7. Maxim
7
MAXIM
The meeting with the London Mafia Syndicate was long, but useful. There are promising leads, but by the time we’re inside my building, I’ve lost patience. I ditch the car rather than putting it in its correct place between all my others, and get around to release Hayley’s seatbelt and lift her out.
“I can walk,” she protests softly as I approach the keyed elevator. It only goes to my penthouse.
“I know.” I don’t argue with her, but neither do I put her down.
I really do not want to let her out of my arms, and thankfully she’s light enough to hold with one arm as I unlock the elevator, then punch in the code once we’re inside. Then we’re gliding up, and the mirrored walls reflect dry blood on Hayley’s work clothes and apron.
She mutters something about being heavy, and that’s the first time I’ve smiled since I walked into the café. Because she weighs nothing for a bear like me. She’s tiny. Five-foot-three to my six-foot-four.
“Oh wow,” she says in a low voice as the doors open into my loft apartment. It looks out over the London Greenwich docks and the river, and the floor-to-ceiling windows have a feeling that you could walk out onto the air and the clouds would hold you.
The floors are polished wood, and my shoes clip as I stride through to the spare room. I hesitate, because I want to take her into the bathroom, lock the door, and bathe her myself.
Instead, I manage the saner option of slowly allowing her to slip down my body until her feet are on the floor. My cock is in the way, as it always wants to be around Hayley. I try to ignore the feeling of her soft curves against me, but I’m already half-hard. I just hope she doesn’t notice.
I don’t let her go until she’s stable, and it’s like sawing off my arms.