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Orien gives me time to find the words, and when none come, he says again, “I understand.”
And somehow, I think he does.
Orien’s hand finds mine, fingers linking between us, and he squeezes once. “Come with me.”
My pulse jumps again. I just outed myself to the Blue Notes’ problem solver, the man in charge of ensuring inconveniences disappear. He may not know who I am, but he now knows I’m not just a graphic designer, newly moved to town.
I want to believe he’ll take the information as a show of good faith, but if he doesn’t…
Orien’s hold on me tightens as he repeats, “Come with me, trouble.”
Swallowing hard, I whisper, “Okay."
He releases my hand to guide me through the crowd toward the door. People step aside as we pass, giving us space without being asked.
My pulse hammers in my ears, the sound of it drowning out everything else as we reach the door. Orien punches in the code, the lock clicking open beneath his fingers, and we step through.
The corridor beyond the door is quiet as the music from the lounge turns into a dull throb behind us.
Orien’s hands find my waist again, and he walks me backward until my shoulders hit the wall. For one cold second, I think this is where he does it. This is where it ends. My pulse spikes, breath growing shallow, and I search for the particular stillness that precedes violence.
What I find instead is him watching me figure it out.
He smirks. “Did you think—”
“Shut up,” I say, and pull him down by the collar.
The kiss is graceless at first, more collision than anything, my hands fisting in his shirt like I’m still deciding whether or not to push him away. His mouth claims mine, unhurried in a way that speaks of absolute certainty, and when his tongue slides past my lips, I stop deciding. My hands move from his chest to his hair, tugging him closer, and his fingers flex at my waist.
Orien’s mouth moves to my throat, and his teeth find the skin below my nape guard, and pleasure shoots through me, my knees buckling. His palm on my sternum pins me in place.
I tug at his hair. “I need—”
“Not here,” he murmurs against my pulse point. “Too many people.”
The idea of being seen like this should douse my desire. It doesn’t.
“Please,” I say, and hate how small it sounds. “I need—”
“Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you.” His hand drops to cup me through my jeans, as if I’m already his, and my breath leaves my body entirely. “But not here.”
My hips push forward into his palm, and he lets me for a heartbeat before he takes his hand away.
“Orien—” I whine.
Watching me, he pops the button of my jeans and slides his hand inside. When his fingers close around my hard dick, the noise that escapes me is not one I’ll be able to take back.
He gives me a slow stroke. “Is this what you want?”
His kiss swallows my moan as he grips my hip hard enough to leave a bruise I’ll touch later, alone, just to remember this.
“Stay still,” he orders against my mouth.
I can’t. My hips rock forward, and he allows it for one thrust before he pins me back in place.
His pace is ruthless, designed to take me apart, and it works as my breath comes out in short, desperate pants. When I turn my face into his throat to muffle the noises escaping me, he grabs my jaw and pulls it back.
“Don’t.” His pupils blow wide. “Let me hear you.”
