Oh, fuck, is he for real? My pulse races a little faster, and I wouldn’t admit it to him but a fresh wave of arousal coats my panties at his dirty words. They can’t be true, he’s just saying them to get a rise out of me, but he’s not wrong.
His hand reaches out and delicately dusts down the side of my face.
I shiver, goosebumps erupting over my skin even though it’s warm in this room, and I feel like my face is on fire. I fucking shiver for him. Oh, dear God, what the hell is wrong with me?
Pleased, his lips twist at the sides, and his eyes dance with delight at my reaction. “You’re so easy to read, treasure. Look at the way your pupils dilate and your cheeks color when my hands are hardly on you.” He takes my hand in his and tugs me closer to him so we’re chest to chest, so close I can feel the way his heart thumps. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he hisses.
I blink up at him, getting lost in his dark and dangerous eyes, my body lighting up with desperate need to have him touch me everywhere. Moisture pools in my panties, and I know if he felt me, he would know how right he was. There is no hiding it, my needy little body is frantic for him. “I want you,” I whisper, expecting him to claim me right here in his library. Devour me the way I know he wants to.
Instead, he drops his head to the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. His hands slide down the curves of my body, and I moan, wanting more. His hand tangles into my hair, holding me so damn close I’m panting. “Orlando.” I say his name as a plea.
Then he straightens his shoulders, sucking in a deep breath, and he seems to regain his composure. His hand falls away from my hair, leaving me staring back at him wondering what the hell just happened. He drops his gaze and turns away from me, striding toward the door. “Close the door when you’re done,” he throws over his shoulder as he exits the room.
I glance down at the stack of books in my trembling hands, my heart still thumping loudly in my chest. What the fuck was that?
With a heavy sigh, I take my stack of books and move out of the room, closing the door softly behind me. Looks like the only action I’m getting is going to be between these pages. It’s for the best. I know it is. But it doesn’t mean the rejection doesn’t sting a little. I should be running from him, rejecting him. But instead,I’m gazing into his eyes, having thoughts of him throwing me over any hard object and fucking my brains out. I know I shouldn’t. But there is something about him that has me tied up in knots and desperate for any sort of relief.
Chapter 11
A scream of pure terror rips through me, and I sit up in a rush, trying to shove the masked man off me. My body trembles as his weight presses down on my limbs, making it almost impossible, but I fight him anyway, battling as best I can to get him off me.
My eyes pop open frantically, and I have to blink a few times as moonlight filters in, illuminating the tangled mess of bed sheets I’m wrestling with. My heart races wildly as I suck in ragged breaths, trying to get my panic under control. It was just a nightmare. I thought it was him. The monster of my nightmares, his face obscured by a dark mask, with that fucking intricate angel tattoo visible on his neck. Fuck, I haven’t had that nightmare for a long time.
Running a hand through my tangled mess of hair, I wonder what time it is. I flinch, my heart hammering against my ribs, when I realize Orlando is standing in the doorway in just low-slung sweatpants. Where the hell did he come from? I went to bed alone. “Are you okay, treasure? I heard you scream.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, not wanting to get into it with him. This is all his fault, after all. I have those fucked-up dreams because of him.
He moves into his room and sits on the end of the bed, looking back at me like he actually cares about me. “Bad dream?” He reaches for me, his fingers brushing against mine before finding my hand and intertwining them.
The gesture pulls me back into the present with him. He’s not the man from my nightmare, I remind myself. “Flashback,” I admit, feeling vulnerable without Onyx by my side to get me through. He was always there for me in the middle of the night when I would wake up, drenched in a cold sweat, my heart pounding.
Orlando pulls his hand back and stands abruptly, his eyes widening as he takes a step away from the bed. His eyes close for just a second, as if he’s trying to get himself under control. Then he moves to his walk-in, returning wearing a black hoody, with a bomber jacket and some wool-lined boots in his hand. “Put these on.”
I scrub a hand over my face, wondering where the hell he wants to take me at this time of night or morning, who knows what it is. But it’s not like I’m going to get back to sleep now. I take the jacket from him, shrugging it over my shoulders. It smells like him, and I catch myself inhaling deeply. I slip on one of the boots, and he hands me a sock and my ankle brace for the other foot. Then he carefully helps me up to standing.
He gazes down at me in a way that makes my heart flutter, so much warmth for me, that I can’t understand. “Are you okay to walk, or should I carry you?” His lips curl up at the sides cheekily.
I throw him a look that says like hell he will carry me. He’s being playful and trying to take care of me when I’m clearly distressed, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for all hischarm. He backs off, taking my hand instead. I let him, needing the support as much as anything. Something has changed between us in the last twenty-four hours. I feel close to him in a way I know I shouldn’t. And part of me starts to wonder if he really could be my savior.
As we walk out the front door and along the stone path down to the wharf, he carefully helps me down each of the stairs, his hand still in mine. As we make it to the wood jetty, I can’t help but smile at him. Something about all of this just feels so natural and comfortable. We walk right to the end, and then he sits down with his legs hanging off the sides, helping me to sit beside him. “This is where you wanted to take me?” I ask, not disappointed, it’s beautiful at this time of the night, but I’m more confused.
“I don’t sleep much either, Sloane. I guess both of us are trapped in our pasts. Sometimes I just come down here and sit under the stars until the sun comes up.”
I offer him a small smile, wondering what keeps him up at night. His fucked-up papa or the demons he created for himself, living the life he does. For a long time, we just stay in silence, hand in hand, as the waves gently lap at the rocks on the shore. I shouldn’t be so comfortable here with him. But I am. It’s like he gets me in a way not many others ever could. “I understand why you like it out here, so far away from society. It’s so peaceful.”
One of his eyebrows rises, a silent question hanging in the air. “A bit different from your life at the club.”
“Total opposite. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life, my job, and everyone in it. But I do wonder what it would have been like if I was someone else and I didn’t grow up in that club.”
“Like the daughter of the vice president?” His lips twist, and I know he’s picturing it. Me in a dress and blazer, not a hair out of place as I’m paraded around, the picture of high society. I’vetried to imagine it myself, but the idea kind of makes me feel sick.
I chew my bottom lip. “Well, yeah. Who would I have been?” I shrug, not able to see it. I would never have fit into that life.
“Not the owner of a sex club.” He chuckles lightheartedly, making our conversation feel way too relaxed and normal. If I’d met him under different circumstances, we would have been friends, I just know it.
I can’t help but join him; the idea is kind of comical. From high society to sex club owner, and the life I would choose would be the one I grew up in. “My mother always said I was too smart to waste my life in that club. She would make me promise to get out and make something of myself. But all I ever wanted was to be just like her. I guess now I know why she was so adamant.”
“And now you’re not so sure where you fit?” he asks a little more seriously, like he really wants to know what makes me tick. What my dreams are.
