Page 66 of The Devil of Downtown

I smile against his mouth and grind against him again, testing. “Only if you ask nicely.” My palm glides down, stroking him.

His hand snaps around my wrist instantly.

“It wasn’t a question, Ivy.”

He lifts my captured hand to his mouth, his lips grazing my knuckles. “But it’s cute that you thought it was.”

I roll my eyes.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, flashing my most innocent smile. “I forgot—you don’t do nice.”

A slow, filthy smile touches his lips as his hand slides to my thigh, yanking me hard against him.

“I don’t think you wantnice, Ivy.”

My breath catches in my throat when his fingers slip back between my thighs, teasing until he draws another little helpless moan I can’t seem to control.

His mouth curls with smug satisfaction.

“Nice,” he drawls, his voice dropping to something that vibrates right through me. “Won’t fuck this tight pussy so deep you’ll be able to feel me until next week.”

“So let’s go—unless you prefer I fuck you against this wall. And no—I won’t be gentle.”

He smooths my dress and hair back into place as if nothing happened, then laces his fingers through mine.

I just stare at him, absurdly turned on and maybe a little terrified as he pulls me toward the door.

The night air bites as he leads me outside. Before opening the car door, he drapes his jacket over my shoulders, the fabric soft and warm against my skin.

He’s already gunning the engine by the time I slide into the seat, the sudden surge throwing me back as tires screech and the city opens in front of us, everything accelerating at once—sound, motion, my pulse—so fast it leaves no room to think. The car eats up the road, turns coming one after another, my body responding before my mind can catch up, heat still bubbling under my skin from his mouth, his hands.

His palm splays over my thigh, warm skin against bare skin as he finds the split in my dress, his fingers brushing once in a slow tease. He glances over with a wicked curve to his mouth, like he knows exactly how he affects me.

As we move through the streets, his thumb comes up now and then, catching under my chin, brushing my jaw before returning to my thigh, the touch casual and infuriating in the way it leaves me wanting more.

When he slows at a red light, he leans in, his breath hot before his lips brush mine. The light changes, the engine snarls, and he’s already pulling away with sudden force, his hand still warm on my thigh as the road stretches ahead.

By the time he pulls into the basement garage of his apartment, every inch of me is wound tight.

He takes my hand, guiding me toward the elevator, and I follow in a daze, each step carrying me farther from reason, trying desperately to ignore the voice in my head.

You’ll fall too hard.

He’ll break your heart.

But I follow anyway, even though some part of me already knows how this ends.

Chapter seventeen

Ivy

Dane stands opposite, one shoulder propped against the wall, eyes fixed on me with unnerving calm. He looks utterly at ease, like he’s been here a hundred times before—in this elevator, in this kind of moment.

The thought unsettles more than it should.

“Stop watching me like that,” I say, aiming for light, the tension threading through my voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”