Chapter three
Connor’s Apartment, The Level
Connor
My best friend stands opposite me in my kitchen as I stir the soup prepared by our shared housekeeper in the pot. His dark eyes move around my living area, taking in the details of my preparations for my date with Samantha tonight.
“Who did you say you were seeing?” Harrison asks. He walks over to the vase of red roses placed between the two settings on my glass dining room table. He touches one of the buds and glances in my direction.
“None of your business.”
“Is it serious?”
“It’s never serious,” I mutter back, not looking at him. “But the more effort I make, the better rewarded I’ll be. Women like flowers. It encourages them to spread their legs.”
“True,” he agrees, “but you never normally have to go to this extent to get laid.”
I scowl at him, then refocus on not burning the French onion soup.
Mrs. D would kill me. She’s busy finishing cleaning my bedroom in case I get lucky.
I hope tonight is the night I do. Samantha made it clear we wouldn’t be fucking until she said so, and hell, she’s making me work for it.
It’s been six weeks of torture, me romancing, and her holding out.
I’ve barely touched her ass through her jeans.
Harrison continues wandering around my home.
He’s been both my brother and I’s best friend since we were children.
When he was eight years old, we found him dumped in a ditch.
My father took him under his wing, supporting his education while he was in the care system.
Now the three of us own a law firm in Canary Wharf, all of us flying high, earning thousands each day, and living as neighbors in our fortress in the sky.
Russell, the oldest, owns the penthouse and often reminds us he’s in charge—not that either of us listens.
Harrison and I have apartments on the second-highest floor alongside our private boardroom.
These two floors are known as The Level and are off-limits to anyone but those invited.
Up here is our safe haven, away from the chaos of London and the dark world we work in.
“How’s my sister?” I ask him, trying to divert the conversation away from my love life and back to his.
“She’s fine. Full of hormones.” He chuckles and shakes his head.
“This morning, she told me that I should go out on the balcony and look down because that’s where I’d be headed if I left my socks on the living room floor again. She said once she moves in full time, it won’t be happening or I’ll be looking for another roommate.”
My sister, Violet, has been the love of Harrison’s life since they were kids.
After disappearing for thirteen years, she appeared back in London this summer, heartbroken and pregnant with her long-term lover’s baby, a man who she’s now discovered was married the whole time.
My friend has stepped up to be both a dependable partner for her and father-to-be for the baby.
Finally, both of them are with who they always should have been if outside elements hadn’t gotten in the way. I love to see them both so happy.
“Anyway, who is it you’re seeing?” he prompts again.
“It’s none of your business,” I repeat. The last thing I want Violet to know is that I’m trying to seduce her best friend.
She knows we speak, but I don’t want her unsolicited advice or opinions.
Or worse, Violet speaking to Samantha on my behalf.
Russell knows, but I tell him everything—he’s a true brother.
Hot-headed, sure, and sometimes insane, but he is the man I trust with my darkest secrets.
When I told him I was dating Samantha, he assumed it was casual sex.
I never corrected him. Any sexual conquest always has been, but I know deep down this is different.
However, she refuses to make it exclusive, insisting she never commits to anyone.
She wants to remain independent with her options open.
In the past, this would have been a dealbreaker for me, but to have her, I would agree to anything.
My balls are firmly lodged in her grasp—metaphorically anyway. I wish they were physically.
“As you’re not forthcoming with any information,” Harrison says, “I’ll be going. Your sister will come looking for me if I don’t reappear soon.”
“Yeah, fuck off. Keep that explosive bomb of hormones in your apartment.” He laughs, then waves as he leaves through my front door. Harrison is like another brother, and I hope one day to be able to call him one.
My attention returns to the soup as our elderly housekeeper appears.
“Everything is ready, Mr. Chase,” she tells me.
Mrs. D is an absolute diamond and maintains the whole two floors of The Level.
She’s like a mother to us, ensuring our homes are clean and food fresh as we go about our busy lives.
“Is there anything else you need before I leave?”
“No, Mrs. D. You’re an angel, as always.”
“Well, I hope the young lady appreciates all the effort you have gone to.” She holds my gaze for a moment, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I get the feeling this one is rather special.”
“I think so,” I admit, relieved at having someone to confide in. “This is something I’ve never felt before.”
“What is?”
“This feeling. It’s like…” I trail off, not knowing how to explain the constant need for Samantha.
The constant craving to have her with me.
“In a matter of weeks, she has me thinking of her in every waking moment. I open my eyes and she’s there; when I close them, she appears in my dreams.”
The older woman chuckles. “What’s so funny?”
“That, my boy,” she whispers, walking over to me and reaching up to touch my cheek, “is what it feels like to fall in love.”
“Love?” I scoff dramatically, all the while knowing she’s right.
“Yes.” She smiles softly. “You may be a successful man in your thirties, Connor, but this is the first time for you. I see it in your eyes. This girl is special, so don’t mess it up. Go all in. You deserve to be loved.”
Wrinkled fingers pinch my cheek, then she rises on tiptoe and presses her lips to my skin “Have a wonderful night,” she says before leaving.
Thirty minutes later, I’m in my bedroom adjusting my hair again in the mirror when the alarm sounds that my front door has opened. I stalk through to my open-plan living space to find Russell escorting Samantha into my home.
“Look what I found on the street,” he says sarcastically. I narrow my eyes at him, and he cocks his head to one side before beaming. “I think this is your lost property.”
“I’m no one’s property,” Samantha snaps. My focus drops to my brother’s hand on the small of her back. My body tenses, annoyed by the contact. Fucking asshole always has to overstep the mark.
“Stop touching my girlfriend,” I tell him. He raises both hands in mock surrender and takes a deliberate step to the side as his grin widens further. My brother knows how to push my buttons, and trying to take what’s mine is one of the ways he enjoys doing it.
“Girlfriend?” he questions, turning to Samantha who flushes as he stares. She bites her lip, and an uneasy feeling skims my skin. She’s affected by him; I can see it blatant and natural. “I thought your relationship was only sex. Girlfriend is a level up from fuck buddy.”
“We haven’t had sex,” Samantha says, hostile, and I wince.
Fuck, he’ll never let me live this down.
I’ve been implying that she’s explosive between the sheets.
His face lights up but abruptly darkens as she strolls to my side, throws the handbag she’s carrying on the floor, then wraps her arms around my neck.
She looks incredible wearing a figure-hugging winter coat, the zipper lowered and exposing the swell of her breasts.
Long, slender legs protrude from the hem before dainty feet are encased in strappy black heels.
Her toenails are painted scarlet, a hint of the fun that is no doubt underneath her clothes.
Azure eyes lock on to mine, and she says sexily, “But I have a feeling that situation will be changing tonight.”
Lost in her gaze, I only hear the sound of rushed footsteps and my front door slamming closed as my brother leaves. Choke on that, sucker.
***
Samantha
Connor wraps his arms around my waist, big hands splaying over my ass and pulling me to him. His cock hardens against my stomach, and I smile against his lips. The door vibrates loudly after being thumped closed.
“Are you going to let me touch you tonight?” he asks, his voice soft but filled with hope. The smell of mint hits my nostrils from freshly brushed teeth.
“You’re already touching me.” Our lips connect briefly before he pulls back.
“You’re such a fucking tease. I want to feel what’s underneath this.” His strong fingers squeeze my ass through my jacket. I wriggle from his grip, then step back from him. His pupils dilate slightly as I lift one hand to my zipper, pinch it between my fingers, and lower it slowly.
There’s the sound of metal on metal as it glides down my body.
My jacket opens, exposing the barely-there bra and thong underneath.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his eyes flicking upward as his hand runs through his hair.
A naughty smile plays on his lips when he returns to focus on me. “What sort of dress code is this?”
I open the jacket fully and slip it off my shoulders, letting it fall into a puddle on the floor.
Then, I lift my hands into the air and spin in front of him so he gets the full effect of my sheer underwear.
I spent ages ensuring that no pesky hair would be found when he was down there.
When my eyes return to his on the completion of my rotation, we stare at each other for a beat.
“The dress code of a woman who wants to make a man feel oh so fucking good,” I whisper.
“A man? Or your man?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“The man standing right here, right now. You deserve a reward after your exemplary behavior these past few weeks.”
“If this is the prize for behaving myself,” he mutters, stepping forward and taking hold of my hips.
“I’ll join the fucking Boy Scouts.” I laugh, the sheer joy of being in his presence consuming me.
Connor Chase makes me so happy; he’s the ultimate morally gray Prince Charming, deadly but swoon-worthy.
“But…” I lift a single finger to his lips while biting my own, trying to hide the threatening smile.
“Before I reward you, I need to eat. You want me in tip-top shape for our first time.”
His hands take both of mine and drop to waist level.
Our eyes are locked. I can’t bear to look away from his beautiful brown ones.
“I’ll give you whatever you want,” he says fiercely,“if it means I’m going to be able to do all the things I’ve been dreaming about tonight.”
“I didn’t say you would be doing anything,” I tell him.
“You’ll take what you’re given.” He opens his mouth to protest, and I glance over his shoulder at the liquid bubbling over a pot on the stove.
“I think you need to get back in the kitchen.”
He follows my line of sight, then lets go of my hands before almost sprinting to remove the pot from the heat.
“Fuck, Mrs. D will kill me if it's ruined.”
I move round to stand behind him, then slide my hands around his waist as he stirs the soup in the pot. The feel of denim beneath my fingers heightens my libido, and my stomach flips, I press my body against his back and slide one leg between his so my thigh touches his ass.
“If you’ve burned my meal, Mr. Chase,” I purr, “what would have been a reward this evening, may have to morph into a punishment.”
Placing my lips against his perfectly white shirt, I press firmly, then nip taut skin through the soft fabric.
When I pull back, a smudge of red stains the pristine surface.
“Whoops,” I say with a giggle. “I’ve messed up your shirt with my lipstick. We may have to take turns punishing each other.”
“Fuck this,” he growls, spinning to face me. “You’re pushing my limits on being a gentleman.”
“I didn’t say you were a gentleman,” I shoot back, cocking my head to the side and widening my eyes. “I said you were well-behaved. And good boys deserve a reward.”
“And I am fucking claiming it.” He turns back briefly and flicks the switch on the stove, then grabs my ass lifting me in one motion up onto his waist. My legs and arms wrap around him as he walks across his kitchen to sit me on the island.
The surface is an expanse of cool black granite. As he releases my body and steps away, I place my hands behind me and shake my hair. Strong fingers come to my knees and encourage my legs wide, exposing the see-through scrap of material covering my pussy.
“You look incredible,” he says, the lilt of arousal clear in his tone.
“What about dinner?”
“I’m skipping straight to dessert.” He takes one of my ankles in each hand, encouraging them upwards until my knees are bent and heels are balanced on the worktop. “Lie down,” he orders firmly, and I push myself backward then lower myself, my hair splaying across the dark surface.
Connor stands between my legs and looks down at me, lying in the middle of his counter with my legs wide.
He places a hand on either side of my waist before lowering his lips to my stomach and pressing gently just above my belly button.
He repeats the process slowly, each time moving his lips fractionally farther down.
Strong hands move under my legs and lift them onto his shoulders.
He glances up at me. “Raise your hands above your head,” he says.
“You look perfectly laid out, like a final meal. If I were on death row, you would be my last request.”
I do as he asks, and hungry eyes run over my skin.
“Now, stay like that while I get to know the part of you I’ve been dying to meet.”
“I was rewarding you,” I protest.
“If I do a good job, you can pay me back later. The only sound I want to hear now is your moans. It’s rude to interrupt someone while they’re eating.”