“Sorry,” she giggles, walking into the room, the fire safety door closing behind her. “I just don’t want to disturb you.”
“You could never disturb me,” I growl. “Are you ready to go?”
“Sort of,” she laughs. “I mean, yes, I’m ready to go.”
“But you’re thinking about what I said,” I say, reading the indecision flitting across her face.
Her eyes widen in recognition and I stand, prowling across the room, stopping bare inches from her so that I can scent her pheromones and her perfume.
“And maybe seeing me write this morning has triggered some inspiration in you, eh?”
She pauses, shooting me a playful pout.
“Maybe,” she mutters.
“And maybe you’d rather focus on that instead of slaving away in a cafe?”
She throws her hands up. “Well, of course, I would,” she says. “But what am I supposed to do, just quit my job and let you pay for everything?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “At first, anyway. But it won’t take long for you to really come into your own as a writer.”
“If I could dedicate myself to it full time,” she muses.
“Exactly. So what’s the problem?”
She sighs, her hands worrying at each other. We share a look as I reach across and take them, prying them apart and holding them firmly.
“I feel guilty,” she admits.
“About what?”
“Well … what makes me so special? I’m sure a lot of people working in service jobs would just like to quit and live their dreams, but they don’t get to, do they? So why should I?”
“Because I’m not offering them,” I growl. “Tess, you need to start understanding that you fucking deserve a whole lot more than you ever thought before. I get it—your childhood fucked you up. Mine fucked me up too. But I’m ready to face that, together.”
She flinches, my words having a visible impact on her.
“Whoah,” she says. “When you put it like that …”
“Is that a yes?” I ask.
“I … I think it might be,” she murmurs. “Yes, I really think so. But I can’t quit today. It wouldn’t be fair to by co-workers.”
I glance at the clock. It’s half past one.
“What time’s your shift?” I ask.
“Half past three.”
“Half past three,” I laugh. “Then why the fuck are we leaving now?”
Her characteristic blush spreads over her face and neck and she laughs in a way that touches every part of my soul.
“I don’t know,” she giggles. “Jeez, I guess I’m so used to public transport I sort of just did it on autopilot. Yeah, I guess we don’t need to leave for a little bit.”
“Good,” I growl, striding across the room and turning the lock.
“Tanner …”
I turn to her, unable to stop the drumming desire coursing through me.
“Tess,” I say, matching her tone as I stalk back across the room and stand over her, staring down at my no-longer-virgin princess. “If you think I’m not going to bend you over that bed and pull those fucking tights down to see those creamy thighs—if you think I’m not going to take you from behind, because I haven’t done that yet and I need to see that ass bouncing for me, then you’re wrong, dead-fucking-wrong.”
Her lust causes her expression to shift and change, she bites her lip and her eyes widen and she tugs at every sultry part of me.
“What about Kait and Gizmo?”
I cock a smirk. “We’ll have to be quiet, then.”
“What if I can’t?”
I lean forward, trailing my fingers up her arms and relishing the way it makes her shiver. She stops biting her lip with a gasp as I lean closer, bringing our faces together, staring straight into the intelligent spunkiness of her eyes.
“Then you’ll have to bite the pillow like the dirty girl you are,” I growl.
“Oh, God,” she whimpers.
I take her by the shoulders, letting all my niceties fall away as I guide her to the bed. The way she follows my movements does funny things to my insides, as though we’re dancers, as though she’s leading the way even if I’m the one guiding us.
“Fuck, fuck,” I grunt, as she bends over for me, presenting her ass clad in the black barista’s skirt, creeping up to show me her panties through her tights, beyond tempting.
“I need that pussy,” I snarl, sliding my hand over her gorgeous round ass cheeks and then pushing up her skirt.
I grab the waistband of her tights and pull them down, inch by torturous inch, revealing the goose-pimple-dappled majesty of her thighs. I pull them down just enough, the fabric trapping her legs, her panties showing the shape and texture of her perfect heat.
“I want you like this,” I growl. “All tangled up for me. Mine. Always fucking mine.”
“Mmm,” she moans, looking at me over her shoulder.
I smirk. “Are you trying to be quiet?”
She nods, making another muffled moaning sound that somehow – impossibly – increases my carnal need for her.