Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(53)
With a choked cry, I come, the pent-up need releasing all at once as my body spasms and contracts, the blast of ecstasy curling my toes inside my shoes. Dazedly, I’m aware of distant laughter, and then I’m abruptly horizontal, being carried in impossibly strong arms.
Startled, I open my eyes, looping my arms around Peter’s neck. He’s walking fast, and we’re already halfway across the parking lot, but I still catch a glimpse of three teenage boys on the other side of the lot. They must’ve seen us, I realize, flushing all over as the orgasm-induced haze clears from my mind.
“Peter, they—”
“I know.” His jaw is tight as he covers the pavement with long, sure strides, carrying me as easily as if I were a child. “We need to get inside.”
The teenagers’ wolf whistles and hooting reach my ears again, and I push at his shoulders. “Put me down. Please, I can walk.”
The last thing I need is to be carried through the lobby like some kind of underdressed bride.
To my relief, Peter listens, lowering me to my feet as we reach my building’s entrance. It’s just in time, too. We don’t have a doorman, but I do see my neighbors—two young women dressed up for a night out. They’re coming out just as we’re coming in, and their curious gazes swing from me to Peter, who’s maintaining a possessive grip on my arm.
I don’t know them that well—we’ve only exchanged pleasantries about the weather—so I smile awkwardly and wish them a good evening.
“You too,” one of the women says, openly staring at Peter as her roommate starts giggling like a schoolgirl. “Have a very nice evening indeed.”
My face flushes brighter as they continue down the lobby, whispering and giggling with their heads bent close together, and for the first time, I’m glad my building doesn’t have much of a community dynamic. There are a lot of renters, like me, and with the high turnover in the apartments, people don’t bother to get to know their neighbors—or gossip about them.
“Friends of yours?” Peter asks, releasing my arm to press the elevator button, and I shake my head.
“Not really.” I look up at him, frowning. “Don’t you know that? Weren’t you having me followed?”
His gray eyes gleam with dark amusement. “Of course. But they couldn’t get that close to you with the Feds watching your every move and regularly sweeping for bugs.”
“Oh.” That makes sense—and explains why I only ever saw the Feds.
The elevator doors slide open, and he ushers me in, his hand on my lower back warm and gentle—and as inflexible as steel. My heart skips a beat, then settles into a heavy, pounding rhythm.
He’s herding me.
Literally shepherding me to my apartment so we can fuck.
“You didn’t really think I’d leave you alone, did you?” he says softly as the elevator starts moving, and I shake my head again, looking away from his penetrating stare. My gaze falls on the sizable bulge in his jeans, and the heat in my cheeks intensifies.
Has he been sporting that erection this whole time?
No wonder my neighbors went into estrogen overload.
I force myself to look up and to the side, but that way lies disaster too. The inside of the elevator is mirrored on two sides, and the sight of my reflection makes me want to sink through the floor. Thanks to our impromptu make-out session in the parking lot, not only is my underwear damp, but my lower lip is swollen to twice its normal size, my cheeks are bright pink, and my hair is sticking up on one side.
I look like I’m coming home from an orgy.
In desperation, I look away, catching Peter’s gaze again. “So you never told me… Why did it take you so long to return for me?”
His jaw flexes. “Because that favor I did for Esguerra—it took a long time. I wanted to come for you sooner, ptichka, believe me.” He gives me an arrested stare. “Did you miss me? Were you hoping I’d come?”
I swallow and look away as the elevator doors open, sparing me from having to reply. I thought I’d reconciled my contradictory feelings for Peter, had come to terms with the fact that my husband’s killer managed to steal my heart, but all of a sudden, I’m not so sure. This—Peter here, in my regular life—is too unexpected, too terrifyingly real. I can’t wrap my mind around the logistics of it, the sheer number of complications involved in attempting a normal relationship—a marriage—with a former assassin who once tortured and kidnapped me. If this is really happening, what am I going to tell my parents who still think of him as “that criminal?” Or Marsha, who knows not only the official FBI story that paints Peter as a monster, but also that he killed George? And will the FBI really leave us alone? How can they, when the man standing in the elevator with me has to be one of the most dangerous people they know?
Whenever I imagined us together, it was elsewhere, with me as his now-willing prisoner. I was ready to accept my fate as his captive, to embrace my tormentor as my destiny, but I wasn’t ready for this.
The ring is cold and heavy on my finger as we step out of the elevator and Peter leads me down the hallway to my apartment. He’s never been to my building before—at least, I assume he hasn’t—yet there’s no trace of hesitation in his movements, no sense that he’s lost or uncertain in any way. He’s as confident in navigating an unfamiliar hallway as he is in everything he does, and I can’t help envying that.