I grip the sleeve of his shirt, tempted to rip it off when I deepen the kiss. I grab his wrist, forcing his hand higher. He smiles against my lips as his finger trails the apex of mythigh.
“Please,” I beg, ready to climb thewalls.
Just then, the door bangs open, and Ijump.
Elijah glances behind him while slowly slipping his finger under the edge of my panties. I fight a groan at the sudden touch. I should shove Elijah’s hand away, but I don’t. I’m like an addict, craving my next fix. Desperate for the way he burns through my veins like a lethal dose of something forbidden. Instead of pushing him away, I tilt my hips, inviting the tip of his finger to slipinside.
Our eyes lock. He bites at his lip when his finger plunges deeper. “You’re so wet.” He groans against my ear, nipping at my lobe before he delves another finger intome.
I look over his shoulder, but whoever came into the stairwell is nowgone.
My head falls back against the wall. Each second that ticks by, my orgasm builds, my breaths grow more labored. I’m toeing some dangerously indecent line. One more step and I’ll freefall over into a place that’s notsafe.
Another loud bang comes from somewhere lower in the stairwell. Maybe it’s the abrupt noise that jolts me to my senses, but suddenly, self-awareness prickles me, and the brink of the orgasm I was dancing on isswallowed.
I’m in a stairwell with this man’s fingers inside me.Shit!Panicking, I shake my head. “Stop.Stop…”
Elijah stares at me, his chest rising on ragged swells before he lifts the fingers that were just inside me to his mouth and deliberately slips them between his lips. “So fucking sweet.” He smooths one hand over his shirt while wiping the corners of his mouth with the other. He’s like a predator sizing upprey.
I find my hands flattening against the rough concrete wall behind me.Jesus, I wish I knew what he was thinking.My knees threaten to buckle. With a slight twitch of his lips, he takes my hand, leads me out the door, straight through the crowded rooftop, and to theelevator.
“Where are we going?” I ask when the doors pingopen.
“Mycondo.”
I watch the doors close. “I’m not fucking you,” I lie for the second time. I would. Ashamedly, Iwould.
He’s wound me up like some cheap plaything, and he’s holding me in his hand just waiting to release me and watch me crash into the wall.“I never expected you to,” hesays.
I cross my arms over my chest, kick my hip to the side, and arch a single brow. “Oh, please. You told thatwoman—”
“All in goodfun.”
I tilt my head. “So, finger bang me in thestairwell—”
“You’re the one who shoved my hand up your skirt. It would have been poor manners for me to decline the offer.” Hewinks.
I press my lips together, holding his stare, not sure whether to be pissed that he just made me wet again ornot.
The elevator doors slide open and he steps out, holding his arm over my head while I exit. Instead of following him, I stay put in the hallway. I need to decide here and now if I’m okay sleeping with him. Because if I step into his apartment, it’s going to happen. I’m going to be painfully sober and naked in front of this man, and then it will be uncomfortably awkward when it’sover.
He stops in front of the only door in the hall and unlocks it, glancing over his shoulder. “Are youcoming?”
Exhaling, I give in and scold myself the entire way down the hall. I take one step inside the dark entranceway. “Are your lights out or something? Because my survival instincts tell me it’s not the best idea to go into a dark room with a strangeman.”
I barely have the words out before he grabs my arm and yanks me inside. The second the door closes, I see why he didn’t turn on the lights. Straight ahead is a large floor-to-ceiling window with an impressive view of the skyline. “Wow…” I start toward the window. “Now,I’mimpressed.”
An overhead light blinks to life. And now it’s not just the view that nearly has me floored; it’s his entire apartment. Marble floors, black-leather sofas flanked with sleek, wood tables that give the place a masculine feel. A stairwell leads to a loft—his bedroom enclosed by a glass wall. Everything screams wealthy, eligible bachelor. He makes his way across the room, flipping switches, and I notice a cello propped in the corner of the living area. I imagine what it must look like, Elijah straddling the instrument while slowly dragging a bow over thestrings.
“Do you play the cello?” Iask.
“I haven’t in a very long time.” He undoes his tie and tosses it over the back of thecouch.
“Would you play forme?”
“I don’t play for people. Or amusement.” There’s a cold bitterness seeping from his words. This man, so together in every way, has acrack.
I redirect my attention to the view, my hand hovering over the glass. When he steps behind me, I watch his reflection in the window. All I can think is that he’s like a king in his castle, staring out over hisempire.
