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“Like what circumstances? When would you find yourself in need of a woman to blow you?” I’d asked, searching for common ground. Something I could claim as true for “all men.”
“Well…if I were really horny, really fucked up—and she took control of the situation—can’t really see myself pushing her away.”
That sort of fit. I had been horny. I’ve been fucked up in the head awhile. However, Olivier hadn’t taken control. I’d shoved my cock in his mouth like a fucking predator…God…
What had I done?
“Was it good?” Silas had asked me just as I rolled over and tried to close my eyes again.
“I don’t know.”
“I have no basis for comparison, you understand, but I’ve always been told men give better head than women.”
“Not sure anyone can say that a hundred percent across the board,” I’d said, in women’s defense. I’ve been with some who’ve had some pretty sexy moves.
“In your experience then?” Silas asked. “Or were you asking for a friend?”
“It was me,” I groaned.
“And?”
“Yeah,” I felt forced to admit. “It was better.” My stomach had cramped then, and I’d drawn my knees up to my chest. I spared Silas the details.
The worst thing about that conversation with Silas this afternoon? I got hard during it because I’d been remembering too much.
Now I can barely keep my eyes open, and it’s just past midnight. I’m nodding off again, in fact, the heavy weight of exhaustion drawing my eyes shut, when the door opens, and I jump up, rushing to do my damn job. But it’s Olivier, looking at me all confused, like why the hell did he have to open the door all by himself.
“You okay, Jack?” he asks.
“Fine. I was on the phone,” I say shortly. “Where’s your date?”
He balks, blinking up at me, and I realize suddenly—the audacity.
“I mean—are you alone tonight?”
That’s also not any of my fucking business. It’s not like I ask Babs that every time she comes in.
He just stares.
“Forget it. Apologies. Can I get you your mail while you wait for the elevator?”
“Why are you so chatty all of a sudden?” he asks, striding into the heated lobby and slipping off his winter coat to lay it smoothly over his arm.
I shut my mouth and vow not to say another word. I punch the up button and go back to my seat.
He leans on the wall dividing the lobby from the vestibule. “What’s with you?”
“Nothing. Have a nice evening.”
“You said that already. Curious whether you mean it or not.”
I check the front door to make sure no one’s coming before I turn to look up at him. His hair is perfectly untamed, curls falling across his forehead like someone professionally styled them. He’s got his collar buttoned all the way up, but it can’t hide all my marks. Something base and primal licks at the back of my mind, satisfied. If anyone can pull off a strangled neck, it’s this guy.
“Just doing my job, Mr. Arnaud.”
“Hm. Well…”
The elevator doors slide open, and he glances back at them. We both know it’s now or never.
