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I whirl her around until she’s pressed back against the side of the elevator, right up against the rail. Her breath hisses out of her.
“—her.”
I lift her so she’s precariously propped up on the rail, hiking that slit up until I can easily stand between her legs. I nestle right where I belong as we start to ascend floors.
For once, finally, I have her in my hands as my mouth dips down to claim hers.
SEVENTEEN
TATE
Grant’s kiss is soul-searing. He cradles my face like I’m as fragile as a baby bird, which is hilarious considering he was just manhandling me with such arrogant possession a part of me still wants to scream at him to let me go. I shouldn’t be here, kissing him back, moaning into his mouth. This damn elevator is too efficient for its own good. We reach my floor just as I’m leaning into him, gripping his shirt, inviting him to slide his tongue past my lips.
Just as common sense has very nearly evaporated fully from my head—ding!
It’s over.
Or not.
Grant leads the way again, lifting me off that rail and setting me down gently on my feet. He slides his arm around my waist as he steps up behind me, his chest to my back. It’s like he’s a robber holding me hostage. His mouth is down by my ear when he tells me to walk.
I almost smile.
God, I like this. Like him.
“Or what?” I taunt.
He stops abruptly, tugging me back so I fall against him. My butt is nestled right up against his hard length. We’re feet from my apartment door, in plain view of the security cameras and my neighbors should they decide to walk out into the hallway. His free hand—the one not currently wrapped around my stomach—slides deftly up my inner thigh, confidently past the slit of my dress, until his warm palm covers my panties.
“I’ll touch you here if you want me to.”
He starts stroking me back and forth, his middle finger sliding just where he knows it’ll drive me wild.
I nearly sag against him.
This is so wholly different from how I live my day-to-day life. Control, routine, precision. Everything has a place, a time, a set of instructions.
“Grant,” I beg.
“What, Tate?” he asks, all innocent, when in fact we both know he’s proving to be a maniacal villain.
His fingers keep stroking me between my legs and my knees threaten to give out. My panties are askew and he takes full advantage, pushing them aside further. He can already feel how turned on I am, hot and needy. He drags his finger slowly up and down as a shiver of pleasure racks through me.
When it’s clear I’ve lost the ability to speak, he tells me again, “Walk.”
I try to elbow him in the gut, and he laughs.
It’s a dangerous game we’re playing. Beneath the surface of our banter and barbs, it’s a raging wildfire. We’ll burn each other before this night is through if we’re not careful. Hell, maybe he wants that. Do I?
He walks us both forward, keeping possession of my waist even as we reach my door.
“Key,” he says haughtily.
“I hate you.”
He tsks like I deserve punishment for that.
“What if my roommates are awake?”
I think this will earn me some reprieve. I brought my roommates up intentionally. They’ll draw him back to the surface. He’ll remember this can’t continue. No way.
Instead, he tells me again to get the key.
My hand doesn’t just tremble, it full-on shakes as I retrieve my key from my tiny clutch and try to fit it into the lock.
I expect him to laugh at my expense, but then I’m reminded who I’m dealing with when Grant wraps his hand tightly around mine and helps me unlock the door. “Good girl” is whispered against the shell of my ear as he takes the key and slips it back into my clutch.
I hold my breath as we walk into my apartment, but the living room is pitch black. Sophia and Daphne are either asleep or not here.
Grant releases me, and the sensation is so similar to that depressing moment when you first draw yourself out of a warm bath, all the luxurious heat gone in an instant.
I walk into my apartment on tiptoed feet, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Grant stalks in behind me. I didn’t invite him in, but I also didn’t shut the door in his face, so…
Once we’re in my room, he closes the door. I take a step to turn on the lamp beside my bed, but Grant grabs ahold of me and pushes me back, back, back to the closet door. My purse falls to the floor along with his tuxedo jacket. My hands flatten against his chest. I feel his muscles working under his shirt.
Light seeps in from the street outside, but we’re otherwise in the dark as his head drops and our foreheads touch.
