Page 173 of The Keeper

Victoria

He didn’t kiss me.

Color me confused.

I lightly scratched my nails on his back, down along the waistband of his tailored pants and around to his stomach.

“Am I still an asshole?” he asked, his breaths becoming more staggered as I dragged my nails across his skin.

I reached up and loosened his tie. Music and laughter from inside the event floated out to the terrace. We were still alone and unbothered in our little spot.

“Maybe,” I answered, untucking the rest of his shirt and then unbuttoning it. His whole body vibrated on a groan when I caressed his chest, using both hands to touch and trace his tattoos, feel every taut muscle, stroke every corrugated line.

“Is touching you like this okay?” I asked, running my finger from his throat down to his stomach.

“Yes,” he answered hoarsely, staring at me in a way I’ve never seen him do before. Conflicted and determined. Terrified and indifferent. “I thought maybe…maybe you’d be too upset with me to even want to see me.”

“I am.” I locked eyes with him. “I’m trying so hard to understand why you did this. It makes absolutely no sense.”

“I know it looks that way,” he murmured. “There are so many things you don’t know.”

“Then tell me,” I demanded resting my hand on his stomach. “Tell me so neither one of us has to go through it again.”

We stood like this for God knows how long. My fingers kept kneading into his skin to assure myself this was reality and not some ultra-vivid dream. He answered my internal doubts by sliding his hand down to the dip of my waist, resting it on the small of my back.

“I’ll tell you everything, love. I promise. Just not tonight.” He held me close. “Please, not tonight.”

I moved my hand to the nape of his neck, playing with pieces of his hair. Not tonight. His parted lips and hooded eyes silently convinced me to heed his request, for now. And then he pulled me flush to him. I could feel every muscle, every breath, every tremor in his body. I’m so starved for him. Starved for his touch, his sounds, his affection.

I wanted all of it, right here on this terrace.

Here, tucked from view and mere feet away from the upper echelon of Manhattan society.

“Xavier.” I said his name the way I’ve done when he’s buried deep inside me. Soft and urgent and tinged with need. “Kiss me.”

He blinked at me, his eyes filled with liquid heat. But he shook his head. “All I—”

“Surely you didn’t fly all this way, get dressed up and conspire with my friends just to stand here and stare at me.”

“You don’t—”

“I don’t what? Want you right here? Right now?” I pressed my hand into his chest so he had no choice but to walk backwards into a nearby wall covered in ivy. “I always want you.”

“But—”

“Xavier.” I repeated his name the same way as before. Soft, urgent, filled with need. I pressed into him, pleased to feel the friction of his hard length rub on me. “Kiss me.”

His thighs trembled with restraint.

“Please.” My eyelashes fluttered when I looked up at him.

Whatever control he’d been holding onto snapped. Whatever plan he had in place for tonight disintegrated. Insatiable, carnal need etched into his face, darkening his eyes.

“There you are,” I coaxed, tracing his lower lip. “Come out and play.”

I felt his hand on my bare thigh. His hand and the metal of his rings. Then, I heard that voice. “This is reckless, love.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” I sifted my fingers through his hair, pulling gently.

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