Page 93 of Cozen

The way her hips swayed …

It was memorizing, really.

Like this, when it was just the two of them, Sargon didn’t have to pretend that he wasn’t interested in Cozen. Like everything about her—all the things he knew, and even the stuff he didn’t know—called out to him like nothing else ever had before.

She was a siren.

Her song sung just for him.

Fuck him for wanting her.

At the back door, Cozen fiddled with keys until she found the right one to unlock the building. Sargon held the door open as she slipped inside, and then he quickly followed. When she looked back at him and caught him staring at her backside again, her gaze narrowed a bit before her laughter lit up the hall.

“See something you like?” she asked.

“What’s not to fucking like, Zen?”

She shot him a simpering smile that promised all sorts of naughty things, and made his cock semi-hard at the thought alone. The smoky eye makeup gave her a demure look, and he bet it would look even better when she was staring up at him.

Like maybe those painted-red lips of hers wrapped around his cock while she was on her knees. He liked the thought of smearing her lipstick a bit while he fucked her mouth, and watching that makeup smudge under his handling.

It was a pretty image.

His mind was creative.

And entirely punishing.

“What’s on your mind?” Cozen asked him as they took the stairs to her floor. He still opted to stay a couple of paces behind her. “You look like you’re thinking awfully hard about something back there, Sargon.”

“You on your knees with your mouth on my dick, water in your eyes, and your makeup a mess. I was trying to decide whether I would leave your hair up, or take it all down. I like it down, you know. Makes it easier to wrap my hands in.”

She had not been expecting that response. Sargon saw it in the way her shoulders tensed, and she almost missed a step. Then, she shot him a look over her shoulder—those russet eyes of hers darkened with lust instantly.

Sargon winked. “You did ask.”

“Is that all you think about when you’re around me?”

No.

Not even close.

“I also wonder why you prefer to sleep in a pile of blankets rather than on a proper bed. I’m curious if you’re a morning person, and if so, do you take coffee, or tea. You wear red a lot when you’re not working—is it a favorite color, or is there another reason you like the color? Have you ever been in love; what are your motives here; can I trust you?”

Cozen turned to face him just as they came to a stop in front of her apartment door. She glanced between the door, and him before whispering, “Come in and stay the evening. Maybe you’ll get all the answers you’re looking for, Sargon.”

“That sounds like more games, Cozen.”

She peered up at him through thick lashes. “I thought you liked my games?”

Sargon moved close enough to Cozen that he could smell the lingering perfume she had worn that day. A perfume he had smelled on her more than once. He figured it must have been a favorite of hers.

A sugary scent mixed with cinnamon, or something in that area. It soaked into his lungs with every breath, and he swore he would never be able to forget that smell. He associated sugar and spice with her, now.

Sweet.

Hot.

The memory was strange.