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I yelp and jump back. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s your house,” Kirill says. “You tell me.”
My phone is in my pocket and on silent from work, so it isn’t that. Then I look at the wall and see the landline flashing red.
“It’s my sister. It’s just between the guest house and the main house.” I want to rip the phone line out of the wall and plunge it in the pool. I answer it instead, my voice sharp. “Yes?”
“Whose car is parked in front of the house?” Lana asks. “It’s still running, but no one is inside.”
I sigh. “I got a ride home from work.”
“From who?”
I glance over at Kirill. He’s holding his umbrella, watching me. I turn to the wall. “No one. Just someone I met.”
“That’s not safe.”
“Neither is biking home in a downpour.”
She sighs. “I offered you Mitchell’s car.”
“Yeah and he looked like he was going to throw himself across the hood to keep me from even pulling it out of the garage. He would have lost his shit if I’d driven it in this storm.”
Lana starts to defend him, but I barely hear her. “… per usual, that was all in your head. You imagined it. You’re always…”
I roll my eyes and turn around to thank Kirill for the ride. But when I do, I see the front door is open.
And Kirill is gone.
5
RAYNE
We’re standing in the doorway again. Kirill has his hand pressed against the wall, caging my body in with his strong arms.
“I’m not interested in slumming it,” I say. “I already told you.”
“I heard what you said.”
I press a hand to his chest, delighting in the ripple of muscles under the thin fabric. “Then what are you doing?”
“Everything you were too afraid to beg me to do.”
He kisses me, and I moan. I arch against his body and grab fistfuls of his shirt. His knee wedges between my legs, which is all the invitation I need to start grinding myself on him.
I grab at his shirt, tugging on the seemingly endless material. Where the hell are the buttons? “Will you hurt me?”
His teeth graze along my neck. “Only if you ask nicely.”
Desire has fully taken the wheel. I need his skin against mine. I need to feel his heat against my palm.
I slide one hand down to reach for his jeans. With the other, I swipe across his chest to search for his buttons. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to find what I’m looking for.
“How big is your shirt?” I ask, digging through the folds of fabric. I can’t even feel his body anymore. It’s like he’s wrapped in a circus tent.
I lean back and I can’t see him anymore. I’m staring at a wall of black wool and white cotton. It’s like his suit transformed into a wall. I hear the deep rumble of his laugh.
“Where did you go?”
