Page 11 of Dirty Dealers


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I’m out the door just as the noise of my Uber greets me from the curb. Jumping inside, I close the door and look back out of habit. My little brother isn’t little anymore. I’ll do what I must to get him to safety, then I’ll let

him go.

Learning

Logan

I’m on fire after spending less than an hour in her presence. Pushing through the door of my apartment, I hardly notice the bare walls, the absence of photographs, and only the most basic furniture. All I can see is her—her beautiful hair, her soft lips, her gorgeous body—all of which my memory is able to conjure perfectly. Every curve, every slope, every sweep is clear as a bell in my mind. How did this happen? It’s the most amazing stroke of luck I found her.

I pace the enormous space, desire humming in my veins. This luxurious loft-studio is basically a crash pad for me between shifts at the palace. A maid service keeps it clean, otherwise it’s still white walls, dark wood floors. A king-sized bed made up in navy sheets is against the wall in the far right corner, the dark wooden headboard a stark contrast to the sparse surroundings. A full-length mirror is beside it, but I don’t even pause.

I head straight for the bathroom, ripping off my blazer and throwing it on the chair. I pull the shirt over my head and unfasten my jeans, shoving them to the floor as I step into the glass-encased shower. Spinning the dials, I let the warm spray cover me, rubbing my hands over my face, trying to get a handle on this.

Expensive body wash waits on the rack. It smells of rain forests and some such shit, but the suds are rich and lubricating. I lean my head against my forearm and work out the frustration of needing her right here in my fucking expensive-assed shower.

With my eyes closed, I’m immediately back, her beautiful body wrapped around mine, the cool salt water swirling around us as I hold her against my chest and sink into her warm depths. Soft lips touch my ear and her little moans send electricity straight to my cock.

“Kass…” I groan, massaging as the sparks of electricity snake up my legs.

I remember the feel of our kiss tonight, the noise that ached from her throat when I claimed her. I could still see the dark, hardened peaks of her nipples, feel them between my lips, until I finish with a low groan of longing, of needing to have her with me.

Fuck, it’s like the least-fulfilling appetizer in the most expensive restaurant along the Avenue Princesse Grace.

One restless night and one endless day later I’m on a motorcycle headed into the La Condamine as fast as the city traffic will allow.

Her flat is in a series of converted warehouse buildings in the port district. My chest is tight, and fuck, I can’t wait to see her again. I park the bike outside the industrial-styled structure, prop my helmet on the seat, and exhale as I let my eyes travel up the colorful doors of the warehouse building. Out here in the alley, the hanging lights over the cafés are growing brighter as the sun starts to set.

I have no idea how she feels. Hell, she could be seeing someone. That kiss last night was amazing. Our chemistry is something we never could deny, but it’s not a guarantee of anything. Six years is a long time.

Glancing at my watch, I’m a few minutes early. I debate walking around the colorful block as I leave my bike beside the wooden tree-box. Just then, the door to her apartment starts to open. I jog forward to catch it, my eyes straining for her beautiful face, when I draw back quickly.

“Tasses-toi de mon chemin!” A stocky little man in a grey driver’s cap pushes past me. His head is at my ribcage and he’s holding the leash for a grey terrier dressed in a plaid jacket.

“Excusez-moi,” I say, catching the door over his head.

I almost laugh at myself. This grumpy old man is not the vision of loveliness I was straining to see. Still, I’m here, holding the front door to her walkup apartment. A narrow flight of stairs leads to a landing above, and I step inside, letting the metal door close behind me with a slam. My humor is gone when I realize this is not safe at all. I could be anyone walking in off the street without her knowledge.

The lighting is dim. I’ve only taken three steps up the narrow passage when another door opens at the top, and in a swirl of pale blonde and bright red, Kass jogs down the stairs toward me. I’m frozen, watching her slim hands fumble with the strap of her bag. She’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, and her pace doesn’t slow as she gets closer. She’s beautiful.

“Hey,” I say, catching her arm, and she jumps, letting out a little yelp. I pull her closer, and her hands clutch my biceps before quickly moving up my shoulders and to my cheeks.

“Logan!” she exhales, and I feel her body relax.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” My voice is low compared to hers. “It’s way too easy to get into this building. It isn’t safe.”

“I’m always safe with you.” Her pink lips part, and she’s panting.

Her scent of fresh linen and jasmine surrounds us, and the need I’ve been wrestling with heats my skin. I turn her so her back is against the wall. Her fingers move from my cheeks into the hair at the back of my neck.

Every touch is electric. My eyes close, and I lean forward, claiming her mouth, pushing those lips apart and sliding my tongue inside to taste her fresh mint.

Hesitation disappears as her fingers tighten in my hair. With a whimper, she kisses me back, molding her body to mine as she pulls us closer. Our mouths chase each other’s, lips grasping, tongues tasting, and my hands slide down her sides to her rounded ass. Shit, I want to lift her against the wall and fuck her right here in this stairwell. She cuts us short, releasing my hair and pulling back.

“Aren’t we going out?” she says, still breathless.

We’re both breathing faster, and I want to see her beautiful eyes hidden behind those enormous sunglasses.

I touch them lightly. “What’s this? Jackie O?”

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