Page 23 of Blind Bite
His touch sent the hairs on my arm straight up. What was I doing following a near-stranger into the bowels of a nightclub? The sensible part of my brain screamed caution, but every other part of me—the parts that had been rejected, ghosted, and left wanting—urged me forward.
We reached a heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway. Jamie produced a key from his pocket, the metal gleaming oddly in the low light.
“Second thoughts?” he asked, noticing my hesitation.
“Not a single one,” I lied. Could it really be considered a lie when I so desperately wanted it to be true?
The lock clicked open, and Jamie pushed the door wide. Unlike the dark corridor, his office was bathed in soft amber light from art déco lamps. The space was unexpectedly elegant—leather furniture, antique desk, and walls lined with books that looked older than the building itself. Tobacco and bourbon hung in the air, completing the distinguished atmosphere.
“Wow,” I stepped inside, immediately drawn to a painting that dominated one wall. “This isn’t what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” He closed the door behind us with a soft click that felt somehow final.
“I don’t know. Something that lived between a corporate office and a trendy nightclub. Maybe a personal pole.”
Jamie laughed, the sound rich as it thundered in the air. “It’d be hard to twirl around one given the shelves and the desk. I’ve done corporate, but this is more... me.”
He moved to a cabinet in the corner, opening it to reveal a collection of bottles. “Drink?”
“Please.” My mouth had gone dry.
As he poured, I wandered around the office, trailing my fingers along the spines of books, some in languages I couldn’t identify. Everything felt old but pristinely maintained, like artifacts in a private museum.
Jamie appeared at my side, offering a crystal tumbler. Our fingers brushed during the exchange, his skin cool from the spherical ice that rested in our glasses.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip. The dark liquor burned pleasantly.
“Sorry it’s not fruity.”
“This is perfect.”
A low hum emitted from his throat. His eyes never left mine as he drank from his own glass.
We stood there, inches apart, heat building between us like a gathered storm. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks and spreading down my neck.
“You’re blushing,” he noted, setting his glass down on a nearby shelf.
“It’s the alcohol.”
“Is it?” Jamie stepped closer, eliminating the space between us. His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb tracing my lower lip. “Are you sure it’s not something else?”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. His proximity scrambled every coherent thought.
Jamie took my glass, placing it beside his. Then his hands were on my waist, drawing me against him. My palms pressed against his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the expensive fabric.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his mouth hovering above mine.
“Don’t you dare,” I breathed.
His lips crashed into mine with an intensity that stole my breath. The kiss was hungry, desperate—nothing I’d experienced before. Jamie kissed like a man who had been starving, and I matched his fervor, my fingers tangling in his hair.
We stumbled backward until I felt the edge of his desk behind me. In one fluid motion, he lifted me onto it, positioning himself between my legs. His mouth left mine to trail kisses down my neck, each one sending sparks shooting through my body.
“Jamie,” I gasped as his teeth grazed my skin.
His hands slid up my thighs, bunching the fabric of my dress. Every touch left fire in its wake. I fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.
“You have no idea how hungry I’ve been for you,” he murmured against my collarbone.
