That’s when I notice something. His eye shave gone shiny, and the expression on his face isn’t the anger I thought it was.

It’s worry… possessiveness… protectiveness.

“I would have been fine,” I say. “They were just a couple of drunk creeps. I can handle that.”

“Would you,” he says through gritted teeth. “Have come back to the restaurant?”

“Of course I would!” I say. “I’m not stupid.”

His mouth flickers into a smile ever so briefly.

“I would have gone back to the restaurant not because you were there, but because other people were there. It’s a public place. They would have called the cops.”

We look at each other for a moment, and I know he hasn’t bought my lie. I would have run straight back to him, because I knew that he, more than anyone else, would protect me.

I try to pull my hand from his, but he grips it tighter. “I’m not letting you go. Let’s finish dinner.”

“I don’t want to,” I tell him. “I stormed out, we made a scene. I don’t want to go back in there.”

“Fine, I’ll settle-up, get the pizza take-away. We can eat it at my apartment. What do you think?”

“Your apartment? What was that, some kind of move?”

“No.”

“What if I just want to go home?”

“Do you?”

I look into his hard, grey eyes.

Chapter Sixteen

It’s tense as we walk through the lobby of his apartment building. The guard is sleeping in his chair, and we walk past silently.

In my mind, there’s just this single thought repeating over and over again

What is about to happen?

I can’t deny to myself that I’m nervous, even a little afraid. For some reason, I feel like I’m walking down a path of no return. There is trepidation.

But, as I walk with my hand clasped in Pierce’s, I realize I want this. I want to go to his apartment with him. I want him to do to me whatever he wants.

I want to give in to him.

We wait for the elevator, and the tension is as thick as butter. I steal a sidelong glance at him, look at the lines of his sharp, handsome side profile. My eyes travel down his arm, to where his sleeve is folded at the elbow, to the muscular forearm, the wriggling veins, and then down to his enormous hand as it completely swallows mine up.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open.

I gulp as we step in.

The doors shut, and he turns to me. I don’t know what I expect to happen – I don’t even know what is going to happen – but I feel like I’m waiting for something.

I don’t want to be the one to make the first move.

His hand leaves mine, and begins to sidle up the inside of my arm. The touch is ticklish, but it leaves a fiery trail of buzzing nerves. Goose bumps erupt all over me, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’m breathing quickly, lips open, looking into his eyes. I feel like I can’t look away.

I’m waiting for him to kiss me.

It’s like he reads my mind. He pulls in close to me, fast and hard, but then gently takes my lips in his. It’s as if, all of a sudden, the dam of inhibition within me has cracked and burst open, and all my desires are spilling out uncontrollably like so much reservoir water.

I press my body into his, he corrals me tight in his arms, and I suck on his lip, kiss it sloppily. It’s only my second kiss, but I don’t care. I’ve become immune to modesty, to shyness.

His mouth moves, I feel it move into a grin, and he pushes me up against the inside of the elevator, clamps my hands above my head, and he breaks the kiss. I try to move forward, but he pins me there, and just watches me for a moment.

I’m panting, nervous, excited, scared, sweating, flushed, hot and yearning. I’m everything I can feel all at once.

“Kiss me,” I beg.

He presses his body against mine, and I can feel his hardness pressing through his pants right at my belly. I have this uncontrollable urge to reach down and cup his crotch, to feel his excitement, his desire for me.

But he doesn’t let my hands down. Instead, he takes my lower lip and bites it, before kissing across the side of my face toward my ear, then down my neck. I’m shivering at the delicate sensations, his soft and deft lips teasing my skin, encouraging my growing lust.

His hands run down my arms, down my sides, setting my hands free. I wrap them around his wide back, pull him tighter on to me, love that I can smell him, that I can feel his heat radiating into my body.

A loud ding sounds, and the doors slide open, and I make to pretend we weren’t doing anything in case someone is on the other side, but he doesn’t care. He just keeps kissing me.

And then he’s got my hand in his, and he’s pulling me down the corridor to his apartment. It feels like forever as we walk, and then he’s unlocking the door, yanks me inside, shuts the door hard, drops the pizza box, and then pushes me up against the wall, claiming my lips in his again.

I’m whimpering, moaning, sighing, panting. I feel like an animal. I feel out of control.

And… and I like it.

“Come on,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly. He pulls me through his apartment in the dark, kicking off his shoes as he does so. I do the same.

He takes me to the bathroom, and there blasts the shower, filling it with steam. Then he’s on me again, taking off my clothes, pulling up my top. He throws it outside onto the floor, and his hot hands are roaming up and down my body, devouring every inch of my skin.

I take his shirt off, undo the buttons as fast as I can, and then run my hands inside the open sides, feeling the hard ridges of his muscle, the fleshy firmness of his chest. I feel his hard nipples on my palms, and all the while I’ve got my tongue in his mouth, dancing with his. We’re mashing mouths, sharing saliva, breathing into each other.

I feel my bra unclip, and let it fall off my arms, baring my breasts to him. His pupils grow larger, and the expression on his face becomes hungrier. He cups my breasts in his hands, squeezing them, kneading them, before lowering his head and taking one of my stiff nipples into his mouth.