“But I don’t have any other clothes.”
I can see his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows, like he’s wrestling with some sort of inner demon.
He disappears into a closet—it is his bedroom—and reappears to practically throw a shirt at me.
Mumbling my thanks, I turn to leave. Then I feel his hand on the back of my neck.
I don’t have time to scream as he crushes our mouths together.
This isn’t some hesitant, chaste, blush-of-first-love kiss. This is possession and ownership and “I am going to make sure you know you’re mine and make you taste the blood after I kill this motherfucker.”
I can’t even breathe as he kisses me. The swell of raw power is like being tossed in the ocean—where he loves toswim—in the middle of a hurricane. I have to just give in. His hands are everywhere, under the dress, squeezing my ass, tangling in my hair, forcing my head back so he can take my mouth. I’ve never been kissed like this.
I’m drowning in him.
I claw at his broad chest. Something surges in me, some sort of hungry monster from the deep. Suddenly all I want is him.
Salinger wrenches himself away from me. He’s breathing hard. In the dark, his eyes are pools of black.
“You,” he spits out. “You picked that dress on purpose.”
My tongue darts out to lick my lips. “I didn’t wear it for you.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He’s about to lose control.
He hooks two fingers in the little cutout at the bodice. They’re hard against the softness of my breasts. He yanks me toward him. My head snaps forward.
I feel him hard through his pants. “Not everything is about you, you know.” I force myself away from him.
Terrifying desire lights his eyes. “Don’t you dare say it was for Aaron, either. You were trying to fuck with me.”
My fingers drift up to the neckline of my dress again.
“Get out.” He lunges.
I scramble backward, tripping through the doorway. “Out of your house or…”
“Justout. Before I rip that fucking dress off you, throw you on the floor, and fuck you ’til you scream.” He slams the bedroom door in my face.
I stand there a moment, trying to catch my breath.
Then, one hand on the wall to support me, I make my way down the hall. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go.It’s a large penthouse. Does he want me to stay in the living room?
He only gave me a shirt, though. I can’t just lounge around in his living room in a thin T-shirt and no panties.
A few doors down, I creak open a door to reveal a magazine-worthy bedroom, like a set for a movie. The bathroom is the same, like out ofArchitectural Digest—beautiful, expensive, completely devoid of personality. Don’t think I’m complaining, though. It’s bigger than my entire apartment and has hot water. There’s even a chain cactus hanging in the window.
I step in the shower, and warm water cascades down my bare skin. Gasping, I run my hands over myself, thinking back to the kiss. So sudden. It was like my deepest, darkest fantasy come to life.
My slit feels full and heavy, ready to wrap around a thick, hot—
We’re not going there.
I turn off the water and step out onto the plush bathmat. As I towel-dry my hair, I can’t stop thinking about Salinger touching me. What would it be like to be thrown to the floor and fucked in my aching pussy?
I slip under the silky sheets, but I’m restless. It’s the lack of panties—it’s erotic, dangerous.
There are footsteps in the hall. They pause outside the door.
