Hurt spasmed across her face, but in the next instant her expression hardened into a cool mask that somehow appeared so wrong on her. Like an ill-fitting dress.
“Then why would you want to be with someone you believe would possibly sell you out for a story?” she scoffed, but a thin line of anger edged the question.
“A relationship with you and fucking are two different things,” he said, voice hard, matter-of-fact. “And if that’s what you’re looking for from me, then we can end this now. I don’t do long-term commitments. I’m not the man who can give you the happy home with a perfect, smiling family and well-behaved dog. But I am the man who can make you come so hard it hurts. Yes, Sophie. I’ll make it hurt in the very best way,” he murmured, lust gripping him so hard, so tight, he could barely draw in a breath. “I don’t need to trust you for that.”
Her thick fringe of lashes lowered, and her hooded silver gaze razed his skin. Red stained her cheeks and that lush mouth appeared even plumper, bitable. The aloof coldness had evaporated from her expression, leaving this one behind. And he recognized it. This face, stamped with arousal, had haunted his every waking and sleeping hour since Saturday night.
Yet, he couldn’t deny glimpsing the flicker of pain beneath the lust.
Before his mind could check him, he took a step toward her to...what? Ease it? Order her to tell him how to make it disappear?
She shot a hand up, palm out, and he halted.
Thank God.
“I have my own stipulations. I don’t have your trust, fine. But I will have your fidelity. While we’re doing...this arrangement, you don’t sleep with anyone else. Just me.”
“Of course,” he growled. “And the same with you. I’m the only man inside you.”
“Of course,” she said, throwing his words back at him with a snap. “And at any time either of us wants out, it’s over.” He nodded, but she continued, “One last thing. This stays here. No one else knows. Anyone finding out could cost me my job. I might be losing some of my pride entering into this with you, but I refuse to lose my career.”
She murmured the last part of that almost to herself, and he scowled. What the hell did that mean? Before he could demand an explanation, though, she stuck out her hand toward him, the fingertips nudging his chest.
“Deal?” she asked.
He stared down at it, anger and wild, raw need crowding into him. Pride? Being with him stripped her of pride? What else could he strip her of?
Grasping her wrist, he tugged her hand up to his mouth. And licked the center of her palm, swirling his tongue over the soft flesh. Her gasp reverberated around them, and she tried to curl her fingers into her palm, but he stayed the motion with his other hand, holding her spread wide for him. He flicked a wet caress in between each finger before sinking his teeth into the heel of her palm.
A shudder racked her body, followed by a throaty moan that had his dick twitching.
“Joshua,” she whimpered.
“Josh,” he corrected, voice harsh, roughened by the hunger that gnawed at him like a voracious beast. “Say it.” He trailed a finger down the elegant line of her throat, tracing the shallow dip in the middle of her collarbone.
“Josh,” she whispered, and her swift capitulation was a stroke over his thick, pulsing flesh. And a caress to his pounding heart. She moved forward until her thighs bumped his and her breasts plumped against his chest. He fought to lock down the urge that howled at him to take her down to the floor and claim. Rising to the tips of her bare toes, she brought her mouth a breath away. He slid his tongue out, brushing that temptation of a full bottom lip. “Josh,” she repeated, softer, huskier.
In answer, in reward, he took her mouth.
Releasing her hand, he cradled her jaw, pressing his thumb on her chin and tugging down to open her more to him. She tilted her head, complying. Breathing a snarl into her, he thrust his tongue past her lips, rubbing and twisting, coaxing her to play with him. Not that she needed any persuading. She met him, danced with him. Dared him. Nails digging into his shoulders through his suit jacket, she coiled her tongue with his, sucking hard, and the pull arrowed straight to his dick.
A savage, almost animalist burst of lust exploded within him, and he bent his knees to cup her ass in both hands and straightened, hauling her up his body. Her legs wound around his waist, her arms around his neck, settling her sex right over his erection. Goddamn. He clenched his molars together, reaching for his rapidly dwindling control. Still, nothing could stop him from punching his hips forward and stroking her up and down his dick. Her thin yoga pants and his slacks might as well as have been created of air. Her folds slipped over him, shooting electric pulses down his spine.
“Bedroom?” he ground out.
“Down the hall,” she rasped. “Last door on the right.”
In the small apartment, it didn’t take long to find her room. With long, impatient strides, he entered and headed straight for the bed. Carefully, he lowered her to the floor, sliding his hands up over her hips, the indents of her waist, the sides of her breasts until he held her face in his hands. Tipping her head back, he stared into her eyes. And though desire rode him like a jockey hell-bent on leather, he paused, seeking any flicker of hesitation, of second thoughts.
“I need to hear you say it, Sophie,” he said, his voice seeming to boom in the tense quiet of the bedroom. “Say you want this. You want me to touch you. You want me inside you.”
He waited. And he would continue to wait. Because a part of him—the stubborn part that grief, pain
