Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“You were watching me,” she says coyly, moving closer.
“The dance floor is hard to miss.”
“That’s not what I said.”
I look at her in the dim corridor and don’t bother disagreeing.
She shifts her weight, that half step of someone who’s recalibrating. “About what you said in my office—”
“You’ve been thinking about it.”
“I’ve been thinking about how ridiculous it is,” she says with a dismissive wave. “You can’t make a bargain without naming the terms. That’s not how things are done.”
I push off the wall and close the distance between us in two steps, her back meeting the opposite wall with a soft sound before I’m kissing her. She sighs into my mouth, compliant, which tells me she doesn’t have a single worry about someone seeing us. We’re in a private area, the music dulled, and I could be a gentleman and remind her that someone could walk up on us.
But I’m not a gentleman and I don’t give a fuck if anyone walks into this craziness.
Livia kisses me back like she’s been thinking about it since the last time and that knowledge is very dangerous to me.
I lift my head.
She’s breathless and her eyes open to find mine, her hand fisted in my shirt.
“You were saying something about ridiculous,” I say.
“Stop.” But she doesn’t let go of my shirt.
“You’re not pushing me away.”
“Locke—”
“I’m just noting it.” I drop my hand to her hip. “For the record.”
She licks her lower lip. “We’re in a bar. There are people…”
“Back here there aren’t.”
She glances down the corridor. Empty. The music is a wall of sound between us and everyone else.
“Your bargain is ridiculous,” she says again, but she’s lost some of her conviction and we both hear it.
“You already said that.”
“Well, it is,” she insists, her hand tightening onto my shirt.
“Tell me to stop kissing you then,” I challenge. “Mean it.”
She doesn’t.
My hand moves from her hip, slow, deliberate, giving her every opportunity to stop it, down the outside of her thigh and back up, and she pulls in a breath that she tries to keep quiet. My fingers find her inner thigh through the denim and her whimper against my throat breaks me down from the inside out.
“Locke.” My name in her mouth sounds different right now. Less warning than the last several times she’s said it.
“Tell me to stop,” I say.
“We can’t—not here—”
No, not here. As much as I don’t care if anyone sees us, her reputation would be ruined.
“I know.” I keep my hand where it is, pressure through the denim, and feel her shift against it and bite back whatever sound was coming. “Let’s get out of here.”
She lifts her head and looks at me and the buzzed softness in her eyes is different from what has been there since the first time I kissed her.
“Okay,” she says.
We exit out the back into the alley and Livia grabs my hand. I almost jerk away but think better of it and tighten my grip. I lead her around the block, down two more to the parking garage.
I drove my car tonight since it’s easier to park than my truck. It’s on the second level and she follows me up the stairwell without talking, which is unusual for her.
The parking structure at this hour is dim and quiet. I unlock the car—an Audi Q8, dark gray, heavily tinted windows to give absolute privacy—and open the door for her to slide in. I catch a brief glimpse of her looking up at me with determination and I know we’re both in trouble.
I glance around, see there’s no one else in the garage, and get into the driver’s seat.
“This is all kinds of wrong,” she murmurs as I shift in my seat to face her.
“We haven’t really done anything yet,” I say.
“Your hand was between my legs,” she breathes out, her words laced with shame.
“You’re buzzed.” I offer the excuse to see if she’ll latch onto it.
“But in control of my decisions,” she laments, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. But then she looks up at me. “I get to hear all about your family?”
I almost feel bad for her. She looks lost, wrestling with professionalism and pure female desire. “If it makes you feel better to trade it, sure.”
I said it to shame her, make her realize that I’m still going to give up information somewhat under duress. She takes it as a challenge instead, and quips, “It’s for the greater good, I suppose. You can kiss me now.”
This is different from the impulsivity of the kiss we shared in the bar. There’s no crowd on the other side of a wall, no reason to be quiet, no professional framework within a hundred yards of either of us.
I softly cup her nape again and bring her to my mouth. She leans across the console, making a sound that thickens my dick. Her hands find my jaw and I get my hand in her hair and the whole thing escalates faster than either of us imagined.