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Whoever she is, she’s mine.
She fucking belongs to me.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
First I have to head inside to check if she left any of the bundles behind. I should’ve asked Maury exactly how many he’d stored here, so I’d know if she’d taken any. But I doubt Maury himself would even have the answer for that. All of this was so damn clumsy on his part.
Not that it matters.
Nothing is going to stop me from paying a visit to this woman.
My woman.
The future mother to my children.
Chapter Five
Kimberly
I place the bag on the floor when I walk into our apartment, letting Tinkerbell leap out of it and start sniffing around. She likes to sniff everywhere the moment she returns, as though she’s making sure that no other animals have been messing with her things while she’s away. She gives a whine when she realizes that Jackie isn’t home yet.
“I’m sorry, girl,” I say, walking into the kitchen. It’s time to see to those dishes. “She won’t be much longer.”
The open house didn’t take as long as I thought it would. I even got the bald man and his husband to sign up their interest, so hopefully, that will keep Alexis at bay for a little while.
Tinkerbell was the belle of the ball, melting everybody’s hearts.
I feel like an idiot for hiding her in the first place.
I just hope Alexis feels the same.
I start taking dishes out from the sink, laying them on the counter, shaking my head when I see that Jackie has once again forgotten to rinse off her cereal bowl. It’s a constant battle with us, one of those minor wars that make up living together.
I’m just about to start running the faucet when two heavy knocks sound from elsewhere in the apartment.
At first, I think Tinkerbell has fallen or something.
But when I walk into the hallway, they come again, two pounding knocks.
Bang-bang.
Like a giant’s at the door.
I walk toward the apartment door, stifling a sigh.
The only time people knock is when they want to complain about Tinkerbell’s barking. But it makes no sense. She hasn’t been here all freaking day, so what the heck do they have to complain about?
I grip the metal handle and pull the door open slowly, plastering a fake smile onto my face.
Then I let out a quivering sigh from between my tight-clenched lips.
The man fills the doorframe, looming over me in a suit the color of iron. His hair is the same silver shade, swept to the side, and his eyes are a shade of blue so pale they seem almost silver, too. His body throbs from within the prison of his suit, every part of him massive, hulking, the sort of body that could snap me in half and think nothing of it. A subtle smirk plays at his lips. His jaw is square, strong. A steel-colored watch glints from his wrist.
Every part of him screams power.
Every part of him roars control.
“Uh, hello,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He’s an older man, maybe forty, and that sets crazy gears whirring inside of me. My mind goes to impossible places, like this older man laying me down in bed and then leaning over me, his muscles pressing against my body, his hot breath whispering over my neck.
“I’m going to teach you how to please a man,” I imagine him growling. “I’m going to show you how to take a dick, how to bounce, the right noises to make when I suck on your nipples. Can you do what you’re told? Can you do that for me?”
I almost gasp out yes, as if I’ve forgotten that this is all in my head.
“You must be Kimberly,” the man says casually as if he has all the time in the world.
I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
Suddenly, I’m horribly aware of how tight-fitting my realtor clothes are, how they hug onto my belly and my too-big hips. I wish I was wearing a baggy hoodie and sweatpants.
Or a sheet.
Anything so he didn’t have to stare at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, regaining some semblance of balance now. I force my voice to be artificially bright, the same way it is when I’m at work. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”
His smirk twitches at the corners. “No, I don’t believe we have either,” he says.
His voice is cool and calm, and yet beneath it lingers a growl, as though he could erupt into beast like roaring at any moment. Something like rage flares in his eyes.
Is he angry at me?
“Can I help you?” I say, unable to repress a moaning noise.
God, he must think I’m a dork.
“Oh, Kimberly,” he smirks. “There are many things you can do for me. But first, you need to tell me something.”
“What?” I whisper.
“Where is the rest of my product?” he says.
