“Fine, let’s go. I think I’ll take a hot soak. I’ve been traveling all day.”
I follow him to the elevator, where he inserts a special key and hits a button for the top floor. No wonder this address came up when I searched for him. It’s not only his business, but also his residence. Reece has really submersed himself in this world, and I wish I understood more about it and the man he’s morphed into while I’ve been away.
“You never answered my question,” I say, finally feeling the full effects of the alcohol. I’m drowsy and tipsy, and liable to say anything right about now.
“And what question was that?” His voice is way too in control, and it’s annoying me.
“You. Me.” I lift one eyebrow.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Fuck it. Throwing caution to the wind, I lick my lips, noting the way his eyes follow the movement. “About you, pounding into me from behind. Me, screaming out your name.”
“I told you. I need to talk to Hale.”
“And say what?” I shoot back.
“I’m not doing this again without his blessing.”
“Nothing happened.” Nothing but a broken heart and six long years of mourning what could have been. For me it was young love, but to him it’s ancient history, if the brash tone of the man before me is any indicator.
“Enough happened.”
The elevator jerks to a stop, and when the doors open I follow him down a dimly lit hallway, the bite of rejection stinging with each step I take.
He walks in front of me and when he glances back, I wish I could read his expression. Aside from the tic of his jaw and set of his posture, he gives away nothing. Maybe it was a mistake coming here.
When he unlocks the door and lets us inside, it’s like I’ve tripped a live explosive, because Reece pushes my back against the wall and his lips crash down on mine. His mouth is hot, demanding, and needy, speaking a language I readily comprehend.
Every nerve ending in my body hums to life at once. Yes, yes, yes. This is why I came here, this right here. His presence alone forces every stray thought from my brain so I can just feel. I kiss him back, licking against his tongue, unable to help the small mewling cries that escape me as I press my body close to his.
He pulls away suddenly, making me mourn the loss of his firm body looming over mine. “Some things have changed since you’ve been gone,” he says tightly. “If we do this, you will play by my rules. There will be no topping from the bottom. Your wrists will be bound by my ropes. That hot, tight cunt will be wrapped around my cock, and you won’t come until I say.”
My knees tremble, and my breath catches in my throat. Please. Yes, to all of that. Times one hundred.
“I understand, sir,” I murmur.
That word does interesting things to him. His pupils dilate and he forces his mouth on mine again, sucking on my tongue, and grips my ass roughly through my jeans. My center turns molten and my panties go damp.
“Fuck. You still taste so good. Just like I remember.” He pulls his lips from mine and lands a sharp swat against my ass.
“Ouch.” I rub the tender cheek. “What was that for?”
“For giving me this when I have to go back to work.” His hand drops down to grip the bulge at the front of his pants.
My, my. I giggle. “Sorry.”
“Come on. I have a guest room.” He leads me into a bedroom down the hall furnished only with a large bed with crisp white sheets and a gray duvet. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” I look around. I only have my purse, having left all my bags in my car, which is parked several blocks away.
“Something to sleep in?” he asks.
“Please.”
He returns moments later holding a Chicago Cubs T-shirt. It’s soft and faded from numerous washings, its original navy color now more of a muted blue. It’s perfect. “Thank you.”
“The bathroom is at the end of the hall, and the towels are in the cabinet under the sink.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed, tired and confused. My attraction to him is even stronger than I imagined it could be after all these years, and I’m not sure what to make of that. This was supposed to be daring and fun. It wasn’t supposed conjure up a bunch of memories and what-ifs.
Reece gazes at me as if he’s cataloging all the ways I’ve changed over the years. Without saying a word, he stalks closer and takes my hand. My nails are polished jet black, my signature color lately, and he looks displeased somehow.
“This is new,” he says at last.
I pull my hand away and nod toward his tattooed arm that I’ve only caught glimpses of. “So is that.”
He nods. “So it is.”
As he studies me with those dark eyes again, I’m unnerved. Things have changed between us. We have changed. And I have no idea if we still fit together. It’s a thought that depresses me.
“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” I ask.