He lifts the bouquet slightly.
“Sharp as ever, Little Grim,” he says, and waits for me to take it.
I take the bouquet because what else am I supposed to do? My fingers close around the stems, and Talon’s eyes track the movement in a way so blatant, so hungry, it sends heat straight between my legs.
He doesn’t bother hiding it.
I feel myself getting wet just from that look, and I really, really don’t want to. Not with Hailey and Lila watching me like two blushing schoolgirls.
I force my face neutral and step out into the hall. I shut the door behind me, and only when the latch clicks do I let out a breath.
“What,” I whisper, “are you doing?”
Talon leans one shoulder against the wall, hands sliding casually into his pockets, suit pulling perfectly across his chest. That smug, molten grin curves his mouth.
“Celebrating,” he murmurs.
“Celebrating what?”
“You’ll see,” he says, and pushes off the wall.
He steps into my space. He smells like a cologne I don’t know, one he probably stole from somewhere. Smells expensive and warm and very musky. His hand lifts, brushing the edge of my jaw with two fingers, and then his mouth is on mine.
His tongue slips past my lips immediately and the kiss turns filthy in a heartbeat. A low sound tears out of my throat as he drags his tongue against mine, wet and possessive, and his body presses me back into the wall with the full, hard line of him.
“Talon….”
“God, your mouth,” he groans against my lips. “I swear I get hard the second you open it.”
As if to prove it, he grinds against me, and I can feel the thick, rigid length of his cock along the top of my thigh.
Heat rushes straight between my legs, my pussy going soft and wet so fast it makes me dizzy.
“Talon,” I choke out, “we’re, fuck, we’re in the hallway.”
“I don’t care,” he mutters, mouth grazing mine again like he can’t help himself. “I need you to remember this is a good thing, not a bad thing.”
“What? What is?”
But he doesn’t answer. He catches my hand and pulls me with him down the hallway like we’re running from an altar, like he’s some rebellious groom determined to piss off everything and everyone, and all he cares about is getting to me.
And then there’s me, completely out of place. Regular jeans, a blue T-shirt, a black open sweater thrown on top, and I’m pretty sure there are a couple pieces of popcorn stuck to it. I look completely freaking random.
What the fuck?
As if he can read my thoughts, he doesn’t take me to the bottom floor. He takes me one level up instead, straight to his room. When we get there, he opens the door and gestures for me to go in alone.
“There’s a box on the bed,” he says. “It’s a dress. Put it on.”
I just stare at him, more dumbfounded than ever. A dress? For me? Since when do we care about dressing like some goddamn mafia family? I’ve always been a sweats-and-hoodies kind of girl. Sweats and hoodies that he, along with the others, has brought me more times than I can count.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he says. “Just do it.”
I feel awkward about it, but with the way he looks in this goddamn suit, I don’t have the heart to deny him. So I step inside, close the door behind me, and cross the room to the bed. The box is right where he said it would be, waiting like it belongs there. I lift the lid.
And for a second, my brain just… stops.
Inside is the most magnificent dress I’ve ever seen, which is saying something considering I don’t even like dresses. It’s a fullball gown, black at the top and falling all the way to the floor, and then the color shifts at the waist into midnight blue, a soft gradient like the sky deepening after sunset. Over it all is a layer of tulle embedded with a thousand tiny silver dots, and when the light catches them, they glint like stars.
