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“Lock the door, and walk to me slowly,” I command, crooking my index finger in a come-hither gesture.
It takes her a moment, hesitation flickering across her features for a breath, but then she turns, obeying with shaky hands. Her throat bobs hard over a swallow as she starts toward me, pressing her palms into her stomach, more demure and submissive than I’ve ever seen her before.
The contrast is almost startling, the girl who burst into the office just minutes ago not even comparable to the one standing in front of me.
“Now,” I say, putting the gun on the desk as I sit up straight and smooth my hands over my thighs. “Have a seat.”
Her eyebrows draw inward, and she glances around, noting that the only other chair in the office is the one tucked into Jonas’s desk. Slowly, her eyes slide back to me, that sweet, familiar blush creeping up her neck.
“Is that appropriate? Your friend could come back in.”
“With the door locked? Doubtful.” Patting my lap, I raise my brows expectantly, watching as she wrestles with uncertainty. “You can sit wherever you’d like, little one, if you really aren’t comfortable. On the desk, on the floor. You can even remain standing. But regardless, I need you to communicate with me, starting with what you were spewing when you stormed in here.”
Curling and uncurling her fists, she struggles, eyes shifting around the room as she seems to search for the words. Finally, she nods again, then closes the distance between us, draping herself over my lap.
The dress she has on hikes high up on her thighs, and I tug it down as she gets situated, desperate to feel her that way again, but also aware that she’s clearly going through something. And right now, she needs more than a quick, rough fuck.
“So,” I prompt, tangling my fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back slightly. “You met a girl outside.”
She swallows, her throat working with the motion. Her eyes are wide in this position, vulnerable as she’s forced to stare up at me, and it sets my entire fucking soul on fire.
“And you automatically assumed she was someone I’ve been intimate with in the past? Or, am currently being intimate with, if your earlier accusation stands.”
“She said she knew you.”
Tugging her head back more, I skim my nose over the smooth expanse of her neck, inhaling deeply. My lips part, my top row of teeth gently scraping the scabbed bruise decorating the valley between her throat and shoulder.
I’ve seen many works of art in my lifetime, all different variants of the term, but I’ve never seen any as breathtaking as her. The pale canvas of her supple flesh painted with the evidence of our sins.
“I know a lot of people, Elena. I certainly don’t sleep with everyone I meet.” Biting down, I sink my teeth into the thick muscle running up the side of her throat, pulling her into me as she jerks with the onslaught of pain.
“She knew me, too,” Elena whispers, fingers fisting in the collar of my shirt. “Seemed pretty surprised that I couldn’t return the sentiment. And it just made me realize...”
When she trails off, I pull back until our noses graze each other, waiting for more. “What?”
“I barely know you,” she says, and though it’s delivered with as much softness as she can muster, I don’t miss the implication hidden beneath its surface. The accusation still rife in her tone, as if she wants to believe in me, but can’t fully bring herself to.
Sucking in my next breath feels like trying to swallow hot coals, and I release it slowly through my nose, focusing on the steady thump of her pulse beating at the base of her throat.
My tongue is thick when I speak, an obstacle I have to talk around. “What do you want to know?”
Somehow, before she even opens her mouth again, I know her answer’s going to be everything.
