15. Xander #2
The way he said “personal” made my teeth grind. His obsession with Tara was getting creepier by the day.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Ms. Connor replied, ice-cold. “Dr. Swanson’s schedule and whereabouts aren’t something I discuss with players.”
Diego stiffened like he’d been slapped. “Fine. If you see her, tell her I was looking for her.”
“I will pass that along,” she said, in a tone that screamed “fuck off,” if such a sweet lady were to use the f-word. You go, Ms. Connor.
Diego hung around like a bad smell, then stormed off, stomping down the hall. I exhaled. Too fucking close. And his possessive tone about Tara just confirmed what a threat this asshole was.
I waited until Ms. Connor resumed her call, then snuck back to my spot by the door. When she hung up, I flashed an apologetic smile.
“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full with those travel plans.”
She sighed, returning to her computer. “It’s always something. Now, let’s update your emergency contact.”
I spent the next few minutes giving Leo’s details, playing along to sell my story. When we finished, I thanked her and walked out, strutting through the facility like I hadn’t just pulled off a heist.
Mission accomplished—I had Tara’s address. I passed the test. And that close call with Diego only cranked up my excitement for tonight.
1800 Meridian Avenue turned out to be a sleek, modern apartment building in South Beach. I circled the block once, familiarizing myself with the layout before parking my car a street over—less chance of being recognized that way.
Following Tara’s instructions, I approached from the rear of the building.
Sure enough, there was a service entrance near a neatly organized recycling station.
The door required a key fob for entry, but as I approached, a maintenance worker exited, holding the door open with unconscious courtesy. I nodded my thanks and slipped inside.
The service corridor led to a utility elevator, which I took to the eleventh floor. The hallway was quiet, lit by recessed lighting. 1102 was at the end of the hall, a corner unit.
I stood outside her door for a moment, gathering myself. This wasn’t just about sex. It wasn’t even just about our complicated shared history. By seeking out her address, by accepting her unspoken challenge, I was agreeing to something deeper in whatever dangerous game we were creating together.
I raised my hand and gave three sharp raps against the polished wood.
Seconds ticked by, and then the door swung open.
Tara stood there, dressed in a simple black tank top and yoga pants, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.
The initial shock on her face was worth every moment of the day’s elaborate quest—pure, unguarded surprise that quickly morphed into something more complex: respect, desire, and a slow, impressed smile.
“You’re here,” she said, her voice betraying a hint of wonder. “How did you...?”
I grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “You said not to be late.”
She stepped back, gesturing for me to enter. “I did say that.”
I stepped into her apartment, taking in the sleek, minimalist design—clean lines, neutral colors, expensive furniture that looked barely used. It was exactly what I would have expected from Tara, yet there was something almost impersonal about it, as if it were a showroom rather than a home.
The door closed behind me, and suddenly the air between us was electric. We stood facing each other in her entryway.
“You didn’t ask me for my address,” she said, but there was no reproach in her tone, only a hint of admiration.
“I didn’t,” I agreed, taking a step toward her. “That wouldn’t have been nearly as interesting, would it?”
She matched my movements, closing the distance between us until we were inches apart. “How did you find me?”
“Let’s just say I have resources.”
“Team directory?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I followed you home.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Now that would be interesting. Stalking the stalker.”
There was something liberating about acknowledging the twisted nature of our connection so openly.
“I passed your test,” I said, my voice low. “What’s my reward?”
Her answer was to close the final distance between us, her mouth finding mine. This kiss was slower, like two people who knew they had all night to explore each other.
I backed her against the wall, my hands finding her waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her tank top to touch warm skin. She arched into me, her hands threading through my hair.
“Bedroom,” she murmured against my lips. “Down the hall.”
I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her through the apartment.
The bedroom was as minimalist as the rest of the place—a queen-sized bed with crisp white linens, a sleek dresser, and little else.
I set her down gently on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to look at her—flushed cheeks, dark eyes wide with desire, lips slightly swollen from our kisses.
“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious under my gaze.
“Just making sure this is real,” I said honestly. “That we’re really here.”
Her expression softened. “It’s real, Xander.”
I kneeled before her, pushing her tank top up slowly, revealing inch by inch of smooth, golden skin that glowed under the soft bedroom light.
She raised her arms without a word, letting me peel the fabric over her head and toss it aside like it was nothing.
No bra—just her, bare and perfect, her breasts rising and falling with each quickened breath.
Full and firm, nipples already pebbled from the cool air or anticipation, I couldn’t tell which.
My cock twitched in my jeans, straining against the denim, but I forced myself to take it slow.
This wasn’t a race; this was a conquest, a mapping of every curve and secret.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured, my voice rough with need. The words felt too simple, too tame for the storm raging inside me, but they were true. Tara, offering herself up like a gift I didn’t deserve.
She reached for the hem of my shirt, her fingers brushing my abs in a way that sent electricity shooting through me.
“Your turn,” she said, her voice husky, commanding in that quiet way of hers.
I let her pull it off, then stood to shuck my jeans and boxers in one fluid motion, my erection springing free, hard and aching for her.
Her eyes darkened as she took me in, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Fuck, that look alone could undo me.
We came together on the bed, skin to skin, her body soft and yielding against my harder frame.
I captured her mouth in a deep, devouring kiss, my hands roaming—tracing the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the firm globes of her ass.
She moaned into my mouth, her nails scraping lightly down my back, leaving trails of fire that made me growl.
Our first time had been raw, furious, a clash of bodies fueled by hate and history.
This? This was deliberate, a slow burn that promised to consume us both.
I broke the kiss, trailing my lips down her neck, nipping at her collarbone before moving lower.
My mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard, teasing with my tongue until she arched off the bed, her fingers tangling in my hair.
“Xander,” she gasped, and hearing my name like that—breathless, needy—stoked the fire in my veins.
I switched to the other breast, my hand sliding between her thighs, finding her yoga pants damp with arousal.
I hooked my fingers into the waistband and tugged them down, along with her panties, exposing her completely.
She was glistening, ready for me, and the sight made my mouth water.
I spread her legs wider, settling between them on my knees.
“I’ve wanted to taste you since that night,” I confessed, my breath hot against her inner thigh.
She shivered as I kissed my way up, teasing, nipping, until my tongue flicked over her clit.
Her hips bucked, a sharp cry escaping her lips.
I held her down with one hand on her hip, the other parting her folds as I licked and sucked, savoring her sweetness, the way she trembled under my assault.
“God, yes,” she panted, her hands fisting the sheets.
I slipped a finger inside her, then two, curling them to hit that spot that made her tighten around me.
She was so wet, so responsive, her body clenching as I worked her higher.
But I wanted more—I wanted to push her, to see how far this twisted connection could go.
I pulled back just as she was on the edge, her frustrated whine music to my ears.
“Not yet,” I said, my voice low and commanding.
I grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand, using my free one to trace down her body.
“You like control, don’t you, Tara? But tonight, I’m taking it. ”
Her eyes flashed with challenge, but there was heat there too, desire mingling with defiance.
“Is that so?” she breathed, testing my grip.
I tightened it just enough to make her gasp, then reached for the drawer of her nightstand—hoping, praying she’d have something I could use.
Luck was on my side: a silk scarf, probably for her hair, but perfect for what I had in mind.
I wrapped it around her wrists, tying them loosely to the headboard—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to restrain her. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” I whispered, searching her face. She nodded, her pupils blown wide with lust. “Don’t stop.”
Kinky little minx .