Hard Rules (Dirty Money #1)(57)

“Me. I did it for me.”

“Are you running from a man who’s going to show back up?”

“No. God no, Shane. And if we’re just f*cking why does it matter anyway?”

“Don’t talk,” he says, his voice low, gravelly, his mouth slanting over mine. And then he is kissing me, and there is more than guilt on his lips now. There is hunger, lust, demand. And I answer him, holding nothing back, wild, frenzied, and everything is a whirlwind of sensation that burns through me until there is nothing but my hands on him and his on me. Somehow, his clothes are fully gone, and I’m against the wall, or the front door I think, and he is inside me, cupping my backside and lifting me. I respond instantly, my legs automatically wrap around his waist and I don’t know how, or why, but we still, our bodies locked together, our breathing heavy whispers, coming together as one. We are one in this moment, two people lost and found in each other, both of us fighting a battle the other understands in ways no one else can.

Seconds tick by, and he whispers, “What the hell are you doing to me?” but I never get the chance to ask him the same. He lifts me off the wall, one hand pressing between my shoulder blades, molding me to him, the other cupping my backside as he pulls me down on the hard thick ridge of his erection, and thrusts into me again. I pant, curling forward and holding on to him, burying my face in his neck. And then we are moving, swaying, a grind to our hips, a raw urgency to every glide and pump, the sounds he is making, low, guttural, and oh so sexy, drive me to the edge. Tension builds between us, and in my sex, that sweet spot spiking my nerve endings, and pushing me to that place of no return. My sex clenches like a vise around his shaft, every muscle in my body tenses with it. He groans, his hands flexing into my back and bottom, and he starts to shake. I think I am shaking too, and everything fades into bliss. I don’t know how much time goes by until I come to the present. And he is back too. I feel it like I feel him.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, carrying me deeper into the darkness of the apartment. I don’t know where he is taking me, and I don’t care. I want more of him, wherever that takes us. Turns out, that’s the bathroom off the living room, where he flips on a light, and sets me on the counter by the sink. He grabs a towel, offering it to me before he pulls out, and snatches another to clean himself up, before tossing it into the hamper. “Stay right here,” he orders, already disappearing into the other room.

I glance around a bathroom similar to the one upstairs, in that it’s all white, but this one smaller with an egg-shaped tub. My mind is on how completely naked I feel right now, and how unsure I am about what to expect next. Shane returns, his sweatpants back in place, a T-shirt in his hand that he slips over my head. “Your uniform of my choice,” he says when it’s in place, resting his hands on either side of me. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You are?”

“Yes,” he says. “I am.”

“So am I.” I hesitate on what I want to say, but only for a moment. “You said trust is different than control.”

“It is and I fully intend to show you how.”

“And trust is important to you because of your family.”

“Right again.”

“Then I really need to tell you a few things.”

I expect some sort of reaction, perhaps withdraw in anticipation of what I might say, but he simply settles his hands on my waist. “I’m listening.”

“I know you said we’re just f*cking, but—”

“Because I needed, we needed, to ‘just f*ck,’ not because we’re the equation of a few random f*cks. Be clear, sweetheart, for my part and I am sure yours, I could have called any number of f*ck buddies tonight. I didn’t and that was because they aren’t you, and therefore they aren’t what I needed.”

It’s everything I want to hear, and yet … “I’m confused, Shane. At the office, you said we are a problem, because your family is a problem.”

“Trouble doesn’t begin to describe my family, but I’ll be damned if I want to give you up right now.”

Right now. Inferring that he still intends to give me up later, which makes the confession I’d been about to make irrelevant. But I get him and understand where he’s at. His father is dying. He needs someone right now. Maybe he actually needs that to be me for some reason, and I want to be that someone. I reach up and cup his cheek. “I don’t want to give you up right now either.”

“Well then,” he says. “I vote we order room service and actually enjoy it this time.”

“I’d like that,” I say, and he lifts me off the sink, setting me on the ground in front of him, but we don’t move. We stand there, the way we do sometimes it seems, staring at each other. I know that we’ve just said we are all about right now, inferring later won’t matter, but there is something shifting between us, something warm and wondering, I don’t understand, but I want and need.

He reaches down, lacing his fingers with mine, his lips slowly begin to curve. My lips curve too, and suddenly, we’re smiling for no reason. He leads me forward, holding on to me as we walk, and I think that is part of what really gets to me with Shane. He holds on to me like he’s afraid he’ll lose me, when no one else does or cares.

We reach the living room and I sit down on the couch. Shane doesn’t immediately join me, instead handing me a throw blanket before using a remote that ignites a sleek, glass-paneled fireplace in the far right corner. “I’ll grab the menu,” he says, leaving me feeling cozy and safe in a way I haven’t been in a very long time. He makes me feel safe, which is probably why I’ve told him things I shouldn’t have. Why I want to tell him everything, but I can’t bear the idea he will hate me, or he’ll end up hurt.