I wish I could stay, not sneak out once she falls asleep. I wish I could tell her where I’m going, and why, and expect anything except disgust on her face.
I sip more vodka to ensure none of that comes out. “Let me see you.”
A smile flickers across her face. “Please.”
“I do not know that word.”
Carina rolls her eyes before slipping off her long coat, revealing the maroon dress underneath again. She tosses the coat on the neatly made bed.
“That will be in the way.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Then move it.”
I hide a grin behind another swallow.
Carina has grown bolder, more confident, over the many years we’ve known each other. She is comfortable around me, talking back or touching without asking permission. She’s the only woman with those privileges. The only person whose orders I listen to voluntarily.
I set the glass down on the table beside the bed, then pick up her coat. I fling the bundle of gray wool onto the leather armchair where I was sitting earlier, then take a seat on the end of the mattress, giving her my full attention. “Take off the dress, Carina.”
It’s not a request. My limited patience is fraying, everything I handled earlier and what’s waiting for me after this shredding my willpower to scraps. If my bossiness didn’t get her so wet, I’d be more motivated to control it.
My incessant need to fuck her doesn’t worry me. What bothers me—what’s always bothered me—is how easily I forget to act a certain way around her.
Carina holds my gaze as she steps out of her heels. Pulls the pins out of her hair so the long strands spill over her shoulders in a dark, heavy veil. Rolls her black stockings down, exposingmore pale skin beneath. A private show, meant only for me. I can’t have her body whenever I want, so the thrill of seeing it never fades.
She pivots in place, elegant as a ballerina, so her back is facing me. “I can’t reach the zipper.”
I stand, approaching slowly so she hears each step. Carina sweeps all her brunette hair over one shoulder, exposing her back.
My fingers brush along the straight column of her neck before finding the tiny tab of the zipper below two visible vertebrae.
“How did you get dressed?” I tug at the delicate zipper, my knuckles brushing each bump of her spine as the metal teeth part.
“I-Isabella.”
I pull slow, her rapid breathing and the metal rasp as the zipper opens audible in the quiet room. She’s not wearing a bra, and the band of her underwear belongs to a lacy pair I know she did not wear for her performance earlier.
My hands lower.
Hers lift, slipping the straps off her shoulders so her dress pools on the floor in a pile of silky fabric. She spins again, completing the circle, giggling when she notices my eyes drop to admire her body. The sound is nearly foreign. Laughter has never been part of sex with anyone else.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Carina complains, reaching out and starting to undo the line of buttons on my black shirt. “Guess I’ll have to do all the work.”
A smile remains on her face as nimble fingers move lower. I hold still, enjoying her touch, even through the stiff fabric. My being naked isn’t necessary for what’s about to take place. And I should be rushing this so I can get to the warehouse before the snitch changes his mind.
Instead, my hands land on her hips, holding her close. Then slide to cup her ass, adjusting us so my hardening cock grazes her. “You never do all the work.”
“Because you’re too impatient.”
I don’t argue. I am.
Once my shirt is open, her hands slip under the crisp fabric. I was late because I showered and changed first, not wanting any remnant of earlier to come into contact with her.
One finger traces the scar slashed across the left side of my ribs. “It healed well,” she says softly.
My phone begins buzzing again.
Carina glances toward the sound, then back to me, a silent question on her face.
