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I chuckle and lean in, barely touching my lips to her ear. “You’ll see.”
She shivers. She’s just as affected by me.
I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and lead her to the office chair. I plant her on it and lean on the desk, facing her. I grab my phone and shoot off a text.
“Do you trust me?” I watch my phone. The response comes immediately, and I set the phone facedown beside me. “At all?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Then go get dressed and come back here.”
Her brows furrow, but she does it. She disappears out of sight, while I remain where I am. My dick calms down. She returns just as I get another text.
“Sit.” I point to the chair.
She’s wearing dark jeans with rips in the knees and a flowy white blouse. It hides a lot of her, and I make a note to urge her toward the better-fitting shirts. This one has a few buttons up the center, hiding her cleavage. It’ll be like unwrapping a present later.
“I’m not going to restrain you.” I run my finger over her wrist. “But I need you to promise that you’re not going to move.”
Her breathing hitches. Whether it’s my words or touch, I don’t know. Either way, I keep tracing the faint scar until she nods.
“Promise,” she whispers.
I nod back and go to the door.
The woman waiting there isn’t familiar. I don’t remember taking her number or talking to her. She’s young, maybe my age. Model thin. Conventionally pretty. Why a girl like her is wasting her time chasing hockey assholes like me, I’ll never know. Her red hair is pulled away from her face, and she’s wearing arguably the skimpiest top imaginable. A strip of violet fabric across her breasts. Jeans that come up over her navel.
It’s an interesting style, but I guess it makes sense for a booty call.
Which is what she thinks this is.
“This way,” I say, stepping back and allowing her inside.
“You have a gorgeous place,” she says to me.
I wrinkle my nose, although she misses it. Itisgorgeous—and I paid top dollar for it to be so. Thinking I had anything to do with it except opening my wallet is stupid.
“In here.” I point to the office and step up behind her, blocking her exit.
Predictably, as soon as she spots Melody, she stops short.
“No, no,” I murmur. “She wanted to watch. It’s her kink.”
Melody’s jaw drops. “I—”
“Quiet.”
My tone brooks no argument. And true to form, my songbird closes her pretty little mouth. A new curiosity, tinged with distrust, enters her expression. But she stays seated, which is more than I could hope.
The girl in front of me, the one who could grace the cover of a magazine, is frowning.
Ah, well.
I crowd the girl around to the side of the desk, until she leans on the edge of it. It’s what she wants, and it gives Melody a perfect view of the two of us. I lean into the girl’s body, inhaling her scent. She seems to forget that my songbird is even there. In a second, she’s plastered against me. Running her hands up and down my arms, then my chest.
Her lips touch my throat.
“I need to ask you something.”
