Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Theo
It wasn’t hard to find July Newsom.
I simply asked Kevin for the full name of the girl who he was supposed to meet for a date. At first, he didn’t want to give me the information, but we came to terms. Quickly. He walked away with minimal damage and honestly, he probably would have given up July’s name and workplace without the right cross to his jaw, but I didn’t want to let the opportunity pass to give him a warning.
Stay the fuck away from July. Or you’re a dead man.
Now, I’m across the street from her office building, waiting for her to leave for the day. She’s in advertising, working for Donner Advertising. Attended the University of Chicago. Studied abroad one semester in Florence. Not a party girl. Her social media feeds are mainly comprised of pictures of her parents, book recommendations and affirmations. She likes going to the symphony and goes alone, most of the time. There’s one video of her being brought to tears by a crescendo and I can’t stop watching it. Can’t stop listening to her little gulping sob, the shudder of contentment that follows.
She is breathtaking.
It has been hours since I saw her and I’m going through withdrawals, like an addict being denied a hit. I’m in the shadows, arms crossed. Waiting and—
There she is.
Right there.
Fumbling with her umbrella on her way down the sidewalk, her heavy purse slipping down to her elbow while she tries to get it engaged. She finally does, holding the basic black umbrella overhead and sailing toward Union Station. I walk faster, catching up to her when she dips inside, once again tangling with her umbrella to get it back down, her nose wrinkled in irritation. Her white sweater is wet, I can see the outline of her bra straps as I trail her through the overcrowded station, rush hour commuters zigzagging paths in between us and this would unnerve me most of the time. All this action. All this chaos.
But I’m too determined to keep pace with July to pay any heed to my nerves.
I’ll be much worse off than a panic attack if I lose her.
She stops on a platform, just as the train rolls in and—using a different entrance, I slip onto the same train as her. It’s an express train, meaning it won’t be making a stop for a while and that’s good. I need her to hear me, before she’s given the option to run.
Again.
The train begins to move, the motion rocking everyone gently on their feet. It’s so packed, I have to weave through bored-looking straphangers in July’s direction—and I know the exact moment she becomes aware of me. She touches the back of her neck, as if I’ve pressed an invisible kiss there, looks up from her phone, head turning in every direction, a little trench between her brows. When she spots me coming toward her through the sea of commuters, her brown eyes widen.
But she doesn’t run.
She stays silent in the hum and sizzle of the train, letting me come closer, the blush building on her cheeks, neck. Goddamn, what a beautiful sight. The way she pushes up her glasses with her index finger makes me feel protective. So much so that tendons pull taut in my chest, my arms, the urge to growl making my throat feel strained. I’ve been a lost wanderer since coming home, but I’m filled with purpose now. And that purpose is July.
I don’t say anything when I reach her corner of the train.
I simply box her in and let her get used to it.
She stares at my chin, her breath coming fast, and I close my eyes momentarily, enjoying the way her exhales coast down my throat. My dick is already throbbing so ominously, it’s very possible I’m going to come in my pants again, but I strangle back the need and try to appear as normal as possible. For someone who has stalked a woman to this location and backed her into a corner, that is.
“You’re not here by coincidence, are you?” she whispers.
“No.”
Her throat works with a swallow, and I want to press my tongue against her jugular, so I can feel her alarm. Soothe it. “I should be screaming for help,” says July.
“What’s stopping you?”
She appears to weigh the question. “I don’t know.”
Damn. That honesty is so appealing. Every thought in her head is right there on her gorgeous face. No subterfuge or psychological games. I’m no longer capable of the latter and it relieves me to no end that she isn’t, either. “Maybe you sense I won’t hurt you.”
“Maybe,” she murmurs, tilting her head back to look me in the eye.
Being at the perfect angle to kiss her and close enough to do so has my stomach in a fucking knot, my pulse flying. But God, I don’t have a hope in hell of holding back my seed if I taste that pouty mouth. I’ll blow everywhere.
“I had to go home and change my pants because of you, July,” I lean in to say against her temple, figuring we should address the elephant in the room. “Did you enjoy what you did to me?”
She surprises me by staying quiet, her tits rising and falling gently against the strength of my stomach. Not issuing an outright denial or an admonishment for being inappropriate in public at her expense. “I…found it shocking,” she says, finally. “Men don’t usually notice me and suddenly, I’m causing you to…”
“Bust. Hard.”
A shiver snakes through her entire body, her eyelids drooping to half-mast.
“Jesus,” I rasp, my cock filling with lead. “You liked it, didn’t you?”
She presses her lips together.
“Tell me,” I demand, crowding her tighter into the corner, raking my open mouth along her cheek, temple. “Did it get you hot?”
“Please,” she breathes. “I have no experience with this kind of thing.”
“Men or sex?”
“Both.”
July Newsom is a virgin. On some level, I already knew. And I’m not going to pretend that doesn’t wrench the possessiveness inside of my tighter. “July.”
“What?”
“When you left the café…” I grip her hip in my right hand, tracing the shape of her with my thumb, strumming it up and down, side to side. “Did you have a wet pussy?”
She inhales sharply. Hesitates, then looks up at me, the answer there in her fathomless brown eyes. Fuck. She was wet. She doesn’t even have to say it out loud.
“Did you do anything to ease yourself?” I ask, massaging that hip roughly now.
“No,” she says too quickly, wetting her lips. “Well…”
“Well?”
“I was…maybe going to,” she says, so quietly I can barely hear her over the hum and rattle of the train. “But my boss decided to drop the bombshell that I would be presenting a campaign to a real-life client on Friday. After that, I was too shocked to feel anything else.”
“Why?”
“I don’t present. I’m a researcher. I’m just a background person.”
“That’s what you think,” I mutter, inhaling against the crown of her head. Sugar cookies. No wonder I want to take a fucking bite out of her. “You seem like the kind of person who does everything to the best of her ability. I can’t see you doing anything but killing the presentation.”
“I can,” she laughs quietly—and that sound travels through me like a sensual stroke. “I can see myself stuttering and panicking and bombing. I’m about as comfortable with public speaking as I am with…men.”
I release her hip in favor of grasping her chin, tilting it up firmly. Perhaps a little rougher than I should, but her eyes glaze over and damn, I think she likes being maneuvered. Put in her place. “That’s the last time you refer to men in the plural sense. You say man from now on. Singular. Meaning me. Say it correctly now.”
It takes her a moment to nod, but she does, whispering, “I’m about as comfortable public speaking as I am with you.”
Satisfaction rumbles through me. “You’re getting more and more comfortable with me, though, are you?”
“Possibly to my own detriment.”
My lips twitch at her dry humor. “Why do you say that?”
“I have no idea what you want from me. Or what you want to do to me.”
The train slows to a stop and more people push into the already overflowing train, forcing me to press her tight, tight, tight into that corner, releasing a silent groan of thanksgiving when her stomach cushions my engorged cock, her palms rising in surprise to flatten against my pecs, her tummy hollowing and lifting against my bulge.
“You’re the only woman who can get me hard or make me come,” I say, my voice thicker than molasses. “I think you know exactly what I want to do to you.”
Her head seems to fall back against her will, her toes lifting so my cock drags up and over her belly button. “The way you speak is so blunt,” she says, a little breathless. “You decide you want something—me, in this case—and you take it. I can’t decide if you’re driven or just entitled.”
“I don’t feel entitled to you, July. I just need to keep feeling like this.”
“Turned on?”
“Like I’m a human being,” I say through my teeth, lifting her between my body and the wall so I can rub my face in the curve of her neck, getting her sugar scent all over me, in my nose, in my head. “When you look at me, I’m no longer some ghost floating around, watching the normal people go about living their lives. It’s like…as soon as you sat down across from me, I materialized. You’re anchoring me back down into the real world, July, and I don’t…if I’m being too forward or too aggressive, it’s only because I can’t be polite about finally breathing again. You force me to breathe, if for no other reason than to go on looking at you.” I suck hard on the side of her neck and groan over the way her thighs tense in response. “I need you, baby. I need you.”