Page 31 of Dissonance

“And when I finally give you what you want, you’ll melt into me, make that sound...” My knuckles skimming her knee, voice barely audible in the quiet of the car. “You know the one, Thea.”

Her head turns slightly, chest rising and falling quicker than before, her gaze snapping forward again.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want that, and I’ll make sure you get home safe, and I’ll walk away. Whatever you need.” The pulse point in her throat is going fast, visible even in the passing light of the streetlamps. “But if you can’t…”

Her building comes into view through the window.

“Invite me up, Mo Chridhe.”

Chapter Thirteen

Lockie

Thea doesn’t turn on the lights when the door closes. Her apartment’s all shadow and late city glow, the LA skyline spilling in through the windows. She slips off her heels without a word, and the soft sound of her bare feet disappears farther inside, her pale back glinting as she moves toward the kitchen.

I stay in the doorway for half a second, instinct already kicking in, scanning and listening for anything out of place. But there’s nothing here, only her, outlined against the city behind her, pouring two fingers of single malt into one glass while reaching for the wine bottle with her other hand.

She doesn’t have to ask; she already knows what I like. Crossing the room, I take the whiskey from her outstretched hand, my fingers brushing hers.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she murmurs, the argument long since stripped of its conviction but slipping from her lips anyway. She lifts her wine and looks at me from over the rim, fingers tightening around the stem.

I tip the whiskey back in one go, swallow, let the burn settle low in my stomach, and put the glass down.

“You always say that.” I watch her as the last of my patience runs out, my focus narrowing until she’s all I see. “And it never stops us.”

“This is such a bad idea.” The words dissolve into a breathless laugh as I close the distance and take the wine from her hand, placing it beside my empty glass.

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, Thea.”

The sound she makes is barely one at all, her eyes fluttering, pupils blown wide, nearly swallowing the green of her irises. I slide my hands into her hair, tilting her face up to mine. I just look at her. This woman, who has been under my skin for over a decade, standing in the dark of her apartment with her fingers curling around my wrists, her perfume fainter now than it was at the start of the night, leaving something warmer and unmistakably her.

The tip of her tongue moves, wetting her lips before she whispers, “Lockie.”

Everyone calls me that, but it’s never once sounded like this.

I bring my mouth to hers, feral from the first second, all teeth and tongue and sharp gasps as I grip her jaw and hold her exactly where I want her.

She grabs my shirt and pulls me closer. I groan against her mouth at the taste of her, wine and something sweet underneath. One hand at her jaw, thumb pressing into the hinge, keeping her still while I take what I’ve wanted all night. Her body knows this, knows me, the control she keeps wound so tight coming apart in my hands like it was never the obstacle she always hoped it would be.

She makes a sound—throaty and involuntary—and it goes straight through me. She breaks the kiss, panting, warm breath ghosting across my lips.

“Bedroom,” she manages, half-plea, half-command.

She slips past me, and I track the sway of her hips, the curve of her ass, the way the green silk moves when she walks. Shrugging out of my jacket, I drop it on the nearest chair, pulling my shirt free from my pants and working the buttons as I follow her down the hallway.

She’s already reaching behind her when I walk in, fingers searching for the zipper. I brush them aside, running my nose slowly up the length of her neck, breathing her in, feeling the shiver that moves through her before my mouth has even landed on her skin.

Finding the zipper, I draw it down slowly, the metallic scrape of it a whisper in the otherwise silent room. With every tooth that gives, my fingers trail the newly exposed skin, tracing her spine, goosebumps scattering across her back before the fabric’s even moved.

The dress falls away like water, pooling at her feet as she turns to face me. I take a moment, don’t even try to hide it, because Christ, she’s a fucking vision. Nothing but black lace, all clean lines and soft skin, looking up at me with those darkened eyes in the dim glow of the city through the curtains.

“Better than I remembered,” I say, which is something, because I remember everything. But I hadn’t accounted for this—for the way the real thing could make the memory I’d held of her pale in comparison.

Her hands land on my stomach, fingers spreading against my skin as she pushes upward, tracing, mapping, leaving warmth everywhere they move. We’re kissing again, unable to stop, her sliding my shirt off my shoulders while I reach behind her and flick open her bra in one move. She presses against me, bare chest to mine, the hard peaks of her nipples dragging a rumble from my chest.

I get an arm under her and carry her to the bed. Her eyes never leave mine as I lay her down, watching me with that lower lip caught between her teeth as I reach for my belt. The sharp crack of leather through the loops makes her breath hitch, thighs pressing together. I push my trousers and underwear to the floor, fisting my cock and stroking it once. Her gaze tracks down my body and back up in one slow pass that makes it very hard to think clearly.

Climbing over her, I spread her legs apart with my knee, settling between them, dropping my mouth to hers. She arches up immediately, impatient and needy, and I swallow every sweet sound she makes.