Page 56 of The Woman in the Warehouse

Fine.

They weren’t little orgasms.

They were massive ones.

I may or may not have teleported to another galaxy at one point during one.

You might look at the accident-prone Anthony Costa and think that he would be clumsy in bed. But, holy hell, you would be wrong. That man knew what to do and did it well.

I hadn’t been prepared for the show of dominance, the hair pulling that had my pussy aching, the dirty words that had me almost crying with need.

That man had the ability to make the entire world fall away when his hands and lips were on you.

Then after, when his arms went around me and held me tightly against him? Yeah, I expected to feel trapped, to want to escape. But all I wanted to do was stay right there like that forever.

I was still having that absolutely terrifying thought when I saw movement in my peripheral. Like the universe knew I needed a distraction, and sent it to me.

Though fucking practical Anthony didn’t want to rush in there and get this shit over with once and for all.

I mean, to be fair, the more I thought about it, the more I had to agree with him. Even if I did get my supply back, and took out two of them in the process, there were at least three more of them. And they would know exactly who’d taken the inventory from them. Not to mention killed their comrades.

It wasn’t like I worked under some assumed identity. When they didn’t find me at the warehouse, they could come to my condo. If I wasn’t there, they could get to me through my mother.

We had to do this the smart way.

But as someone who wasn’t exactly patient by nature, all the sitting around, watching, and waiting was kind of killing me a little.

Eventually, Anthony remade the bed and passed out on it, giving me at least a couple of hours not to feel weird about him and whatever the hell was going on with us.

My phone started to buzz on the couch, making me reach to quiet it before it woke up Anthony.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, voice low.

“Why are you whispering?” she asked as I tiptoed through the studio to close myself into the bathroom. “Saylor?” she asked when I couldn’t come up with a convincing lie quickly enough. “Are you in bed with a certain devilishly handsome Italian man?”

“No. I’m in the bathroom,” I told her.

“And where is Anthony?”

“In bed,” I admitted. I mean, she’d walked in on us almost getting busy on her desk, why lie to her about it.

“Your bed?”

“No.”

“What’s his place like?”

“It’s decent,” I said. “But we’re not there either.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Not really,” I admitted. We talked about a lot of things. But I tried not to involve her in my work much. It hurt too much for her. “But to sum it up, we are temporarily staying in a rental studio for a bit as we figure some things out.”

“Is there only one bed?” she asked, voice teasing.

“There’s a couch. Which is where I will be going after we finish talking.”

“Why not share the bed? It’s getting chilly out. I’m sure Anthony could keep you nice and warm.”

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