"Lead the way."
She looks down at the ruined underwear, then back up at me. "I can't walk home with?—"
I shrug out of my jacket and wrap it around her waist—heavy canvas, hanging to mid-thigh. It covers what needs covering and makes it abundantly clear to anyone who looks that she's wearingmyclothes. The possessive part of me, the dark part I usually keep bolted shut, has zero objections to that visual.
"Better?"
"Much." She threads her fingers through mine like it's something she's done before. "I hope you don't have anywhere to be in the morning."
"Clear schedule." We start walking. I keep her tucked against my side, still cataloging the street out of habit, but most of my attention is on the way she smells—hot skin and sex and the faint trace of my cologne transferred from my jacket. "I've got the entire weekend free."
She tips her head up. "Good." Her voice drops to something soft and deliberate. "I want you to use every hour of it."
The words land low and hard. I glance down at her.
"Every hour," I repeat.
"However you want." She holds my gaze, no flicker of hesitation anywhere in her face. "I meant what I said in that alley."
I pull her closer and say nothing. There's nothing to say. She's just handed me the entire weekend and wrapped it in a bow, and the part of me that's supposed to stay detached and operational has gone completely, utterly offline.
Her apartment is in a converted Victorian two blocks over—steep stairs, narrow hallways, the kind of building that settles and creaks like it's breathing. She fumbles with the keys at the entrance. I take them from her, unlock the heavy door, and hand them back without comment. Her hands are steadier by the second landing.
"Third floor." Her voice hasn't lost that low, heated edge. "All the way up."
The stairs creak under our feet. By the second landing, anticipation has turned into something with actual physical pressure behind it. By the third, I've decided I'm keeping her in this building for the foreseeable future.
At her door, she takes the keys, unlocks it on the first try, and pushes it open.
I follow her inside and press her back against the door before it's finished closing. Her breath catches. I hold her there—one hand braced beside her head, the other tilting her chin up—and wait for her to look at me.
"You said something to me at the bar." My thumb traces her jaw. "About when we got here."
Recognition moves through her eyes. Then heat.
"I said I was going to take off this dress." Her hands find the hem. "And let you do whatever you want with me."
She pulls it over her head in one fluid motion and drops it. Stands there in nothing but high heels and the aftermath of a dark alley, chin lifted, completely bare and completely certain.
"I keep my promises, Kade."
The door is still at her back. I haven't moved. I take one long moment to look at her—all of her—and let her watch me do it.Let her feel exactly what it means to be looked at like that. Her chest rises and falls faster. A flush crawls up her throat.
Good.
"Good." I close the distance between us, drop my mouth to her ear. "So do I. Every single thing I'm going to do to you tonight—I promised myself that in the bar. Before you ever asked me to walk you home."
She makes a soft, wrecked sound.
"Bedroom's down the hall." Her voice has gone unsteady. "Couch is closer."
"Not a chance." I scoop her up. She wraps her bare legs around my waist and drags her lips along my jaw, her breath hot against my skin, her hips already rolling against mine with a slow, deliberate grind that makes my grip tighten to the edge of bruising.
"Bed." The word comes out rough. Final. "Lights on. I want you spread out in front of me where I can see every inch." My mouth finds the curve of her neck. "And little bird—" I bite down, just hard enough to make her gasp, "—we're not sleeping until I've had every single thing you promised me."
A full-body shudder tears through her. She points down the dark hallway with a trembling hand.
I carry her through it.
