Page 26 of Inked Desires
“Is this your apartment?” he asks, scanning the kitchen, a poor attempt to change the subject.
I take a sip of coffee, trying to gauge his mood.
“No. We had a break-in last night. No idea who owns this place.”
He rolls his eyes but a smile tugs at his lips.
“It’s nice,” he says, ignoring my joke.“Can you call me a taxi?” he adds after finishing his coffee.“I need to change before heading to the shop.”
“There’s a new toothbrush in the bathroom,” I reply.“Wear your jeans from yesterday and take one of my T-shirts. We’re already late.”
He slept long, and I didn’t have the heart to wake him. He looked so peaceful, relaxed. It’s an expression I’d never seen on his face since he stormed into my shop like a tempest.
“Bathroom?”
“The door at the very end. Help yourself to my closet.”
“Okay,” he nods, heading toward the exit.
His hips sway with a hypnotic grace at every step, and I can’t help but follow the movement with my eyes. Impossible to look away. That body looks made to be bitten, marked as territory.
I take a deep breath, shake my head, and try to regain my composure. Andrew is already out of the kitchen, and I’m still staring at the door like an excited teenager.
I have to control myself. My desire can’t dictate my actions. Sleeping with Andrew would be a colossal mistake. He looks too much like my husband. He works for me. If I cross that line, I risk losing a good employee, and this unhealthy obsession isn’t worth it. It’s a shitty reality, and yet, I keep salivating after him.
I head toward my room. But as I step into the doorway, I stop dead.
He’s there, wearing only his jeans, standing in front of my closet. Drops of water drip from his hair, down his back, tracing a path to his hips.
Fuck. Does he want to be my downfall or what?
My gaze catches the scar on the small of his back. The mark of an iron is deeply etched into his skin, a brutal shadow on that perfection. A familiar rage rises inside me. How can anyone do that to someone who can’t defend themselves? What did he do to deserve that?
Suddenly, I’m right behind him. His scent has mingled with my shower gel. I notice his ragged breathing. My thoughts vanish. With my fingertips, I trace the scar. Gently, I follow its contours, paying tribute to that damaged flesh and apologizing for another’s deeds. His skin is uneven, but I don’t mind. An electric energy runs through his body into my arm, turning into vibrations that remind me of my dermograph’s hum. It soothes me, pushes the darkness behind my temples, and awakens my curiosity to feel the rest of his body.
I reach over his shoulder and pull off a T-shirt, handing it to him.
“Here.”
His trembling hands grasp the fabric and unfold the old band tee.
I return to the wardrobe to grab black jeans and another top before forcing myself to step back, giving him space. I head to the bed and lay the clothes down. I look away, or I risk giving in to the fire burning deep inside me.
Behind me, I hear a faint rustle, but I don’t turn around. I yank off my top with a sharp motion, then let my soft pants slide down my legs. My back tingles. I can’t help it—I glance over my shoulder. Andrew is watching me. It doesn’t embarrass me. I’m not ashamed of my body. He bites his lip, letting his gaze drift to my hips.
“Andrew,” I say, my voice sharp, warning him.
Any more, and he’d already be beneath me. And I’d throw all consequences to the wind.
He blushes and lowers his eyes to the floor. I take a deep breath, gathering the last scraps of control I have left before pulling on my clothes and grabbing the key from my nightstand.
“Let’s go,” I say, leading him out of the room, away from the danger zone.
We shouldn’t both be in my room. It feeds fantasies I’m not allowed to have.
I cross the hallway and stop in front of a mirrored door.
“What’s that?” he exclaims behind me.
