Chapter 10 #2
She looks down, lashes hiding her eyes, and I think she’ll shut me out completely. A long moment passes before she shakes her head, a tremor passing through her shoulders.
“I’m not... not yet.”
Not yet is good. It doesn’t mean never. It means someday.
I can work with that.
“Okay.” I take a bite, chewing slowly.
She sips her wine, delicate fingers wrapped around the glass. My eyes follow the movement and I drag my tongue across my teeth, smothering the urge to taste the wine straight from her mouth.
“On another note,” I say. “Hailey’s been asking about you. The girls want to come by, meet you properly.”
“That’s nice, but maybe next week? I want a few days to get to know you before we add more people.”
“Of course.” It can be just us forever if you want.
She gives me a soft smile and picks up the heart attack. “So... how was your day?”
***
I wake up hard.
Same as yesterday, the day before that, and every day since I hit puberty. Most mornings I ignore it. I’m not some hormonal teenager who needs to get off the second his cock twitches.
But today... today I don’t have that kind of restraint.
Today I won’t ignore the need because no way will I spend another day with a semi, snapping at everyone every five minutes.
I have things to do, people to threaten.
Intimidation is massively less effective when you’re sporting a sizable hard-on.
So, today, I won’t pretend I can walk it off. I won’t pretend I can cold-shower it away or distract myself with work, because Leilani’s here and if the past three days have taught me anything, it’s that my cock won’t fucking quit just because I want it to.
It’ll only get worse the moment I see her in that skimpy top she calls a nightdress...
If I don’t deal with it now, I’ll walk into Carter’s so strung out I’ll choke someone just for breathing too loud.
Probably Broadway.
Leilani’s up already, moving around in the kitchen. A cupboard door clicks shut followed by the faint clunk of a spoon landing inside an empty cup.
I kick the comforter off, pushing myself upright against the headboard. My palm drags down my abs until I wrap it around the thick outline straining against the cotton of my boxers.
A low groan vibrates my chest.
Carter will kill me if I spend another meeting zoning out, so this is maintenance.
Sanity preservation, not indulgence.
It’s indulgence.
Fine, whatever. A little indulgence never killed anybody.
Pushing the waistband lower, I take my cock out, slicking my thumb over the precum beading at the tip. Heat jolts down my spine, sparks dance in my legs, and my brain does what it’s been doing since the second I first saw Leilani.
She materializes at the forefront of my imagination, wearing that sleepy look, making those unintentionally erotic moans while she eats yet another meal she hasn’t had for years.
I’ve made it a point of honor to spoil her with processed, unhealthy food until she begs for salad.
Twisting my hand at the tip, I stroke faster, my muscles pulling taut, veins throbbing under my grip.
I didn’t realize how difficult it’d be to keep my hands off her when she boldly announced she’d stay with me. Every glance. Every smile. Every innocent brush of her body against mine drives me up the wall.
I picture her bent over the kitchen counter, me holding her down, my cock sliding slowly into her until her gasps become whimpers.
Would she let me?
Would she throw her fists?
Another groan slips past my lips. My chest heaves, sweat gathering between my pecs, my stomach flexing with each thrust upward, balls pulling tight.
This is new territory for me. I never hold back. If I want a girl, I make a move. But I can’t. She’s not ready for me. She doesn’t trust me yet and she’s raw in all the wrong places.
Chaos, fire, and trauma in an all-too-beautiful wrapper.
I’m an asshole for wanting her like this while she’s fragile, however hard she hides it.
She’s still figuring out where her head is after whatever Anton did to her.
The fantasy I’m jerking off to switches up. Leilani’s on her knees, eyes wide and wet, lips stretched tight around me. She claws my thighs, trying to swallow another inch.
My abs tighten, pure heat swelling behind my ribs, but it’s not the fantasy that undoes me...
It’s the thought of her choosing me. Her eyes softening when she realizes I’d never cage her. Her voice trembling when she admits she feels safe in my arms.
“Fuck, hellcat...” I bite my fist, muffling a groan as my orgasm detonates and warm cum spatters my stomach.
I ride the aftershocks, still pumping, still groaning, until I’m wrung dry, eyes squeezed shut.
Damn this girl.
She’s been here five fucking minutes, but she’s already taking me apart with every little thing she does. With how she looks, moves, and settles into my life like she’s always been part of it, vacuuming the place, brewing coffee, rearranging the spice rack, and leaving her hair everywhere.
It’s torture in slow motion.
I don’t just want her body. I want her laugh, her anger, her broken pieces. I want every part, no matter how dark. I’m not sure I’ll survive if she doesn’t give me that.
I stay in bed a few more minutes, breathing through the aftershocks until they fade enough for me to function. Once I’m certain I won’t drag my feet, I jump under the shower, rinsing the cum off with cold water before turning up the heat.
It’ll be another long day on the job. Carter wants every scrap of information on Octavius. Taking him down requires a lot of planning. He’s well connected.
Given everything we’ve learned over the past two years, Blaze’s slip-ups, Vaughn and Rhett’s involvement, all the gossip running rampant on the streets, it’s clear Octavius’s aspiration is to climb to the very top of the ladder.
And that means knocking off the man who’s currently there: Dante Carrow.
I doubt Grey would dare try in the near future, but seeing the progress he’s made recently, a solid plan is a must before we make a move. That’s why Ryder’s tapping into old surveillance networks, bugging phones, and whatever else makes him and his laptop skills indispensable.
I’m supposed to play nice with informants and sift through everything Blaze sends. He dumped a load of information on us yesterday, so I have my hands full. Broadway’s on the logistics side. Timelines, locations, the ins and outs of Grey’s operation. Who, where, when, and why.
We need a clear picture of who Octavius Grey is and how he runs his business. Security weaknesses, henchmen rotation, regular meetings, travel plans. There’s so much to do that it’ll take a few weeks before we start planning the actual hit.
And on top of this, Leilani’s occupying my head non-stop, there’s a trip to Chicago coming up soon, and the cherry on top—Leilani’s FaceTime call with Anton.
Though that’s not happening as quickly as I feared. According to Blaze, Anton misbehaved and Grey’s revoked his phone privileges for a week.
To sum up, Carter wants intel, Ryder wants bugs planted, Broadway wants logistics laid out, and I want Leilani moaning my name while she comes on every surface in this apartment.
Team player is not a skill that can be listed on my CV.
“Morning,” Leilani chirps ten minutes later as I step into the kitchen and freeze in the doorway.
Blood warms in my veins, rushing south, the self-care session I just fucking finished nothing but a distant memory.
She’s wearing my t-shirt.
Not just any t-shirt, my favorite. Ten years old if not more, faded from black to a smoky gray, the Nothing But Thieves logo almost unrecognizable. I bought it at a concert so long ago I don’t remember much else other than the fact I was there.
The hem hits Leilani mid-thigh, five sizes too big and yet she looks fucking erotic wrapped up in something that smells like me.
“Morning.” I grip the doorframe so hard my knuckles pop. “That’s my favorite t-shirt.”
“Oh, do you mind?” She tugs the fabric around her chest, making my mouth go dry.
Do I mind? That shirt is a piece of me and seeing her in it feels like she’s a piece of me too. I don’t think she gets it. I don’t think she understands she just marked herself as my property, and I’m two seconds from shoving the point home.
“I found it while doing your laundry.”
“When did you do my laundry?”
“Yesterday.” She sends a fatal look over her shoulder. “Don’t even start with that maid bullshit again. I’m warning you.”
“Fine. You can have the t-shirt but only while you live here.”
You’ll cry if she moves out, right?
No, I won’t...
So convincing.
She spins, the hem whispering around her thighs. My cock strains that much harder against the zipper, but the real ache is higher, in my chest.
“Coffee?” she asks, a coy smirk on her lips.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. That innocent look and tone don’t fool me in the slightest.
“Sure.” I empty my lungs, unclasping my fingers from the doorframe before I rip it off. “Did you sleep well?”
She sends her coffee cup sailing through the air before the last word rolls off my tongue.
I jerk left, the cup missing my face by an inch. It hits the hallway wall, exploding into sharp shards, coffee splashing onto the cream area rug, a brown stain spreading fast.
My eyebrows hit my hairline.
I turn around, finding her equally stunned.
“Oh my God,” she mouths, eyes brimming with tears, hands trembling at her sides. “I didn’t mean—I’m so sorry!” She bolts forward, panic written all over her face as she squeezes between me and the doorframe, halfway to stepping barefoot on broken china. “I’ll clean this up, I—”
My arm shoots forth, wrapping around her waist before she adds red to the brown already spread over my rug. I lift her off, then sit her on the countertop, my hands bracketing her hips.
“What was that?” Curling a finger under her chin, I tilt her head up. “What did I do?”
She wrings her hands in her lap, her cheeks not far off catching fire. “I don’t know, I—I’m so sorry. You asked if I slept well and... I didn’t mean to throw the cup, I swear. It just happened! You said it, and Anton asked the same thing every morning, and my instinct took over.”
“I won’t ask again.” I swipe the tear sliding down her cheek. “But promise you won’t apologize for losing your shit like that. I’d rather have you throw things when you feel threatened than retract into yourself.”
She gives me a faint nod, pulling at the hem of her—my—t-shirt.
“Good. Is there anything else I shouldn’t say or do?”
“I’m not sure.” She pinches her lip between her teeth. “Don’t call me sweet girl. Or pretty little thing, or petal, or sweetheart.” She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t know, I didn’t expect words could hit me like this.” She looks toward the doorway again and I tilt her head back my way.
“I don’t care about the mess, Leilani, but if you ever charge barefoot onto broken crockery, I’ll make sure your ass is good and pink.”
Her lips part, embarrassment giving way to something dark, hot, and needy. Clear-cut confirmation that she feels this pull between us. Maybe not as strong as I do, but she wouldn’t provoke me if she didn’t want me.
I could close the distance, catch her lips, and take what I want. What we both want... but I don’t. She’s been through a lot. The trauma raging inside her is still fresh. She’s confused. Vulnerable.
I won’t take advantage of that.
“Stay here,” I say, grazing my thumb along her spine. “Don’t move, hellcat. I’ll clean this up.” I press a kiss to her temple and step back, giving her space.
Her eyes burn holes in the back of my head the whole time I’m removing the evidence of her mini breakdown.