Consumed (Devoured, #2)(41)

“Ugh.” I drop the pepper spray into the bag that’s slung around my shoulder. “You are foul.” I clear my throat and in a sincere voice add, “Have an amazing day off, Sinjin.”

His expression goes slack, and I pull back in surprise. “It’ll be the best birthday eve I’ve ever had.”

As I back up to the BMW, which Lucas has driven closer to us, I can’t help but watch Sin as he returns to the bus for his belongings. I’m quiet as we leave the parking lot, but after driving for a few minutes, Lucas’s hand slides across my thigh, stopping to rest between my legs.

“Tell me about Sinjin,” I say.

“What about him?”

“Why he’s so . . .”

“Fucked up?” Lucas asks.

Rubbing my hand over the column of my throat, I nod. “I guess that’s the best way to put it.”

The corners of Lucas’s mouth tighten. “Because he came from a f*cked up family. An abusive stepfather. A drug addict mom.” He pauses as the dashboard GPS tells him to take a left. “He didn’t have someone like your grandmother to look out for him. Even after they lost custody, shit didn’t get any better for him or his sisters.”

“Is Zoe one of his sisters?”

Lucas’s head whips around, startling me. “Why do you ask that?” When I don’t immediately answer, he shakes his head slowly. “She’s a woman he met in rehab.”

My mouth drops open into a silent “Oh.” “So, she’s still there, then?”

Lucas grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “She’s not a drug addict,” he explains in a low voice. “She’s his therapist’s 19 year old daughter. To say that Sinjin is conflicted about it is an understatement. But, I’m starting to think it’s the best goddamn conflict he’s ever faced. He’s clean.”

But he was also unhappy.

Resting my back against the seat, I turn my head to the side, staring out at the Gateway Arch and the buildings beyond it until they all become one massive blur. I don’t speak again until Lucas pulls the rental car up to the front of our hotel, and that’s to thank the valet who holds my door open for me. Someone from concierge greets us almost as soon as we go inside, and instead of the elevators just off of the right of the lobby, we’re directed to a separate part of the hotel, to the Penthouse elevator.

“If there’s anything that I, or the rest of the staff here at The Avery, can do to make your stay more enjoyable than the last time, please don’t hesitate to let us know,” the short, balding man acting as our escort says before Lucas and I step onto the elevator.

As soon as the doors slide closed, I lean back against the corner, cocking an eyebrow. “More enjoyable than the last time,” I repeat.

“Do you know how sexy you look when you make that face?” he demands, taking slow steps towards me. I wrap my fingers around the cold metal bar behind my body. “And before that beautiful head of yours starts to wonder, no. No other woman has ever been inside of this box with me.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” I whisper. He pins me against the elevator wall, and I let out a moan of pleasure as he skims his teeth over my earlobe. “I mean, I don’t care. And we shouldn’t do this here—there are cameras.”

“There you are with the lying again,” he growls. “And do you think I give a f*ck about the cameras?” He kisses around the outline of my face until he finds the sensitive flesh at my throat, and I swallow hard. “You taste so good. So sweet. All I can think about is tasting more of you.”

Without warning, he hooks his hands under my thighs and lifts me up. I let out a shriek and straddle my legs around his waist. “Of course you care about cameras,” I whisper, as he glides his tongue over the delicate bones of my shoulder blades. “You should care about them.”

My head is spinning and if not for the loud warning noise, I wouldn’t have noticed that the elevator has stopped on the top floor of the building.

“When I take you into this room, you are completely mine,” he says. “No tour talk, no Cilla. Just me and you.”

He doesn’t mention Sam, but I think of her, and I vow not to let the little bit of contact she’s had with me ruin my time with him. I’ll be home in Nashville this weekend, and I want to savor every moment I have with him alone.

“Alright. I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Red,” he tells me in a dangerous voice.

He carries me inside of the Penthouse, not setting me down until we reach the large, circular couch in the middle of the room—a brown leather sectional where the parts have been slid together to make one round surface. Scooting myself back, I look around, trying to become better acquainted with where I’ll be staying for the next 36 hours.

There’s a neutral color scheme going on in here—rich shades of brown and tan. Directly across from the couch is a bar with a gleaming granite counter top, and to the left of me, French doors lead to what I assume is the bedroom. To my right is a Steinway piano, and memories of the night in Nashville when he bent me over the same model claws its way into my thoughts.

“Why does this feel familiar?” I tease.

“Because it’s supposed to be.” Taking my hands in his, he pulls me up until I’m sitting on my knees and our bodies are rubbing together. “You’re going to play for me, Sienna.”