4. Bones
CHAPTER FOUR
BONES
I kill the engine, shove the door open, and grab the coffee and donuts I grabbed on the way here. My boots hit broken concrete like a warning.
Eden’s building is a pit, with paint peeling and metal numbers hanging crooked. Two flights of stairs and I’m at her door. I’m not giving her a fucking minute to change her mind about this, so I plant my feet and knock.
Three seconds later, the door swings open.
My cock turns to stone in my pants as I stare down at her. She’s standing there in a faded sweatshirt and tight black yoga pants that make my mouth water.
“Morning, sweetheart,” I rumble. Just seeing her does something violent to my chest.
She lifts her chin. “Good morning. Please tell me one of those coffees is for me.”
I grin, crowding the doorway with my frame. “It is,” I hand over one of the cups and watch as she takes a sip. My cock jumps in my pants as she lightly moans. “I also brought donuts.” I hold up the bag.
“My hero.” Her lips twitch. She’s fighting the smile but losing. I fucking love it.
Today, she’s coming home with me, and I need to convince her to give me a chance.
I shoulder into her apartment, already hard as a rock from the way her ass fills out those yoga pants.
I hand her the bag of donuts, then I can’t resist the urge to tug her close and bury my nose in the curve of her neck.
Fucking hell. Her scent drives me fucking insane.
Wild and sweet, just like her. My cock is a steel rod in my jeans, but this isn’t the time to mark her up the way I want. Not yet.
“Let’s get your shit out of here,” I grunt, my voice thicker than it should be.
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t argue. I love that about her. She’s efficient as fuck; all her boxes are stacked by the door. There isn’t much. That pisses me off—she deserves more than this sad apartment, more than what life’s handed her. She deserves everything.
I grab two boxes at once because I’m not letting those delicate hands lift a goddamn thing heavier than a donut. She bristles, reaching for a box herself, but I growl, “I got this, sweetheart,” and her eyes go wide, heat flaring between us. “Enjoy your coffee and donuts while I load this up.”
Four trips are all it takes, and my truck is loaded. I watch her in the sunlight, chest rising fast, mouth parted. All I want is to haul her into the cab, pin her against the seat, and show her she belongs to me.
But first, I’m getting her out of this shithole for good.
After the last load, I look around her empty apartment. “That it?”
She nods. “I pack light.”
The drive over is short but quiet. She watches the world pass by through the passenger window, hands clasped in her lap like she’s bracing for impact. I keep sneaking glances at her. She’s wound tight, but I can see the steel under all that reserve.
When we pull into the lot behind the garage, she lets out a tiny breath. Like she’s been under water this whole time and only just realized she can come up for air.
The Boneyard Garage looks good in the early morning. Sun just cresting the east wall, throwing long shadows over the gravel lot, and the big red, white, and black sign catching the light like a beacon. Eden’s eyes dart over everything, cataloging the scene before she even gets out of the truck.
I unlock the office door and show her the way to the apartment stairs.
They’re steep as hell and creak like a horror movie, but I keep them clean and the railing is solid.
She follows me up, hauling her plant and the mug like they’re breakable heirlooms. The top floor opens into a little landing with a heavy oak door and a deadbolt you could anchor a ship with.
Inside, it’s basic but better than the apartment she just moved out of.
I spent yesterday scrubbing every inch, swapping in a new shower curtain, and putting together the secondhand IKEA dresser myself, only swearing at it twice.
The living space is small, but the couch is new and there’s a decent-sized TV mounted on the wall.
The tiny kitchen is clean, with new appliances and a fancy coffeemaker.
Eden sets her plant on the kitchen counter and stands there, silent, just soaking it all in. Her eyes find the big picture window that looks out over the garage yard and the city beyond. She smiles, just a twitch at the corner of her mouth, but it’s the first real smile I’ve seen.
“It’s great,” she says, voice soft as she glances around.
“I’m glad you like it.” I can’t help it, I watch her the way a wolf tracks prey—always moving, always calculating.
I haul her boxes upstairs while she walks the perimeter, checking closets and flipping on lights. She moves with purpose, opening each cabinet and running her hands over the counters, like she’s verifying it’s all real.
As I watch her, I realize she isn’t the kind you bring in for a one-night fling and then send packing. Eden is mine. Now, I just have to prove that to her.
She starts unpacking immediately, kneeling to open a box and pulling out stacks of neatly folded clothes. She sorts them into piles and then stares at the piles, like she’s surprised how little there is. Her next box is all books. She lines them up on the shelf I hung last night.
After an hour, she’s got everything put away. Her laptop sits on the tiny table under the window, papers sorted in a neat stack next to it. Her plant is already looking perkier on the kitchen counter. The place already feels different. Lived in.
“What time do you want me to start tomorrow?” She glances over at me.
I shake my head. “You can come down at 6:45. The garage opens at 7am.”
She gives me another of those almost-smiles. I get a little high off it. “I’ll be there.”
Fuck. I’m running out of excuses to stay here, and I can’t stomach the thought of leaving. “You hungry?” I ask. She shrugs and I know the only thing she’s eaten today is donuts. “Let me buy you lunch.”
She follows me out, and we hit a little sandwich shop a few blocks away. She orders a breakfast croissant and a coffee, then proceeds to inhale it like she hasn’t eaten in a week.
We talk—sort of. She asks about the garage, what to expect, who she’ll be working with.
I answer, filling in details she can’t get from the job description.
She listens intently, face never betraying more than a flicker of surprise or approval.
I get the feeling she’s memorizing everything, storing it away for later.
When we get back to the apartment, the sun’s higher and the city is awake. I help her haul her empty boxes to the dumpster, then walk her back up to the apartment. She unlocks the door and stands in the threshold.
I want to push my luck and ask to come in, but I can tell she needs some time. “If you need anything, you call me. Day or night.” I say, fighting the urge to stay with her.
She nods, eyes wide and unreadable. I make myself step back, one hand on the doorknob to keep from closing the distance between us.
“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” Before I can stop myself, I lean over and kiss her lips. Electricity flows down my spine as my brain shuts the fuck down.
Her lips are soft as silk and taste like coffee and stubbornness.
Fuck, my entire body draws so tight I’m seconds from completely losing my shit on her.
The little moan she gives me when I sweep my tongue against hers?
Yeah, that one’s going in a special file in my head labeled “Jack Off Material.” I want to eat her alive.
But I keep it light. Barely. One more second and I’d pin her against the wall like a fucking animal, and we’re not there yet—not quite. I ease up, pulling back a breath before I lose all control.
She blinks up at me, eyes wide and stormy, lips swollen and red from how hard I’ve been on them. Fuck, she looks wrecked. “What was that?” she asks, her voice a little rough, not fooling anybody.
I grin down at her, caging her in with my arms, close enough to feel her breaths coming fast. “That was me staking my claim, sweetheart.”
She lifts a brow, totally unimpressed, like she’s already figured out I’m a total goddamn pushover for her. I can’t get enough of her, and I never will. “It’s a little early in our relationship for your caveman act.”
God, her words send all the blood in my body straight to my cock.
I lean back in, greedy, giving her another slow taste.
My lips move over hers, dragging it out until she shivers all over.
“This isn’t an act.” It kills me to step back, hands itching to drag her in again and bury myself in her mouth.
“Lock the door behind me,” I tell her, voice low and raw.
“If anyone tries to mess with you, you call me first.”
“Yes, sir.” She stares up at me with those wild fucking hazel eyes, practically daring me to kick the door down and haul her straight to bed.
Shit, I want to. My self-control is frayed, and I’m dying to have her naked and writhing on my cock.
But I get the feeling if I push her too fast, she’ll pull all the way back.
Walking away is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I remind myself this is a marathon not a sprint. Fuck. I’m so done over this girl, I’m using yuppie quotes to justify my actions.