Page 13 of After Hours
That she did.
He tipped forward, and bit her lower lip, just enough to make her breath catch. Then he licked it, which was better and worse, at once. Then he leaned back, settling himself against the door and crossing his arms in that way she’d seen him do in the office.
And the look he turned on her then was nothing but stern.
Everything inside of her went bright and hot and red.
“Take off your clothes,” he told her.
And she felt as if her heart stuttered. Romily could feel her clit pulsing, so she pressed her thighs together, because she thought —
“Don’t you dare,” he growled. “Remember, little bird. All your orgasms are mine. I’ll let you know when you can have one.Ifyou can.”
Romily thought that if she actually did up and die right there, that would be fine, because this would be the hottest thing that had ever happened to her. Just the way he spoke about these things, so frankly, so openly. She felt as if he was touching her even when he wasn’t. Even when she was standing and watching him, with actual space between them.
The truth was, she didn’t care where they were. They could be down the mats of his gym for all that mattered to her. Outside in that alley. In the floodlights that lit up the old Port Authority building like a show for half of Oakland.
She had never wanted anything this much. She hadn’t known it was possible.
Those stern, demanding blue eyes were on her and all she wanted to do was… Whatever he told her to.
She kicked off her sneakers. She pulled her hoodie up and over her head, then dropped that on the floor too. Underneath, she was wearing her favorite pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She pulled the T-shirt off first, scanning his expression for hints of… anything, but he only stared back, impassive.
Or she would have thought he was impassive, that was, but she could see the heat in his gaze.
She undid the button of her jeans, and had to shimmy them down over her hips because of the stretchy fabric. And then when she kicked them aside she was standing there in nothing but panties and a bra. She paused, and when she did, he lifted his eyebrow. Slightly.
But she felt that like a scolding. She flushed, and hurried to undo her bra, though her fingers felt thick and silly, and she couldn’t get the clasp undone. He made no move to help her, so she pulled it up, over her head, and threw it down.
Then, realizing that she was panting loud enough that the sound of it filled the room, she forced herself to pull her panties down and step out of them, too.
And then she was standing in front of him.
Naked.
As he’d commanded.
He stared at her. He kept staring. And after a while, his gaze moved, taking his time as he studied every inch of her. Every last inch.
Romily stood there, not knowing what to do with her hands. Not knowing where to look, or how to breathe.
After an eternity, as she bit on the inside of her lip and ordered herself not to fidget, he lifted one hand and twirled a finger, ordering her to turn.
So she did.
She realized that she could feel the way he looked at her, as if his gaze was a touch. Her own eyes were glassy, filled with a moisture that she understood had nothing to do with the urge to cry and everything to do with that same liquid heat that defined her, now.
Like wanting him was who she was.
“Turn back to face me,” he said.
So she did. Desperate to see him again.
That beautiful, stern face of his.
He moved off the wall and came closer to her, moving her clothes out of the way with his foot. Then he walked around her, close enough that she was sure that she could feel his heat. It poured off him, filling the room. And she could smell the scent of him. It was clean, faintly woodsy, and something else that seemed like a tuning fork, deep inside.
She wanted to gulp him down whole.
