Page 73 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

I was half-tempted to follow up with an orthopedic doctor to ask if I could maybe switch to a brace. Or one of those 3D-printed casts.

Someone took mercy on me at Gav’s apartment building, helping me with the door then holding the tray of coffees while I wrapped up my umbrella.

When Gav opened the door, his gaze flicked over me in a way that had my belly wobbling.

“You look like a magazine spread for a fall fashion line.”

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one,” he said, taking the tray from me as I moved into his apartment.

“Oh, memories,” I said, smirking as I stared at his dining room chair.

“I know, right? I’m almost a little nostalgic for the handcuffs,” he said as he grabbed and took a sip of the wrong coffee before I could stop him.

Which I counted as a win because I got to watch the look of horror cross his face as he forced himself to swallow.

“The fuck is that?” he grumbled as I moved toward him.

“Pumpkin spice latte,” I told him. “You have a little whipped cream,” I said, reaching up to wipe it from the corner of his lips.

I froze as his gaze cut to mine, the heat so intense there that I felt scorched.

I brought my finger to my own mouth, tasting the whipped cream, but mostly enjoying the way his eyes went heavy-lidded at the gesture.

The second my finger was out of my mouth, his hand grabbed the back of my neck, yanking me hard enough to make me tumble into his chest.

I would have paused to really appreciate the desperation and how good he felt against me, but then his face was lowering, and his lips were crashing into mine, and everything else fell away. But the heat, but the pressure, but the feel of his lips slanting over mine again and again.

I felt myself moving, then slamming back against the kitchen counter.

Gav broke the kiss just long enough to grab me behind my legs, lifting me up and depositing me on the counter. He pressed into my knees, then stepped into the space as my legs spread for him.

His lips claimed mine again—harder, hungrier.

My arms wrapped around him as his hands grabbed my hips, shifting me, angling me, then pressing his pelvis against mine, his cock hard against the confines of his slacks.

I moaned against his mouth as pleasure started between my legs and shot up my spine, every nerve ending honed in on the sensation as he rocked his hips and ground against me.

His tongue took advantage of my parted lips, moving inside to stroke mine.

My legs locked around his lower back, holding him more firmly against me as I writhed.

We’d just found the pressure and rhythm I liked when there was a sharp knock at the door.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Gav grumbled as he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to mine.

A disappointed little whimper escaped me as he pulled back, his eyes full of regret, but there was another knock that had him sighing, then taking a few deep breaths before making his way over to the door.

I didn’t quite trust my legs to hold me, but remembered to at least press them closed again before Gav pulled open the door.

“Got word you were back in—” a voice started, then stopped, as the man spotted me.

It was the same one from the time before. The big guy with the warm eyes.

Spotting me sitting there, his lips twitched, then lost the fight with the smile, making a dimple press in at his cheek, forming a long line that almost looked like a scar.

“Shouldn’t he be chained to the chair?” he asked, nodding his head toward his brother.