Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saff
“You’re in a mood,” Bastian said as we stood in Renzo’s apartment after our usual weekly meeting, everyone discussing any issues going down with their associates, soldiers, or clients.
As always, after the actual meeting, things shifted more to party mode. Food was delivered. Drinks were poured. Music came on.
I usually loved the parties at the boss’s house.
It gave me the feeling of family that I’d never gotten to have while growing up. I ate up the familiarity, the feeling of belonging.
But, yeah, I was not feeling it.
“I’m always in a mood,” I said, tone dead. “It’s kind of what I’m known for.” Was that a bit of bitterness in my voice? And if so, why?
I was proud of my reputation.
I liked that everyone in this room knew I was a badass, that I’d busted my ass to belong with them.
Why would I suddenly be annoyed by that?
Why did it no longer feel like enough?
“It’s different. You’ve been different.”
“Different how?” I asked, spine tingling, worried that he’d maybe seen or heard something he shouldn’t have.
But, no.
Bastian wasn’t someone to keep his thoughts to himself. If he thought you were being shady, he called you out. To your face. He told you exactly what he thought. It was something you had to respect about him. Even if no one liked being called out.
“I dunno,” Bass said, following me as I made a beeline for the bar, needing something to calm my nerves.
“Then how can you say I’m different?” I asked, going for a double pour of whiskey.
“You’re… quieter,” he settled on, watching me take a long sip of my drink. “Reserved, even. And I know I don’t know you as well as the rest of these fucks,” he said, waving out at the party. “But I know you enough to know you’re being weird.”
I shrugged, finishing my drink, and reaching for the bottle again.
Bastian’s hand shot out, closing over mine on the bottle, keeping it against the bar.
“What are you drinking about?”
“I’m not drinking about anything. It’s a party. Everyone is drinking.”
“Saff…” he started, his voice actually sounding concerned.
I wasn’t accustomed to that—having anyone worry about me, want to know what was going on with me.
I felt the absurd sting of tears in my eyes and blinked them frantically away.
“What?” I snapped, leaning into annoyance. It was easier. Uncomplicated. More comfortable than actually opening up, letting anyone in.
I mean, even if I were capable of doing that—with anyone—I definitely couldn’t talk to Bastian about this .
Because despite trying like hell to stop thinking about it—about him—I couldn’t get Soren out of my mind.
It had been almost two weeks since the little incident in the empty club. And while I shot off one or two-word answers to his occasional text updates, I tried not to engage when he clearly wanted me to. When I wanted to.
Because that want was dangerous.
It could undo the deal.
It could undo Renzo’s respect for me.
It could undo me .
And that was the scariest of all.
Bastian watched me for a moment, his eyes thoughtful.
“Look, I know a thing or two about needing to keep all your shit to yourself,” Bass said. “You can’t exactly be in your feelings in prison. And, after a while of tamping all that shit down, it becomes the default. Even when you are finally free to talk to someone and let all that pent-up shit out, it’s hard.”
“And, what, I’m supposed to open up to you? I hardly know you.”
“Sometimes it’s easier that way. Look,” Bass said, exhaling hard, “I’m not gonna try to make you tell me. This is just me saying I’m here. And reminding you that creating a new problem,” he went on, waving the liquor bottle, “ain’t gonna solve the old one.”
With that, he set the bottle back down and walked off.
I stared at the bottle for a moment before pouring another drink.
I spent the next half an hour trying to get absorbed in the crowd, in their conversations, in something—anything—but the thoughts of Soren that kept invading my mind.
By the time I was moving into the elevator, deciding I was only going to bring the morale of the party down, there was just one thought swirling around in my head.
Soren’s address.
It was a terrible idea.
I didn’t technically even know if the offer was still standing. If he would be home. If he would be alone .
My stomach twisted at that last thought.
Even if, objectively, I had no right to feel jealous if he took another woman to his bed when I’d avoided ending up there myself.
Hell, I didn’t even think I was capable of jealousy when it came to a man. None had ever meant enough to care what they did and with whom.
“Ugh,” I growled, making the woman next to me on the subway inch away, avoiding eye contact.
Great.
I was one of the subway crazies.
That was what Soren did to me.
So why the ever-loving hell was I on my way to Manhattan to see him?
“Men ruin everything,” I told the woman, who glanced over with knowing eyes.
She gave me a nod. “Preach.”
Her posture relaxed. Because, really, who out of us hadn’t been driven half-crazy by a man before?
By the time I caught sight of Soren’s building, I was sure I was going to turn around, go home, and chalk this stupidity up to too much whiskey and the need to take some man—any man, not this one man—to bed.
But as I closed in on the front door, the man outside of it in his doorman uniform gave me a soft smile.
“I believe you must be Miss Amato,” he said, making me stiffen.
“What? How do you know that?”
“Forgive me, miss,” the doorman—Walter, his name tag declared—said. “But Mr. Vale gave me a description of you and told me to let you up if you came by.”
“When did he say that?”
“I suppose, originally, a few weeks ago. But he reminds me daily.”
He did?
“Daily?” I asked, dubious.
“Sometimes he asks if I just saw you, but you didn’t come in. I was starting to feel bad about having nothing to report. Am I going to be telling him you happened past, or…”
There was actual hope in the man’s voice. Like he would be genuinely heartbroken for Soren if I chose not to go up.
What kind of man got that kind of loyalty from the people in the periphery of his life? This wasn’t the first time someone who worked for him seemed to authentically care about him.
It was that way with Teresa, his lawyer, and Gav the contractor. Hell, even the exterminator was friendly with Soren.
“Is he home?” I asked, glancing past Walter into the sleek, modern lobby.
“He is, miss. And I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.” The finally was silent.
“Okay,” I said, more to myself than him.
But Walter was quick to whip open the door before I got any ideas about walking off.
“Miss Amato?” Walter called, rushing in behind me.
“Yeah?”
“You’ll need the elevator key,” he said, going behind the desk to rummage around for it. “Here it is,” he said, proudly waving a drop key—a long, cylinder to insert into a hole in the elevator to unlock it—attached to some sort of keychain. “It’s that elevator right there,” Walter said, pointing toward where one was half-hidden by a wall.
“Thanks, Walter,” I said, taking the key and walking toward the elevator before I talked myself out of it. And likely broke poor Walter’s heart.
I stabbed the key in the lock and then stepped inside the elevator car. It was smaller than a typical elevator, feeling a little claustrophobic once the doors slid closed.
That was really the only reason I turned my attention to the key itself—so I didn’t start to feel like the walls were closing in on me.
The key itself was standard.
But the keychain he’d attached to it?
It was a cute, chubby little… cartoon pigeon.
He not only told his doorman about me, reminded him of me daily, and left a key for me to access his private elevator. He’d gone out—or gone online—and tracked down a pigeon keychain because I’d mentioned them. Once.
There it was again, that little swoop in my chest.
Before I could even try to analyze it, though, the car was doing that little drop, and the doors were sliding open.
Right into Soren’s apartment.
I’d spent zero time thinking about where he lived. Like I’d told him, I wasn’t good at visualizing out of thin air, without at least some chunk of text to fill in the blanks in my mind.
But even if I had thought about it, I was pretty sure no image I could conjure up would come close to the reality.
The man had a two-floor penthouse apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows, warm wood floors, oversized gray furniture, walls made of some sort of creamy brown tile with black accents—the floating stairs, the mantle, the ceilings—and lots of pendant lights and uplighting in soft, warm white.
The place practically glowed. Like there were candles hidden all around.
It was sexy and romantic and very, very, expensive.
I suddenly felt incredibly out of place.
I mean, I’d known Soren was rich. Crazy rich, even. But knowing that and seeing it were completely different things.
In my life, I’d gotten somewhat accustomed to feeling out of place in certain spaces. But never quite so much as I did right then—standing in my well-worn gray jeans, black tee, and scuffed combat boots.
What the hell was I doing?
I didn’t belong here.
I took a step backward, ready to stab the drop key back into the elevator and flee before he even knew I was there.
But then, suddenly, there he was.
Making his way down the floating stairs in nothing but a low-slung pair of black sleep pants, his gaze landing right on me.
It was too late to run.
Even if my legs were listening to me right then.
For the record, they weren’t.
I was frozen on the spot, helpless to do anything but let my gaze slide over all that exposed skin.
He’d mentioned the gym a time or two, but I had no way of knowing just how dedicated he was to that ritual. Looking at him now, though, there was no way to deny it. All those delicious indents of muscles spanning his chest, down his stomach, and even disappearing into the waistband of his pants.
And I already knew what was hiding under there.
“Saff.” My name sighed out of him as he stopped on the lowest step. “Fucking finally .”
His voice was that of a desperate man, one who found water after being stranded in the desert, who couldn’t believe his good fortune.
And he felt that way about me .
There was no stopping the strange little whimpering sound that escaped me right then.
That same sound was what had Soren rushing across the space between us.
One hand went to the back of my neck, the other around my lower back, both pulling me flush against his firm, warm body as his lips claimed mine.
Any thoughts of leaving evaporated at his possessive hold, at his demanding lips, at the way my body just melted into him until I felt like I was swaying on my feet.
Soren slammed me back against the elevator doors, but his hands were gentle as they both moved to frame my face. And that intoxicating combination of hard and soft at once had me moaning against his lips even as my hands drifted up the corded muscles on his arm to wrap around the back of his neck.
He kissed me long and deep, until my lips, body, and mind, felt like they were floating.
Then his hands were sliding down my back to sink into my ass, using it to lift me up off my feet as I frantically kicked out of my shoes.
I pulled them up, wrapping them around his waist.
His lips sought mine again as he turned us and walked me backward.
Turning, he lowered down, taking me with him until I was straddling him on the couch.
My hips dropped down, feeling his hardness press against me.
Soren’s rumble of need was drowned out by my moan as I broke the kiss, looking at him, seeing the same desire on his face that I felt surging through me.
“Been waiting for you,” Soren said, his head lowering to press a kiss to the side of my throat. “Every night,” he added, pulling my collar to the side to kiss across my collarbone.
A shiver slid down my spine. At his words. At the sweetness of his lips.
His fingers moved down, pulling my tee up.
I sat back, raising my arms for him to remove the material.
I had no idea if the tremble that moved through me was due to the cool air in his apartment or the heat in his gaze, but Soren felt it, then leaned forward, pressing his face to the center of my chest, breathing me in, his soft hair brushing over my sensitive skin.
My hand rose, curling around the back of his neck, holding him against me, consumed by the sweetness of the moment, the softness, the intimacy—things men had never offered me before. Things I never would have accepted.
His lips pressed into my sternum before his hand lifted, slipping one of my bra straps off my shoulder. Then the other.
His hands skimmed down my sides and around my back, working the clasps free, then pulling the material away, tossing it to the floor—already forgotten.
His warm breath drifted across my bare skin, making my nipples twist, and dragging a needy little whimper out of me.
Soren sucked in a deep breath, looking for some control, then exhaled before slipping to the side and sucking my nipple into his mouth.
A choked moan escaped me as I arched into the sensation, breathing going quick and shallow, heartbeat thrumming.
His tongue moved out, circling, making goosebumps pebble up across my skin as the pressure on my lower stomach grew.
His other hand sneaked upward, closing over my other breast, squeezing. Then his fingers were circling, rolling, lightly pinching.
His head shifted, sucking my other nipple into his mouth as his hand went to my other breast.
A tremble moved through me as he continued to tease, in no hurry to move on, like he’d been dreaming of just this moment for so long that he didn’t want to rush it.
It was my own need that was impatient, demanding.
I rocked against his lap, needing the friction of his hardness against me.
A rumble moved through Soren at the sensation, the sensation of it vibrating against my chest.
His hands went around me, arms braced up my back, hands holding my shoulders.
I had no idea of his intention until he was suddenly bending me back, bracing my body against his thighs and arms.
My legs clamped to his sides.
Then he was between my breasts again, kissing down the center of my stomach, making my muscles tighten, making my belly flutter.
There was something so intense about him right then. Like he desperately needed to know every inch of me, to know how I responded to even the barest of touches.
His tongue traced across the waistband of my jeans.
Only then did his head lift, his chin resting on my stomach, his eyes molten with his desire.
He shifted back, taking me with him until I was straddling him again, then grabbing my hips and pulling.
I lifted up off his lap.
But he kept pulling until I pressed my feet into the cushions and moved to stand over him.
His hands slipped toward my button and zipper, working them free, then pulling the material of my pants and panties downward. His pace was deliciously slow, exposing me inch by inch.
I stepped out of the material.
Then he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the triangle above my sex.
But then he was sitting back, his hands on my ass, pulling me forward.
Need pooled in my core as I pressed a knee to the back cushions beside his head, opening myself to him.
Then his lips and tongue were on me, licking, sucking, teasing until my thighs were shaking and my hips were rocking against his mouth.
I was already so overwhelmed, so aching with need, that it wasn’t long before I felt that telltale tightening just before the orgasm surged through me, stealing my breath, leaving me gasping and shaking.
Soren’s hands tightened on my ass, holding me against him as the climax eased.
Then he was pulling me back down on his lap, kissing me long and hard until my lips felt tingly, until my heart felt the same way.
Only then did his arms wrap around me as he moved to take his feet, carrying me close to his chest as he moved through the apartment.
I clung to him, too far gone to care.
My body jostled as he moved up the steps.
The next thing I knew, Soren was lowering me onto a plush mattress, the scent of him all around. His body came over mine, weighing down on me, and the pressure was strangely welcome as his lips sought mine once again.
Again, despite the proof of his own desire pressing against me, Soren was in no rush to move things along, his lips slanting over mine again and again.
It was my desire that became intolerable, my legs tightening around his lower back and my hips grinding up against him.
With a low groan, Soren bore down on me, giving me the friction I was so desperate for.
His head shifted, lips moving up my jaw, across my ear, down the side of my neck, then slowly back up again.
“Feel what you do to me?” he murmured, pressing harder against my cleft.
A needy little whimper was all I could manage in response.
My hands slid down his back, skimming over his heated skin, sinking into his ass, pulling him more firmly against me as I rocked against him.
But it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t what I needed.
My hands moved up, grabbing the waistband of his pants and pulling.
Soren shifted up enough to let me push the material down.
His head lifted, gaze holding mine as he lowered back down, his bare cock gliding against my slick cleft.
A shudder racked his system as a moan escaped me.
“Soren…” I whimpered, hips rocking restlessly.
“Soon,” he promised, lips taking mine again as his body moved against mine, his length teasing up my cleft to rub against my clit.
His weight shifted to one arm enough for his hand to roam over me, like some part of him still couldn’t pass up the chance to touch, to explore, to commit the feel of me to memory.
His lips broke from mine, hissing across my cheek to my ear.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, making my belly flip-flop.
It was all so much.
Too much.
His smoky voice.
His velvet hands.
The warm, swelling sensation in my chest that I had no name for.
So I clung to what was easiest for me.
The need clawing at me, the intolerable emptiness inside me that I needed him to fill.
“Soren, please,” I whimpered, rocking harder against him.
That sexy little rumble escaped him again as he reached past me toward the nightstand, grabbing the packet, then coming back over me, kissing me hard before rolling us.
As I pushed up to straddle him, he made quick work of protecting us before his gaze lifted, looking up at me.
I’d never seen a look like that in a man’s eyes before.
Wonder?
Awe?
It made those strange feelings wash over me again. And with them, came the strangest urge to cry.
So I lifted up, I moved over him, I sucked in a deep breath and slid down, feeling his thick length slip inside me.
We both gasped at the sensation as I took him in, my walls tightening, desperate for the feel of him.
His hands went to my hips as I took him to the base, his eyes at half-mast as he looked up at me.
I was sure there was nothing in the world sexier than a strong, powerful man looking so incredibly desperate.
I started to ride him, glad to be the one leading as those feelings threatened again, letting me pick up the pace, focus on that need for release instead of anything deeper.
Behind me, Soren’s legs rose for me to rest back against, giving me the angle he knew I needed.
My movements got harder, faster, as I got closer and closer.
The orgasm ripped through me almost violently, dragging a strangled moan from deep inside as I pulsed around him over and over.
I was vaguely aware of Soren’s deep groan, the way his fingers were bruising into my hips, the way he was rocking up into me.
So when I came back down, I was surprised to find him still rock-hard inside me.
His gaze was still heated as his hands floated up my belly, over my breasts, then slid around me, pulling until I was lowering against him.
As soon as I was, he rolled me back under him.
His lips pressed into mine, kissing me for what felt like a lifetime—yet somehow not long enough.
But then he was—finally—moving.
His thrusts were slow and deep, forcing me to feel each thick inch of him.
I thought that, as his need grew, he would start to move faster, to ease the stranglehold of intimacy gripping my system.
But even when I tried to rock against him, he stayed stubbornly slow and sweet. If anything, he may have even gone slower, kissed me deeper.
It wasn’t long before the chest-tightening panic I was feeling at the way he unmoored me, the way he unexpectedly exposed vulnerabilities I hadn’t even known existed.
I was all raw, exposed yearning.
For… something.
Something I was sure might undo me completely if I got it.
And I was terrified that Soren was going to be the one to give it to me. Whether I wanted it or not.
But just as the knowledge of that begged me to run, Soren was pushing me right to that edge.
“There,” he murmured, lifting up to look down at me. “No,” he said as my eyelashes started to flutter closed. Close. I was so close. “I want to watch as you fall apart for me.”
Before I could even wrap my head around the truth of that phrasing, the orgasm was rolling through me—a deep, hard, pulsing pleasure that seemed to overtake my whole body as I shook, as I moaned, as I cried out his name.
I was helpless but to cling to him, to bury my face in his neck, like if I didn’t hold on, I might shatter apart.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured as his hips kept surging into me, dragging it out. “So sweet for me,” he went on, making my heart clench. “So…” his voice was getting rough as his body tensed, “perfect,” he added, pressing deep, his body shuddering as he came with my name on his lips.
My own orgasm finally released its grip on me. And I realized with a horrified shaking sensation in my chest and stomach that there was wetness on my cheeks, clinging to my lashes.
Panic surged, a fluttery feeling moving through my muscles, a tightness in my chest.
“Don’t run,” Soren demanded, voice low.
How did he know that every nerve ending in my body was firing off, begging me to escape, to get away from all these sticky, complicated feelings?
Soren rolled to his side, pulling my back to his front, his arms wrapping me up, keeping me close.
“You’re safe with me,” he said, voice so soft I barely heard it.
Those words were a cooling balm to my overheated nervous system.
Despite knowing it was a mistake, I felt myself relaxing against him, sinking into the sensations of our close bodies, allowing myself to be held for perhaps the first time ever.
And somehow, even though I never, ever allowed it to happen before, I fell asleep with Soren.
As I drifted off, the only thought that crossed my mind was that he was right; I’d never felt safer in my life.