Page 24 of Crease Collision

“Arlo Midtown. Do you know it?”

I shake my head. “Heard of it. What’s the address?”

“West 38th Street, between Eighth and Ninth.”

A Manhattan map appears in my mind, and I come up with a route and point south. “We can walk down Eighth, since we’re already on it.”

What will I do if he wants to have sex again?

As if I don’t know.

The light changes so we can cross, and I glance at him. “Let’s go.”

Thirty minutes later, we arrive at the Arlo. I barely notice the lobby except for the cold air that feels freezing after being outside. He guides us to the elevator, and when we exit into the twenty-third-floor hallway, he nods to the right. “This way.”

His room turns out to be a suite. We step into a sitting area with modern furniture, and there’s a bedroom through an open doorway. To one side is a king-size bed, and a floor-to-ceiling window offers a killer view of Midtown. Whatever Oskar does for a living, his new company obviously thinks he’s worth a splurge.

“Like it?” he asks, turning to face me.

“It’s amazing. That has to be one of the best views in the city.”

He looks me over from head to foot. “The buildings are okay, but I would rather look at you.”

My brain grinds to a halt. “Oh.”

He tilts his head as his lips twitch. “Du är så fin, Kai.” His cheeks are flushed from our walk in the sun.

I start thinking about Norse gods again, and my throat goes dry. “Which means?”

“You are so fine.”

I swallow so hard my throat clicks.

He takes a step closer and licks his lips. “Fan. I cannot stop looking.”

With him speaking Swedish, there is no chance in hell I can resist. I close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them, he steps forward until our shoes are touching.

“You’re quiet,” he says. His Swedish accent seems more pronounced than usual.

“Just tired,” I lie. He says nothing, so I add, “And hot.”

“Ah, yes.” He raises his hand and traces my jaw with his fingertips. “You are so very hot.”

His touch sends a powerful jolt of desire through me. “I should shower.”

“Perhaps I could join you?” His eyes are so dark they look feverish.

“Yes.”

In the bathroom, we waste no time taking off our clothes. It’s a large rainfall shower, and he spends a little time adjusting the water temperature. When I step under the spray, it’s perfect.

“Should I wash your back?” he asks. “Or perhaps first…” He trails off, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

“What?”

Instead of answering, he sinks to his knees. My brain is half a step behind, and when it catches up, I gasp. My mind goes back to our first time together, how focused he was on my pleasure, but this feels different. More deliberate, almost worshipful.

“Oskar, what⁠—”