I look toward the door. Unlocked. The risk heightens everything. My pulse pounds hard enough that I can feel it in my throat. “This is insane.”
“Yes, it is,” she agrees. Then she licks all over my cock, before swallowing me down.
And then I stop speaking altogether, because the line between panic and arousal dissolves completely, and I’ve forgotten how to make words. The room feels smaller than it did a moment ago. Or maybe I’m simply more aware of it. Tile. Fluorescent lighting.The faint hum of ventilation. The thin, inadequate lock on the door that would not prevent interruption, only delay it.
Fuck me, her mouth is magic.
My hands brace on the counter behind me, knuckles whitening. I should step away. I should say something intelligent and decisive. Instead, I’m watching her, and my brain has left the building. “We could get caught.”
She glances toward the door briefly, then back at me. “Mm-hmm.”
The agreement is not reassuring. It is gasoline.
My pulse is a living thing now—heavy, insistent. The fear of discovery coils around the desire and tightens it into something almost unbearable. “You’re not thinking clearly?—”
She merely shrugs and shuttles up and down my cock like this is what she was made for. Her plump lips squeeze on me for emphasis, as if she’s trying to shut me up in the nicest way possible. Her hands are featherlight on my balls, and I have to bite back the instinctive sound that threatens to escape.
This is reckless. Professionally indefensible. Socially catastrophic. And yet, in this narrow, fluorescent-lit space, those consequences barely register.
I close my eyes briefly. This is a test of control. And I am losing. And I no longer care. I’m right on the edge of madness, thanks to Perry.
The door handle rattles faintly.
My eyes snap open.
The sound of retreating footsteps follows. The adrenaline spike is instantaneous. Brutal. Sweat trickles down my lower back.
She looks up at me, a flicker of triumph in her expression. “Still panicking?”
“Yes,” I admit. “But not about Amber.”
“Want me to stop?”
“No,” I rasp. “Never.”
There’s a moment where I recognize exactly how far I’ve crossed from proper to something else entirely. The fear sharpens everything. That soft mouth. The absolute certainty in her touch.
I reach down, fingers tangling briefly in her hair to guide her back and forth. She’s brought me too far—I can’t hold back. But I can’t say much more than her name in a warning tone.
Instead of pulling away, she grabs my hips, pulling me deeper, and it undoes me. I grab a fistful of her hair and groan when it hits, stealing my breath, my thoughts, my composure. I exhale hard, braced against the counter, pulse hammering.
She swallows, stands slowly. Adjusts her clothing like nothing extraordinary just occurred. “You’re welcome.”
I stare at her for a breath, then laugh and yank her in close for a kiss. This crazy woman might ruin me, but I’ll thank her for the privilege.
19
PERRY
Faith’s building has a doorman.
He smiles when I give her name and buzzes me in like I belong here, like I’ve always belonged here. The lobby smells faintly of eucalyptus and money. Everything is white marble and brushed gold and tasteful abstract art that probably cost more than my car.
I adjust Nicholas on my hip and balance the diaper bag on my shoulder. Walker sleeps peacefully in the stroller. They aren’t doing anything, but I have this incessant fear that they’ll somehow destroy something, and I’ll be indebted to whoever owns the building for the rest of my life. In my mind, I can clearly see myself wearing a kerchief in my hair, scrubbing the gold toilets I assume are in everyone’s apartments.
Even the elevator is quiet. Smooth and silent, sliding upward with no resistance. Perfectly clean too, which only heightens my concerns about my boys.
Faith’s apartment door opens before I knock. She looks…radiant. Soft sweater in some shade of cream that probably hasa French name. Hair in a loose low bun that somehow never frizzes. Her voice is bright, but not loud. “Perry, welcome. Please come in.”
