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I look straight into a pair of eyes that glint back at me in the darkness. “Can you squeeze through?” the owner of those intense eyes asks, reaching a huge hand in toward me. I see expensive cufflinks on an even more expensive white shirt sleeve.
I shake my head. “It’s too narrow.”
“Hang on.” He gets his hands either side of the elevator doors. With a grunt he pushes. The doors scrape another couple of inches wider.
Now I can get a look at his face as it emerges into the light. Chiseled jaw coated in stubble. High cheekbones, Roman nose, neat black hair. Bulging neck muscles that suggest he’s a man who could bench press a car without breaking too much of a sweat.
He’s got a white shirt on that’s covered in oil and grime, getting muckier as he leans in through the half open doors. One massive hand reaches toward me like a grabber in one of those arcade machines.
“Come on,” he says, getting hold of my fingers at last. “Let’s get you out of there.”
Three
Vincenzo
Ifeel a lot like a spider trapping its prey. As those slender fingers slip into mine, there’s a jolt of something that passes between us. I ignore it, pulling her out through the door as they try to close on me.
“Hang on,” I say, letting go of her for long enough to wedge the ax handle between the doors, keeping it in place long enough to pull her through.
She weighs almost nothing. It’s no effort at all to yank her toward me.
The elevator is stuck about two feet below floor level. It isn’t hard to twist her body so I can shove her out onto the thick carpet beside me.
It requires getting one hand around her back and the other underneath her ass. I feel her buttocks through her jeans and I’m instantly hard.
Damn, she feels good. Smells good too. Even through the musty atmosphere of the elevator shaft, I get a hint of citrus and soap as pure as she looks. The opposite of me. Everything I’m not.
What does it say about me that my first thought upon seeing her is to corrupt that innocence?
She falls onto her back once she’s out, breathing hard, her chest heaving.
I take in the sight of her tits as her chest rises and falls. Her legs are slightly apart. I could climb on top of her right now, rip the button off the top of those jeans, shove them down her legs and …
“Deep breaths,” I tell her as I climb out after her, getting to my feet and brushing myself down.
“Your clothes,” she gasps. “They’re ruined.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“But they look expensive.”
“I told you, it doesn’t matter. Concentrate on your breathing. You’re about to hyperventilate. Count in for five and out for five. You don’t have asthma, do you?”
She shakes her head, her breathing sharp and ragged.
I kneel beside her, hoping she can’t see the bulge in my pants. “Take it easy,” I tell her as I take her hand, every part of me yearning to shove it into my pants, wrap those slim fingers around the thick hot shaft that’s throbbing with need to be in her.
She’s still breathing too fast, not looking my way, her eyes bulging. I know the signs of a panic attack oncoming. She needs to move further away from the source of the panic. She keeps glancing at the elevator doors, counting numbers under her breath.
I scoop her up into my arms and carry her along the corridor to the nearest room. I kick the door open and walk inside her with. Everyone looks up at me from their computers. “Out,” I say. “Now.”
Without a word, they all get to their feet and scurry past me, none of them making eye contact.
I set Ophelia down on the nearest chair. “Look at me,” I tell her, leaning down so she can see me better. “Look at me, Fee.”
She blinks, frowning, her breath still ragged. God, I want to shove my cock between those lips of hers so badly right now.
“Take a deep breath,” I tell her. “With me. In, like this.”
