Page 64 of Due Diligence

Cass’s eyes traveled over my mouth as I spoke. Her gaze ticked up to meet my eyes. “I know exactly what you mean.”

I wanted her so badly that my heart was racing. I wanted to hear her voice in my ear, husky and desirous while she came. I needed to watch her come apart at the seams, wet and tearing ather clothing to let me see more of her. Fuck it all—the deal, this friendship—fuck it. We were made to do this. Resisting it was like trying to make water flow in the opposite direction. It was borderline impossible.

We were an inevitability.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” she responded, before I could even finish speaking.

Chapter 17: Cass

Even on this cool night, my neck was somehow heating under the thin material of my chiffon blouse. I slid off my stool and scooted it back towards the table, as Marcus did the same. Briefly, we stared at each other. His eyes were bright under the canopy of patio lights that illuminated the small crowd as night set in. The expression on his face was certain and focused—the same that he wore when he was fixated on his work. I had grown to appreciate that expression over the past few weeks, as the gravity of his responsibilities had come to light. But tonight, I was the singular object of his focus. The thought radiated through me, inciting tingles of anticipation.

We headed towards the front of the restaurant, his hand resting on the small of my back as he gently guided me. He probably had no idea the impact the small contact had on me. My body lit up, starting from the base of my spine and wandering up into my arms. Goosebumps began to prickle my skin. I pursed my lips, pressing them together over my teeth tokeep from smiling. I loved this part: the minutes that passed when two people knew they were about to touch. Time became electric—pulsing and animated.

We didn’t exchange a word as we waited for the elevator. We stood in silence, side by side. I kept my eyes on the floor, staring at the stretch of his shadow next to mine. He shifted, moving an inch closer to me. His hand drifted off my back and went to his side, where it hanged comfortably between us.

After a few seconds, I felt the soft graze of his fingertips against the back of my hand. My breath hitched at once. I didn’t dare look over at him. I was worried that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him. Instead, I extended my hand, inviting his touch. When his hand circled mine, I couldn’t help but exhale indulgently. As he heard me breathe out, he looked over at me.

“Do you want to take the stairs?” he asked. His voice was low and heavy, laden with desire. I recognized it from Friday night—from those filthy things he rattled off in my ear without pause. My stomach contracted sharply, forcing me to inhale. The sensation rushed through me, elevating into my shoulders like the anticipation was struggling to find an escape from my body.

Finally, I looked back at him and found his gaze ravenous. His green eyes flickered over my lips and traveled up to meet my eyes. He blinked once, just before he ticked his eyebrows upwards. The gesture was slight, almost undetectable, but his intentions had been laid bare.

He didn’t want to wait—and he wanted to know if I felt the same way.

“It’s twelve flights,” I reminded him.

“Good.”

I paused, reciting the stakes in my head: the deal, his contract, my job—and now the risk of getting caught in the stairwell. I was on the verge of saying no when he took a small step towardsme. His face moved in and our noses grazed together. Marcus tilted his head and brought his lips to mine, dragging them softly over my waiting mouth. It was barely a kiss; the contact was nearly ephemeral. But it was like striking a match—and I was immediately left wanting more.

I nodded, staring up into his eyes. He looked down at me and a gentle smile of confirmation crossed his face.

Expectation flipped over in my stomach as Marcus turned towards the door to the stairwell. It was a few feet away from the elevator, but the distance seemed vast. We really couldn’t get there fast enough. He pulled me along with him, his hand firm around mine. When we reached the heavy door, he pushed it open and held it so I could enter before him. As soon as the door closed, the sound of the top forty music playing outside became muffled. We were alone, standing in the sterile white stairwell and staring at each other.

The space was industrial and cold, but somehow safe. The walls looked impenetrable, with glossy white painted over hefty bricks that shone under panel lights. Marcus nodded his head to the side, motioning for me to follow him. We walked down one flight of stairs layered with rubber tread, absorbing the sounds of our footsteps. We hurried, nearly jogging down them until we turned at the landing and continued down another set so we were on the eleventh floor. He slowed there, leading me past the door and towards the plain white wall lining the landing. As soon as we were close to it, he pressed me against the wall, flattening my back. I dropped my tote and the sound echoed in the empty stairwell.

Marcus leaned forward and let his body relax against mine. His scent consumed me every time he did this—that mix of fresh cologne and citrusy shampoo. I inhaled, indulging in it. I let it recall memories of the other times he had caged me with his body like this. The nightclub. His office. On both of thoseoccasions, he had me beside myself with lust. Tonight would be no exception; I could already tell.

He kept one hand on my waist and the other hovered over my shoulder. He pressed it against the wall, flexing his fingers once in an act of restraint. His gaze met mine. Those striking green eyes of his traveled from my own eyes, down to my mouth, and back up again.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he commented. His voice was rough as he whispered to me. A grin formed at the corner of his mouth. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

He really had no clue justhow muchI wanted to do to him. I would never tell him. Instead, I weaved my hands up and placed them on his shoulders. His skin was warm through his white button-down shirt, and I lamented how little of his body I’d had a chance to see. I had imagined it countless times. I imagined smooth skin and firm muscles that had teased me, hidden under his clothes. I knew tonight wouldn’t be the night though. No, I could tell by the way he was feasting his gaze on me, ravenously, that tonight was going to be fast and efficient. I didn’t want it any other way.

Marcus lowered his face to my neck and nuzzled it with his nose. He homed right in on the spot that always made me shiver, like he had a radar for it. I closed my eyes, parting my lips as I exhaled.

“I would tell you that you’re so fucking gorgeous I can’t think straight, but I know you don’t like it when I compliment you,” he murmured. He slowly drew his face away from my neck and ran the edge of his chin along mine. “So what should I say about you tonight, Cass?”

I brought my lips up to kiss his. He responded tenderly, languidly. His tongue probed gently between my lips, leaving me wanting so much more.

“Should I tell you how hard it makes me when I think about howeasyyou are?” he asked—the depravity of his words contrasting with his soothing tone. “Should I tell you how much it turns me on to think about you fucking desperately—whoever, wherever, and whenever you please? Like a little slut, Cass?”

Any other time, I would have him by the balls for speaking to me that way. But I found myself nodding at his words as I pulled him closer, working desperately to deepen our kiss.

He placated me for a moment, sucking deliciously on my tongue in a way that made my nipples bead under my blouse. But seconds later, he broke the kiss. “Well, now we’re getting somewhere,” he declared, contentment detectible in every syllable he uttered. “My girl doesn’t like it when I’m sweet to her.”

“We both know you’re not really sweet,” I responded, gasping suddenly as his hand moved from the wall to my neck. He wrapped his hand around it, his thumb on one side and his fingers spanning the other side. He tightened his grip, not so hard that I couldn’t breathe, but hard enough for me to understand his point: He was possessive; I was his.

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