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“Why?” she asks with raised brows.
Because I want to use it to jerk myself off.
“Just do it,” I snap impatiently and Greta hesitates but gives it to me and my body goes into turmoil when I feel the warmth of her skin. She stops breathing and shivers when I pull it toward Baldur. A worried whimper crosses her lips when I place it on top of his head.
“D...Dacre,” she stutters, “I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
“Trust me.” This is the best fucking idea I’ve ever had. Using the dog as an excuse to touch Greta? I should’ve thought of it sooner. With my hand on top of hers, I teach her how to stroke Baldur’s fur and after a while she involuntarily relaxes.
I flood with warmth when she lets out a low, laugh. “He likes this,” she smiles, pleasantly surprised. “I always thought he’d bite me if I tried anything like it.”
“I told you he wasn’t dangerous. He can be nice when he wants to.”
And so can I.
Greta’s barely listening, her head bent over Baldur and I inhale the scent of her. She smells like love, like kindness and it explodes in me, making me feel like I’m a good man just from being in her presence.
Barely aware of what I’m doing, I realize I’m circling my thumb over Greta’s hand but she’s already noticed and she gasps, pulling away. Fuck. Ignoring the doe eyed look on her face I rasp, “Are you sure there’s not something you need?”
Shivering, she whispers, “I should go to bed.”
I could help her get naked.
Rising, she flutters past me and leaves me sitting there, cold and frustrated. Giving the coffee table a kick, I drag a hand through my hair.
A mobster’s always dangerous.
But a mobster who can’t have what he wants... now that’s a ticking time bomb.
3.
Greta
I wake up in the middle of the night with a twitch.
My heart’s pounding like something’s going on but I have no idea what and it takes a while for my nerves to settle down.
Yawning, I rub my eyes and glance at the clock on my bedside table.
It’s barely past twelve.
I should go back to sleep and I tug one of my pillows to me, ready to drift off when there’s a scraping sound in the hallway. Perking my ears, I realize it’s the scraping of boots. Must be Dacre...but it sounds like it isn’t just him.
Sounds like there are more people in our home.
Gulping, I roll around and look at my closed door.
Is Dacre having company over?
And in which case, what company would that be?
A lump forms in my throat, my body tensing up and I have a feeling that the sensible thing to do is to wrap the cover over my head and pretend I didn’t hear anything. But the intense curiosity takes over my worry and I get up, throw a pastel kaftan over my shoulders and silently creep into the hallway.
The lights are out, our place bathing in darkness and the only thing making it possible for me to see where I’m going are the sparkling city lights from outside.
Pulling my kaftan tighter around my waist, I sneak down the hall and stop when I notice Dacre leading two men away from the foyer and into his office. I’ve seen men like them before. This isn’t the first time we’ve had people who look like hell spat them back out at our place.
The men move like bats, their coats fluttering behind them when they walk and this reminds me of something out of the Matrix or Underworld, so essentially...its way out of my comfort zone.
