Page 88 of Ice Queen

Before turning and walking away, taking Maggie out the door with him. Did this asshole just play me at my own game?

Fine. Game on.

My concentration has left the building. Mandy came in around one to do her paperwork. She’s officially the manager of Tattered Pages, and I could not be more excited to get more involved in community events and less involved in the daily operations of this place. I love being here, but I love being part of the community even more.

“You alright?” Mandy asks as I drop my pen for what feels like the hundredth time in the past hour.

I blow a piece of hair out of my face. That stupid man. He knew exactly what he was doing. Coming in here, making me fall a little bit more for him, being all sweet, then the switch flipped, and he gave me all the possessive alpha male vibes, and I haven’t been able to think straight since.

It’s like I’m in a permanent state of flustered. I have a thousand ways to make him pay for it later, though.

“Yep,” I say with a little too much force. “Just thinking of how I’m going to get a bit of payback on someone.”

“Oh.” She raises her hands in front of her, steepling her fingers under her chin. “We talking frenemy payback or man friend payback?”

Heat floods my cheeks, and when I don’t respond, she clicks her tongue. “Got it, boss. Good thing you own a bookstore, ripe with ideas for that kind of payback. Although I do recommend edging, it seems to really piss them off. They get all growly. It’s hot.”

“Mandy,” I cover my face with my hands. “Please don’t, I have to face your sister at some point.”

She snorts. “Ah, pish posh. We’re all adults.” Her hand flies through the air before she disappears to the front, leaving me to run the last few reports before we close for the day.

Markus isn’t here. At first, I’m a little salty about it, but then I realize I can use it to my benefit. Turning the shower to the hottest possible setting, I quickly undress and jump in while I let the heat from the water relax my muscles. I make sure to moisturize once I get out, opting for my vanilla cupcake lotion because I’ve noticed he lingers a little longer when I have it on.

I dig through one of the drawers, pulling out the black lingerie set I’ve been dying to wear. The lace feels like a promise wrapped in material as I slide it on. I’ve never been bold in this area of my life. I never really had the chance. Wyatt wanted one thing and one thing only. For me to lie there and be quiet, let him get his fill, and then move on.

I never enjoyed it, but then after I ran, I picked up my first spicy book since college. I got to read them through a different lens, and they helped heal a part of me I didn’t even know was broken. The part of me that wanted to be desired, pursued, treasured. The part of me that realized it wasn’t wrong to want those things.

Spinning in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of my room, I take myself in. I feel beautiful. The curve of my hamstrings pops a bit, only to be outdone by the curves of my ass. All those squats and years of climbing the stairs to my apartment have done wonders for my legs. Smiling at myself, I see the sweatshirt that drove him wild the other day hanging over the back of my desk chair.

I pull it over my head, smoothing it down in the front. It hangs to my thighs, and suddenly I wish I had some of those thigh-high socks that men allegedly go crazy for. I move my head back and forth, letting my hair fall where it will behind me. A soft laugh escapes me as I do one more spin. It’s a freeing feeling to know someone is coming home and wants to be with me this way.

I freeze when a door opens, and the sensor chirps twice. My nerves start to get the better of me as I listen. Turning to face the door, I try to gauge where he is. His steps are slow and calculated as he walks down the hallway. He’s announcing his presence, and I freaking love it. Questions pop up with every step. Will he even like this? Am I enough for a man like him? Does he even see me the way I see him?

But I dismiss every single one.

His footsteps stop right outside my door, and even though I know he’s there, the soft knock makes me jump. “Princesa,” he purrs. “Are you in there?”

I take a deep inhale, letting it out before doing it once more. My hand lands on the doorknob, and I twist it slowly, pulling the door open inch by agonizing inch.

“I am,” I say, my eyes traveling from his sock-clad feet, up his grey sweatpants, to his black Henley, and finally his heavy-lidded eyes as they take in my bare legs.

“Did you need something?” I ask, leaning my hip against the frame, my hand still on the door blocking his view of my bed.

He bends, his nose sliding up my neck until he comes to a stop right next to my ear. “Now now,” he whispers, his tongue lightly brushing against the shell of it. “We both know why I’m here,” he says against me. “I’ve been so very good today.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out as a breathy huff of air. “Have you?” I ask, leaning back so I can meet his gaze. “Says who?”

I see the shift, the moment he snaps. His eyes flare, the muscle in his jaw jumps under the pressure he’s putting on it. He gives me another once over, eyes caressing every curve hidden by his sweatshirt before he moves toward me.

I make it two steps into my room before he wraps his hands around the backs of my thighs, lifting me until my legs are wrapped around his waist. “Me,” he growls, kicking the door shut behind him.

His eyes never leave mine as he walks us to my bed, laying me down softly before standing back up. His thumb swipes across his bottom lip, head shaking in awe while his eyes unashamedly trail up my body. “You’re a dream in my clothes, but hell, I’m dying to see you in my jersey,” he says, dropping to his knees on the floor and leaning over me. Shiiit. He looks so good down there, hips framed by my knees as he slides between my open legs.

“No one’s ever worn your jersey, Casanova?” I ask, trailing one finger up the middle of his chest, eyes following the path until they lock with his heated ones. My breath hitches with the intensity in his gaze, finger stilling in place for one heartbeat, two, and on the third, he grabs my hand and places a kiss on the inside of my wrist before grabbing the other before pinning them above my head.

He pulls his lip ring into his mouth, eyes darting from my face to my neck, as if he can’t decide where he wants to start. “No one that’s ever mattered,” he finally whispers. If his words didn’t threaten to do me in, the reverence in his voice sure as hell would have.

My lips fall open, heart tripping over itself as his words wrap around it. His hand finds its way into my hair, softly threading his fingers through the strands over and over, a grounding presence, but also one that conveys he isn’t rushing this. He isn’t here just to get it over with.