CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Raina
R ich hardwood floors. Dark leather furniture. A heavy oak desk stacked with unopened mail. Distinctly masculine cologne lingers in the air.
This is Connor’s home.
It’s one of those rare cozy apartments with high ceilings, milky white walls, and saddle brown beams. I recognize the scent of wood smoke, expensive whiskey, and something else sharp and masculine now that I’ve been close to Connor again.
This place smells like him.
I move to the window. Yep, that’s the same courtyard shrouded in trees and soft twinkling lights. I stepped through that wonderland last June just as the dawn was breaking. My vagina ached with every step. But I felt great.
This place is hidden, tucked away from prying eyes. And perfect for sneaking out hookups.
I exhale slowly. “Clever, Quinlan.”
Just then, headlights cut through the courtyard, and a car swings around to park in front of the door.
Shit. “Dumbass, Riot.”
I lock the steel door to the tunnel behind me and quickly scan the space for an escape. Hearing keys in the front door, I slip down a hallway and come up short, seeing the bedroom. It all comes rushing back. That comfy king bed, modest wooden headboard, simple comforter, and dented soft pillows.
Connor’s bedroom. The exact place I shouldn’t be again.
I spot a set of louvre doors and dash that way, breathing in relief that it’s a walk-in closet.
I kill the flashlight and make sure my headlamp is off.
With the doors closed, a slice of light from the outside shines through the windows and into the bedroom.
I lean back and smell the lingering cologne on tailored suits and crisp shirts.
I wedge myself between them, pressing my back against the wall.
Connor enters, his body visible through the slats. My stomach tightens, and I tell myself it’s because I don’t like variables. Or surprises. I hold my breath, thinking he won’t be alone.
But he is.
He hikes up to a dresser and starts emptying his pockets. When he unbuttons his tux jacket, my excitement ticks up, hoping I’ll get a reminder of what’s under those threads. Connor strips, each layer peeled deftly from his large frame with massive hands.
I worry he’s going to hang up the tux in this closet. He just tosses everything on a nearby chair.
Connor stretches, a tight groan slipping from his gorgeous mouth. Until a smile builds on his lips. Next, he’s standing in front of his bed naked.
Jesus Mary Joseph. The way this man is built will be my undoing.
Then his cock thickens.
“Oh yeah,” he drawls, grasping it.
Oh God, he’s going to masturbate.
Please do that in your shower!
Then I can get out of here. I don’t need any more distractions or confusion about what I’m supposed to do.
But he stays in the bedroom, and I have no choice but to watch. My pulse goes crazy, and I can’t ignore the tightness in my chest.
Connor props one knee onto his bed. Facing the headboard, he begins stroking himself. A vivid memory slams into me. I’m lying on that bed, watching him touch himself the same way.
Is he imagining I’m back here?
I’m right here, my sex yells.
Connor Quinlan and his powerful brothers can protect me. Get me out of the clutches of Noel’s stupid marriage arrangement.
What the hell kind of traitor does that make me?
“Fuck yeah, Venom. Take me, take my cock.”
Venom .
God, he is thinking about me.
His hand twists around the staggering length, giving a tug which draws another groan from his lips.
The muscles in his forearm vibrate off his skin as he pumps.
Now his back is involved as the groans get deeper.
His skin glows in the lamplight coming from outside.
He looks like he’s carved from marble. Lust coils between my legs, and I reach for my center to find I’m soaked.
Oh God.
“Yeah,” he mutters, his head thrown back. “Take my cock, baby.”
Okay, I nearly whisper.
I squeeze everything not to cry out, but after a few more slick strokes, I’m coming from this amazing show.
“ Fuuuuck ,” a savage moan breaks from Connor’s throat.
I open my eyes just in time to catch him ejaculating. With his legs spread, ropes of pearly white cum shoot out of the head of his cock and coats his hand.
For the first time, I’m jogged with a memory that Connor didn’t use protection with me. Did he ask me if I was on the pill? Maybe I mentioned that I was.
I have to get out of here. I’m ready to blow someone’s head off from all this sexual frustration, and Connor’s noggin is far down the list at the moment .
But my meltdown is brought to a halt when Connor scans the bedroom, his gaze lingering near the closet.
My heart pounds. Does he know I’m here?
Smiling and still naked, he pulls out something from the strewn tux jacket. My hair comb!
Connor runs his fingers over it and drawls out icily, “I will find you, Venom.”
No. No, you won’t.
A second later, his phone buzzes.
“Alo?” he answers, low and deep. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I duck deeper into the closet while maintaining a visual of him through the slats. Connor reaches into his dresser and grabs jeans. He steps into them, going commando. With a long-sleeve cotton shirt and boots that were sitting next to the bed, he stands to his full height.
I’m equal parts turned on and terrified.
After fixing his hair, Connor grabs a jacket and tucks a gun into his waistband. He strides out of the bedroom, the door shutting behind him. I pound that into my brain to remember to close it as well.
I count the seconds until I hear a door closing, making sure it’s the front door and not the one leading to his tunnel. I need to leave that way since Valdrin is waiting for me on that side.
He knows about the torture tunnel, but I doubt he knows about this apartment. Hopefully, he didn’t see Connor’s motorcade of guards just now.
Hearing the front door close, I leave the closet. In the living room, I creep to the window and watch a massive pickup truck disappear out of the courtyard and into the street. Damn, I didn’t get a make or a model.
I should leave.
But I don’t.
Not yet .
Because I want to know more about Connor Quinlan.
And something tells me I’m going to enjoy this.