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scarlett
This is nothing like the last kiss we shared. This one is pure sex.
He takes me hard, his tongue dancing with mine, fucking mine, and in the dirty depths of the kiss something rises in me, a hunger he awoke when he fucked my ass. Now… now it’s alive and needy and so much more erotic than what happened in his office.
This is pure, distilled sex. Pagan. It’s blood and flesh and fire and the heavy beat of a heart. I kiss him back with the same ache and fervor, every cell in my body sparking flames of desire that rage through me.
I need more than what he’s giving, and I tug at him, trying to pull it out. Right in this moment, there’s nothing but this kiss. I slide my fingers into his hair, fisting it, and he pushes a hand down into my jeans, sliding over my lower back to my ass cheek.
It makes me throb and hum with a deeper need. He’s hard and I grind against him as everything in my mind and body goes haywire. His mouth is hot and wet, and I’ve never tasted anything so decadent and forbidden.
He kisses a line from my mouth to my throat where he bites and sucks, and then his mouth is back on mine. It’s different now. Pure hunger and?—
Malone suddenly rips his mouth away and pulls free from my grasp. For a moment, I see something in his dark gaze that resembles shock, but then it’s gone, like I imagined it.
He rakes a hand through his hair, takes a breath, and in steady tones says, “Your outfit for tonight is hanging on the inside of the closet door. Put it on and meet me in the living room in half an hour.”
He’s gone before I can say a word to him, and I raise a shaking hand, putting it to my tingling, burning lips.
I can still feel him.
Like he’s tattooed himself on me.
The thing is, I don’t know what he wants from me, not really. There are so many girls who’d fall over themselves for him. Rich and pampered, the type so much higher up the social ladder than me. I know they’d want him. He’s the exact kind of dangerous that appeals to a certain type.
Even I’m not immune.
Lying to myself isn’t something I like to do. I’m not a virgin—clearly—but my experiences are small, counted on one hand and very freaking vanilla.
He…
I swallow, then grit my teeth.
I’m smart. Why did I get into this situation? No one’s got an upper hand if we both want something, so…
“Shit,” I mutter, walking on shaky legs to the window. I pull the linen blinds back to look at the SoHo skyline with the glitter of Manhattan rising up around this little neighborhood. “Just keep it together, Scar. Play the game.”
The game.
There’s always a game. Maybe Malone’s just more open about it.
Because when I was younger, it was the guy pretending to be into me to get into my pants. Or someone who wanted to be closer to my family’s money. Or?—
I give the glass a little pound with my fist.
It doesn’t matter. The only thing here that matters is my family.
I let the blinds fall and glance around at the huge, tastefully bland room. It drips money. The soulless kind. And I hate it.
I’d be more impressed if it matched his fucking office, everything made for sex and sensual experiences. Instead of this… criminal’s display of cash wrapped up in wannabe hedge fund manager chic.
With a shuddering breath, I push open the door and walk into the closet.
I stop dead when I step inside of the pale-peach and white closet.
The kind of dresses to the left are ones I like to wear to work or when I go out. Tasteful and expensive. But the sight of the outfits makes the pit of my stomach twist, because… it’s not what I expect. At all. Not from the man who bends a girl over his desk to fuck her ass while watching sex acts on the big screen in his depraved club.
I run my fingers over the luxe material, then pull open the drawers and stare at the lacy, girly lingerie. My eyes fall to the shoe racks lined with high heels.
