He was standing in front of a box of records, sorting through them.
I stood there. Staring at him. Soaked with rain and dripping onto his floor. When he saw me, his jaw tightened. Quickly, his eyes dropped back down to the records. His fingers moved, still sorting, but I could tell he was doing it blindly, flipping through the sleeves too quickly.
“Quinn.” My name was hard and cold on his tongue now. Our fight had sucked all the warmth out of it. “I told you to stay away.”
“Look at me.” I closed the space between us. He shifted away, moving his eyes to the floor. Anger flushed hotly on my cheeks. “Look me in the eyes,” I demanded, “and tell me you feel nothing.”
His sharp eyes met mine. “Nothing?” he snapped. “Nothing? I wish I felt nothing! That’s the point! I look at you and I feel everything! Hate. Shame. Guilt.” He grabbed my chin, forcing me to hold his gaze when he spit out the word: “Disgust.”
I swung my hand to slap him, but he grabbed my wrist before I could make contact. I struggled in his grip and we tumbled against the table, the boxes of records shuddering. His body pressed flushed against mine. My heart beat was pounding. This close, I could feel his breath beating against my face—the short, rapid breaths. Even though the denim of his jeans, his hard erection pressed against my hip.
A thin laugh escaped me. “Disgust? That certainly doesn’t feel like disgust.”
I rolled my hips against his. He sighed. “Quinn…” he warned.
My name was changing on his tongue now, the heat returning. His voice went tight with familiar longing. I gripped Poe’s hips, feeling the bones underneath sharply against my palms, and arched to grind my body against his.
His beard prickled my cheek as he sighed into my ear. But it was his moan—a deep, uncontrolled sound that escaped him—that I loved the most.
“Go ahead,” I hissed in his ear. “Show me how little you think of me.”
He reached between us and unbuckled his belt. I gasped as he ripped it from his waist, the leather snapping.
“Give me your hands,” he said.
I held my arms up towards him. He wound the belt around my wrists and threaded it together, pulling them tight. Locking me into place. His hands roved up my leg, under my skirt. He ripped off my panties and?—
I closed the book. This was my favorite book. At my favorite part. And yet…I couldn’t focus.
I glanced at my phone lying on the charger beside my bed.
I couldn’t stop thinking abouthim.
Damaged Heartswas a good book. But Dorian was abetterbook, and I wanted to keep turning the pages.
I pulled up the Seekers’ App. I sent him a message:
Me:
Ready to be good?
A reply, almost immediately.
DoriNYC:
Absolutely not.
Me:
That mouth is going to get you in trouble.
DoriNYC:
I certainly hope so.
I hesitated. But I was feeling bold, and horny, and?—
Fuck it.
