AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We got into the elevator and he didn’t miss an opportunity to kiss me, leaving me breathless when the doors opened on his floor. I’d been living in his apartment for a few days now, but it always struck me as cold and clinical, so unwelcoming. I couldn’t believe a man as passionate as Tatum actually appreciated the laboratory-white walls and the cavernous space that felt, well…empty. From the furniture in his living room to his dining room table and chairs, everything was modern, sharp-angled, and bland. The view was gorgeous, and the bones of the place were good, but the decoration was as appealing as a hospital ward.
No wonder he thought that abstract Romanian embroidered artwork was interesting. The pieces were colorful, I’d give him that. Certainly in comparison to the drab whiteness of his apartment.
Eyeing me, his lips twitched. “Now that I know you don’t like it, you know I won’t stop until you’ve changed it to your liking.”
“It’s not important whether I like it or not,” I replied blithely.
The expression on his face changed from serene to stormy. Uh-oh. Wrong thing to say.
He was on me in an instant. Pushing me up against the wall, he penned me in with his forearms braced on either side of my head. He wasn’t touching me, but that only made the tension in my body thrum harder. He leaned forward so that his face swamped my vision. His wolfish, jet-black eyes were impenetrable. So much emotion there, that much I knew, but it was inaccessible to me or any human. Even I couldn’t pierce his walls. He wrapped his hand around my throat, a habit of his. Encircling my throat seemed to calm him down like it was a talisman or something.
“Swear to God, don’t make me repeat myself. I want you to be comfortable here. No expense will be spared. I don’t care if you have to tear down the fucking walls to do it.”
I blinked. He’d slipped into profanity.
“I want you here,” he continued. “I want you at ease, relaxed, happy, snuggly. Am I making myself clear enough?”
The column of my throat moved up and down under his grasp, his demands giving voice to what I’d always wanted. To be accepted, to be wanted wholeheartedly, without conditions, stipulations, or prerequisites. He wanted to change everything to fit me and my needs. Not the other way around. Not like my father.
“Crystal,” I replied irreverently. What could I say, I was a brat.
He leaned in closer, rubbing his nose with mine. “Cheeky.”
Then he pressed against me, engulfing me in the frame of his larger body, his chiseled muscles firm and solid.
“I like it,” he finished, releasing my throat.
“I can tell,” I sassed.
“Hmmm.”
Oh, that sound of male satisfaction was too scrumptious to resist tasting him. Dipping my chin slightly, I started at the base of his throat and licked up to his jaw, which I nipped for good measure.
A rumbly growl vibrated up his throat. Abruptly, he swung me into his arms before he stalked down the corridor to his bedroom.
It was the most welcoming room in his apartment. There, he’d seemed to let go a little. The furniture was made of pale wood, but at least the bed was large, comfortable, and piled high with pillows that matched the cobalt-blue pattern of his duvet. A pair of overstuffed chairs, in a darker blue hue, faced each other and overlooked a wall of windows. Besides the bookshelf, there was a small wooden table that had a neat pile of books on it, just waiting for his attention. The very top book was a biography of Constantin Brancusi, a modern sculptor. It certainly fit with his taste in art.
This cozy little corner, I knew, was where he relaxed at the end of the day. Either he read a book, scrolled through his phone, or picked up The New York Times, because, yes, he was the only man under fifty who got the paper delivered to his front door every morning.
He swung me down to my feet and, once I was stable, placed a hand on my chest and pushed me onto his bed. Sprawled out, I watched him raptly as he undid his cufflinks and pulled off the pin-striped dress shirt.
The man wasn’t only controlled, he was a neat freak. I’d gasped when I opened his walk-in closet. Everything in my closet at home was a jumbled mess, cocktail dresses crammed in beside sweatpants. In his closet, there was a half-inch of space between each hanger. The shirts were color-coordinated, and the pants—hell, I couldn’t begin to fathom how he organized those, but I knew there was a system behind it.
Dragging his shirt off his wide shoulders, he exposed his ripped chest. Some mafie men covered their skin in tattoos down to their knuckles, but Tatum only displayed one tat, the Lupu wolf, which every Lupu man received after induction. Not only did it fit his clean-cut look, but the lone tat demonstrated the importance of his clan in his life. Having seen enough men without their shirts on at pool parties and on the beach in California, his scarless skin was instantly noticeable. Tatum was either a phenomenal fighter or scuffles were above his paygrade.
My pussy fluttered as I remembered how his rough chest hair felt against my nipples. I loved his abs, stacked like perfect boxes, one on top of the other. There was a carved arc on either side of his sculptured belly, and his thick cock bulged against the zipper of his suit pants.
I reached for the ribbon holding my wraparound dress together, which he’d made no bones about letting me know was one of his favorites.
“Stop,” he commanded.
My fingers froze.
He unzipped his pants and slipped out of them. “I’ll do that. It’s like unwrapping a gift, a gift for my eyes only.”
I laid my hands on the bed, spreading my fingers wide in expectation.
“I love when you look at me like that,” he commented. “Your eyes wide with eagerness, watching my every move like the little rabbit you are.” He leaned over me, his arms braced on either side of my shoulders. “I’m going to devour you, little rabbit.”
