Her hands smooth over my head, pulling me closer and deeper. I shove her knees out, extending her as far as she can go, knowing I need more of her.

She comes with a loud grunt, but it’s not loud enough. So I keep going, until those grunts turn into throaty screams.

My erection punches against my jeans. The moment her hold on me loosens, and the trembles of her thighs subside, I back away, barely managing to keep my feet when I reach for my jacket.

Her breath is labored, her skin is flushed, and her blouse is clinging to her sweat-soaked body. For a moment, all she does is watch me, her glazed eyes locked on my face. As her flaccid legs drop, and she releases her long skirt, I back into the hall and stumble out the door.

Pain throbs where all my blood is pooling, and every movement fucking kills, but I manage a wink before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “ ’Night, Tess.”

I shut the door and stagger into the elevator when it dings open. Christ. Now what? And what the hell am I going to do about—

The doors start closing when Tess bolts toward me, her fist striking the button to stop the elevator between floors. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t have to. Her actions are loud enough. She throws herself against me, kissing me for all she’s worth.

I drag her closer, letting her tongue savor every bit of me mixed with her. She hasn’t bothered to pull on panties. Her bare ass gripped in my hands is proof of that. I moan against her lips, wanting to go down on her again. But this time, she’s the one who wants to play. She tugs down my jeans, reaches inside my briefs, and takes me deep into her mouth.

My back crashes into the wall. Oh, fuck.

The feel of her has me groaning. I’ve never been loud when I’ve messed around. But I am now. And so is Tess, the popping sound of her tightening lips throwing me over the edge.

My hands fist her hair while she digs her nails into my hips, encouraging me to pump. She works me, tapering her seal, sucking firmly, rubbing fast. But it’s not until I come that she meets my eyes again, finishing me off with those perfect lips.

This time, it’s her turn to stumble when she stands, her turn to stagger away slowly. She hits a few buttons, returning the elevator to her floor, her eyes never leaving mine.

The doors open and she steps out, smiling playfully as she wipes her mouth. “Good night, Curran,” she sings. She gives me her back, but then pauses to toss me an impish glance over her shoulder. “By the way, I like how you taste, too.”

The doors slam shut. It’s only then I remember my jeans are draped around my ankles.

Chapter 10

Tess

It takes all the energy I have not to collapse and crawl back into my apartment. Good heavens, what did I do? I swallow hard.

Oh, yes, that.

I shut my door behind me, lock it, and slide my back against it and down to the floor.

The wood floor feels cold against my backside and a cool chill greets my spread legs. It’s because your panties are over there, I remind myself.

Curran didn’t notice my generic underwear. But even if he had, I don’t think he cared. I hadn’t cared. And in remembering how his tongue swirled and his lips suckled, I don’t think…wait, what’s my name again?

My head spins as I think about how I clutched him against me, how I didn’t want him to stop, and how I screamed for more. I want him. There’s no denying it now.

Even though I probably shouldn’t have him.

I wrench myself from the floor, my hot skin cooling quickly as I wander into the kitchen. I wash my hands, then open the refrigerator door to sort through what remains.

Damnit. I have just enough food to get through the weekend before the grocery clerk delivers more on Monday. If Curran hadn’t taken me out to eat, I would have gone hungry today. Although I’m typically more careful, I hadn’t rationed out my food allotment for the week appropriately.

I check the bundle of kale. Although I’ve developed a tremendous distaste for it, I’m sad to find that the edges have begun to wilt. The late nights of helping Declan this week, followed by the even later nights of studying, had demanded more calories to help me function. And kale, let me tell you, doesn’t quite cut it.

I shut the crisper tight, knowing I’ll need more food to keep going. But I don’t dare make that request now. Father’s still pissed. I don’t have to call him to know that.

Well, today he’s not alone.

The strict meal plan he concocted infuriates me. So does his notion that I’m putting on too much weight—especially knowing how badly I struggled with anorexia. Jesus, it’s not enough to buy me clothes I despise, or keep me from making friends by denying me a phone and a car, and sticking me in a place where only elderly people live. He won’t let me work to earn my own money—and he doesn’t give me any money to live on. Nothing. Not even enough to buy myself a cup of coffee.

Around Christmas, he gave me twenty dollars. It joined the almost one hundred dollars I’ve saved throughout the last two years. “What do you need with more of my money?” he asked the last time I worked up the courage to request an allowance. “I already provide you with a home, clothing, and food.”

Is this crazy—like batshit crazy? Yes. Of course it is! I doubt, though, that many people would understand why I tolerate it.

What it comes down to is fear. Fear of making him angry, which my mother always warned me against. Fear he’ll hurt me physically, like he did so many times when I was young, and frail, and helpless. Fear I’ll be homeless and alone.

To some, this fear isn’t rational. To me, it’s all I’ve ever known. That, and his severe control.

I don’t have a bank account and I don’t have any credit. He’s told me that if I get a job, he’ll cut me off and I’ll be burdened with rent and utilities I can’t afford and saddled with several hundred thousand dollars in tuition. I’ve tried to apply for academic scholarships, only to have an administrator call my father and be forced to withdraw my application.

My father has me right where he wants me, and he knows it. And every time I focus on what a tyrant he is, I become blind with anger. And yet, even my anger isn’t enough to stop me from being afraid.

This time, though, my emotions fizzle before they threaten to choke me. I shut the stainless-steel door. Curran’s kindness saved me from hunger, but his touch…now, that did a lot more.

I don’t realize I’m smiling until the phone rings and I sense my good humor fade. Father’s likely calling to inform me of my latest punishment.

“Hello?” I answer, my tone clipped.

“I take it it wasn’t as good for you as it was for me?” Curran asks on the other end.

My skin prickles with heat. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

He pauses. “Another guy?”

“No!” I shake out my hand, trying to settle. “Not like that. Not like you.”

“Not like what we just did?”

I fall against my couch. “No, nothing like that.” Ah, and there’s my smile again.

“Good,” he says.

I think I should say something more; instead I wait for him to speak.

“So,” he says. “We messed around. Like, a lot.”

I sense the regret in his voice. “Curran, don’t,” I find myself pleading.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t tell me that you’re sorry, or that you didn’t mean it.” Seeing as your tongue told a different tale.