turn around," I said against her skin.
"What?"
I spun her by the hips. Pressed her back against my chest, one arm banding across her stomach, the other sliding up to wrap around her throat.
