Page 79 of Playboy’s Purgatory

“Hello?” My voice is tentative.

“Hey, Cupcake,” Playboy drawls.

The first time he called me that, it didn’t hit the same way. It was sarcastic as fuck. Like a curse.

Now it’s completely different. It feels precious and special.

Fuck, this man.

My man?

Crap.

“Hi,” I say lamely before making a sound of dissent. “I mean, what’s up? How did the appointment go?”

“It was good,” he chuckles in my ear. He clears his throat. “Listen, I’m downstairs. Come let me in?” When I hesitate, he adds, “I don’t need to come all the way up, but I’d like to see you if it’s okay. I know it’s late,” his tone turns sheepish.

“Okay,” I whisper.

I’m not sure if it’s the right decision, but I’m committed now. Huh, maybe people should know more about sanitariums.

I climb out of bed and head toward the door and then down the stairs. The moment I open the door leading to the alley, Playboy is there and filling the space. He pushes me back against the wall, the door closing with a gentle thud and sealing us in.

It feels like we’re stealing a moment which is not entirely ours.

Feeling like I’m doing something naughty is not a feeling I’ve chased. Never in my life. There wasn’t any room in my life for that kind of indulgence, not when I had a sister like mine.

His large hands frame my face and even though there’s very little light, his eyes are practically glowing. The focus and intensity in his stare make my thighs clench together.

I blurt out, “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” his voice is rough. “I wanted to come by earlier,” he whispers, a confession which slides along my skin like honey. “I hated missing out on movie night with my girls.”

He steps even closer, one hand sliding back into my hair where his fingers tangle with the strands. His other hand slides down my neck, his fingertips brushing the place where my pulse is pounding.

Jettson is close. Too close. The smokiness of his scent feels like a fog. A haze. With no end. No beginning.

Just this.

I let him in before.

I wanted to.

Not because I couldn’t say no or keep the offer in, but because I want him.

Is misplaced loyalty a mistake or an opportunity? What do you do after you know the truth? Isn’t that when it matters most?

When his hand grips my hip, his fingers tighten slightly, just for a second. I feel the heat of his hand through the thin sleep shirt I’m wearing. If you can wear pants and sleep, more power to you; it makes me feel like I’m suffocating.

He presses me back against the wall to trap me right where he wants me. It should make me want to run.

Instead, I close the distance and kiss him. He lets out a sound that is ragged and filled with disbelief.

Jettson kisses me back, but I can feel the restraint. I’m in the lead; he’s giving it over to me. Letting me. Following me.

When I deepen the kiss, he’s right there. One step behind. Just barely.

Just enough.