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“Sexy” doesn’t even begin to describe her curvy little body. Every soft, feminine inch of her seems to be designed with my newly discovered preferences in mind. Her creamy skin is dotted in a few places with an appealing smattering of freckles, and her ass is the best I’ve ever seen: full and heart-shaped, infinitely squeezable. Or at least I imagine it is—I somehow managed to keep my hands off it as I devoured her mouth.
And then, of course, there are those luscious breasts of hers, the sensual dip in her navel, and her small, perfectly shaped feet with red-painted toenails.
Fuck, even her little toes turn me on.
“So, about the door,” she starts again when I remain silent, eyeing her hungrily. “Should I call a repairman or…?” She lets the question trail off.
“I’ll do it,” I say huskily, and forcing myself to look away from the temptation of her, I pull out my phone.
My butler, Geoffrey, picks up on the first ring, and I inform him of the situation. “I need someone over here within the hour,” I tell him, and he promises that it will be done.
I hang up and see Emma staring at me with her mouth open, the big cat back in her arms.
“Someone is going to come on a Friday night?” she asks incredulously. “As in, right away?”
“Of course. You can’t not have a door overnight.”
It makes perfect sense to me, but she’s looking at me like I’ve sprouted a horn on my forehead—and so is her cat. “On a Friday night,” she mutters, stroking the fluffy creature. “Yeah, okay, sure.”
“We’ll stay here until they’re done,” I say, shrugging out of my coat. Even with the cold draft coming in, it’s still too hot inside the apartment for me to wear it. Draping it over the back of the only chair I see, I tell her, “It’ll take them a little while to fix it, so we should probably go ahead and eat. Any preferences for delivery or takeout around here?”
She blinks. “You… want to have dinner here?”
“Of course.” I frown. “Unless you’re not hungry?”
“Oh, no, I’m hungry,” she assures me, propping the cat higher on her chest. “I just figured that given what happened, we would, you know, reschedule or whatever.”
Oh, no. There’s no way I’m leaving her alone in a Brooklyn apartment with a broken door leading to the street. Granted, this is not what I envisioned for our second date, but I don’t mind this development one bit—though she did almost give me a heart attack with all the falling sounds and the screaming.
I thought she’d gotten seriously hurt, and the chilling fear I’d experienced had been entirely out of proportion to the length of our acquaintance.
I don’t want to analyze why that is, or why I don’t have any desire to escape her cramped basement studio. It reminds me of the apartment my mother and I had lived in when I was in middle school, and I hated that place, so by all logic, I should hate this too. But I get an entirely different vibe here. Even though the only window in Emma’s studio is the same tiny slit near the ceiling that we’d had, and the paint on her walls is also peeling in places, the stink of alcohol and desperation is missing.
Her apartment is rundown and tiny, but it’s cozy. A home, not just a place to crash.
Of course, if there were no cats, it would be even better. I can see two more white furry creatures poking their heads from under the bed, their big green eyes staring at me. Judging by all the meowing I’d heard when Emma fell, I have a strong suspicion they—or the huge one in her arms—were somehow responsible.
“We’re not rescheduling,” I tell Emma firmly. “I’m here, and you’re here, and that”—I point at her tiny desk—“will work as a table. All we need is food, and if you tell me what you want, I can have it delivered or ask my driver to bring it to us.”
Before she can respond, the big cat meows, fluffy tail swishing from side to side as he gives me a threatening look from his perch on Emma’s chest. I glare back at him. I know he did that hissing-meowing thing while we were making out on purpose, to cockblock me.
If not for that, Emma and I might’ve made it all the way to her narrow bed, and I would now be balls deep inside her sweet, lush body.
“Sorry,” she says, stroking the creature to calm him down. “He’s just…”
“Possessive, I know.” I would be too, if she petted me like that. In fact, just watching her small hand move over the cat’s white fur is making me jealous.
I want her to touch me like that, to run her soft hands all over my body.
