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What the hell were we doing?
Another heated fuck that led to nowhere?
He pressed his forehead to mine, his chest heaving. “I hate this. I hate wanting you like this. I hate knowing you’re using me.”
I tightened my fingers on his shoulder blades under his jacket. I didn’t even remember curling around him. “And you’re not using me?”
His eyes were fierce and so very angry. He gripped my hair at the nape of my neck and dragged my head back. His voice was a mere growl of breath. “I want to use you until we both can’t breathe again. I want to fuck you so hard that I forget who and what we are.”
My vision blurred and a single tear escaped to roll down my temple into my hair. “I’m not what you think I am,” I whispered.
“I’m not who you think I am.”
I frowned and gripped his wrist. Open up a trade magazine and anyone knew who Blake Carson was. Brilliant, withdrawn, and with a drive to succeed that rivaled Steve Jobs. He had to in order to become a billionaire before the age of thirty.
Did he mean what he’d done to get where he was?
I couldn’t think. Not with him crowding me. His hold was almost unbearably tight. It made me feel alive, and I needed that. I was so tired of feeling numb and lost. I loathed that it was Blake who brought me into this moment, but I was too starved to say no.
When it was over—when our skin cooled—I’d have to face the numbness and the secrets again. The questions that plagued me.
But right now, I didn’t give a shit.
I pushed him back a step and wrapped his tie around my fingers. “This way.”
Five
I turned and dragged him forward. His nostrils flared, but he followed. When he figured out where I was going, his shoulders relaxed a fraction, but not his face.
No, that intense face was ever present when I touched him.
I wondered if my own was the same.
We went down a hallway that was near-camouflaged with the blinding white of the walls. There was a tiny nook of space with a door that led to the framing room. I reached behind me for the sliding door, opening it and pulling him inside.
Just a few minutes.
It was all I could spare, and all I could really survive.
He slid the door closed , and the lock seemed so loud. Would everyone know I was back here? I released his tie, backing up until I bumped into the framing table. Canvas and matte board scattered under my palms.
Blake strode across the small space in three strides. He tore at his tie and three buttons opened. Tanned flesh and sepia slashes swirled over his chest. He lifted me up and planted me on the table.
I couldn’t stop myself.
I needed to touch. I leaned into him, and his warm, spicy orange scent hit me just before my tongue swiped over his skin. He gripped my hair, directing my aim up.
I wasn’t through with him. Not here, not in my space. I wanted to touch him. Especially his skin. I pushed open his shirt and snapped out of his hold. I looked up at him as I curled the tip of my tongue over his nipple.
His fingers dug into my neck, but he let me coast a
round the firm muscles and the dip of stretched landscape to the center of his chest. Smooth. Flawless save for tiny little scars here and there. I traced my nail over the cartography and tiny numbers of longitude and latitude that were almost burned into his flesh. At least the tattoo made it look that way. So delicate and so rich in artistry. And always covered.
I wanted to rip open his shirt and see it all.
I tugged his shirttails out and pushed the fabric off his shoulder. God, so much more to see. I frowned. I knew those maps. It was the coast of Marblehead, Salem, and Manchester Bay. A detailed seafaring compass was open and more numbers were scattered into the design.
My home.
