Page 42 of Negotiating Tactics

Her hair was down and hung to her shoulders in thick coils.

The thought of gripping fistfuls of that thick hair as I fed her my cock had me tightening my hands in an effort not to reach out to touch her.

But while I wasn’t touching her—yet—I could look.

And look I did, letting my gaze caress the expanse of soft-looking brown skin as I moved down the column of her neck, over her padded collar bones, until I collided with her shirt, jealous of the thin pink tank top that was the only thing covering her breasts.

Looked down farther, tracing the dip of her waist, the soft swell of her stomach, over the full thickness of her thighs, jealous again, this time of the pink pants that hid her skin from view.

“What do you want, Noah?” Alex asked.

Her voice broke me out of the trance that had momentarily overtaken me, and when I looked at her, I could see that she wasn’t unaffected.

She was trying to hide her reaction, but her eyes were slightly widened, and her lips were pressed into a thin line, though I knew that tension wasn’t anger.

I locked my eyes with hers, and to her credit, Alex didn’t let her gaze waver. “You left something at the house. I wanted to make sure you got it back,” I said.

She frowned, her beautiful features squished in confusion.

“No. I didn’t leave anything…”

She trailed off as I stepped forward.

Then she stepped back, allowing me entry into the apartment.

I closed and locked the door, then looked around.

There was an ugly blue tarp on her ceiling, but the bare subflooring was clean. At least the landlord or, more likely Alex, had swept the plaster away.

Still, I fucking hated the idea of her living here, and I had no problem saying so.

“You shouldn’t be staying here,” I said.

She scoffed, the ugly look on her face doing nothing to tamp down my desire for her. “Noah, I don’t need and didn’t request your opinion on my home. One you’ve entered uninvited for the second time, I might add,” she said.

“Home, huh?” I said, looking deeper into the apartment to see more tarps, more subflooring, and no living room furniture. “How are you even living in here?”

“The bedroom is fine,” she said. She slammed her mouth closed, and I could see she was withdrawing. I watched as she put her business persona on. Even in a tank top and sweat pants, she looked every bit the sharp lawyer I knew her to be. “You said you have something that belongs to me. I don’t see anything,” she said.

She looked at my empty hands.

I reached into my pocket and pulled the item out.

“That?” she asked, looking at the black elastic hair tie I held in the air.

“I guess so,” I said, shrugging casually, though I felt anything and everything but.

“What do you mean you guess so?” she asked, her expression still tight, though she had relaxed an increment.

“It was in the bathroom. And it’s not mine. So I assumed it was yours and brought it to you,” I said.

“You mean you bought your ass all the way across town to bring me a rubber band?” she asked as she stared at me with disbelieving eyes.

I nodded. “Yup.”

She shook her head. “Fucking weirdo.”

“Maybe.” I chuckled. “But we also have some unfinished business.”

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