The night air hits me the second I step outside, cooler than the heat running in my veins. His car is parked right at the curb like he owns the whole damn street. Door open, engine purring. He’s leaning against it, one hand in his pocket, like he knew I’d come anyway.
“Get in.” Two words. Flat. No please, no question.
I stand there, arms crossed, letting the silence stretch. He tilts his head, smirking like he can already read the storm in me.
The girls’ laughter drifts from inside the restaurant. I’m aware of every tick of the clock, every inch of space between us shrinking.
I should walk back in. I should ignore him.
Instead, I slide into the passenger seat without another word.
His smirk sharpens as he shuts the door behind me. “Smart girl.”
He pulls out into traffic like he owns the road, one hand steady on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh. The tension coils thick between us, heavier than the city lights flashing by the window.
I can’t stop asking where he’s taking me. Every time, he just smirks.
“Home.”
When we finally pull up, he parks, steps out, and comes around to open my door. Gentleman. Then, smack. His hand lands on my bum, playful and firm, making me yelp and laugh as I step out.
We walk inside. I press the lift button, but he leans forward, presses 8, and steps back like nothing happened.
I frown. “You moved houses?”
“No.”
“But you lived on the 9th floor, tho?”
“Yes, love, I’m well aware.” His lips curve into a smile that makes my stomach flip. “I have something I want to show you.”
The elevator dings. The doors slide open. The hallway feels different, charged.
The moment we step out, he’s behind me. His hands slide onto my waist, pulling me close, his breath warm against my neck. I barely take a step before he pushes me against the wall, pinning me there with the kind of hunger that makes my whole body tremble.
His lips graze my skin, teasing, nipping, setting me on fire. My hands brace the wall, but my legs are already weak, parting for him without thought. I’m dripping, throbbing, every bite and whisper of his breath sending shivers down my spine.
All I can think about is him taking me right here, before we even make it to his door. His hand slides lower, fingers brushing just enough to make me moan.
“Every time I picture these stairs…” his voice is low, rough, “I don’t see steps anymore. I see you. Right here.”
And God, I feel it.
“Or should I drag you?”
My pulse jumps, but I keep my voice steady. “You’ve got some nerve.”
He chuckles low, close enough now that his cologne cuts through the crisp night air. “And you’ve got five seconds to decide.”
Finally, he says, almost lazy, “You’re going to regret making me wait.”
And something in the way he says it makes me wonder if regret is the last thing I’ll be feeling tonight.