Page 52 of Burn With Me

She flinches, then lets loose a long breath, trying not to react poorly.

No one says a word. All of us are stunned as the little boy continues to squirm in his mother’s arms as he tries to get to me.

“Oh, my god. I’m so sorry.” His mother finally jolts out of her stupor.

Shrugging, Ginny slowly reaches up to wipe a gob of cheese from her forehead before it drips into her lap. Her hair is covered in the yellow sticky substance, but instead of being upset, she smiles. “It’s not a big deal. That’s what they make showers for.”

As the family scurries away, the mom’s cheeks flaming, Ginny rests her chin in her hand and smirks at me. “Your place is closer than mine. Care if I clean up?”

My answering grin is positively feline. “Depends. Do I get to help?”

The space between us is charged with energy. A palpable electric current that wires us together as we keep sneaking glances at one another across the back seat of my car.

The elevator ride up to my penthouse is stuffy, and my skin prickles with awareness.

We want each other—even if she is covered in nacho cheese.

But neither of us wants to make the first move.

“You can use the bathroom in my bedroom,” I tell her as I motion up the stairs. “Towels are in the cabinet. I’ll lay out a clean shirt for you.”

The thought of her in my clothing has my cock straining against my suit pants. Her demure smile as she slowly ascends the steps, drives my need ahead at full force.

She doesn’t invite me to join her, so I wait until I hear the water running before heading upstairs to pull out a white dress shirt for her.

I could have picked a plain shirt. However, her wearing nothing but one of my button-ups will fuel a fantasy that I can put in my spank bank for when I’m alone in my bed.

I’ve gotten well-acquainted with my hand over these last three weeks.

While she’s cleaning up, I go back downstairs and put together a charcuterie board. Ginny didn’t eat the entire time I was at the clinic, and I have a feeling she probably didn’t eat much before I arrived, either.

Once the fruit, meats, and cheeses are arranged haphazardly on the tray—because I don’t give a shit what it looks like, just that she eats—I head back up to my bedroom.

The water is off, and I can hear soft humming coming from the bathroom. There’s steam pouring through the cracked door, and I shamelessly take a peek from across the room. Creamy skin wrapped in a towel—wet red strands flowing over her shoulders—a blue glass bottle in her delicate fingers.

Wait.

Shit.

That’s the cologne I use for the club, so she doesn’t recognize my regular scent.

“Everything alright in there?” I call out.

She jumps, startled, and quickly places the bottle back in the medicine cabinet, where it is hidden behind a mirror. Which means she was snooping.

“Yeah,” she replies. Pulling the door open, she freezes and looks down at herself, realizing she’s only wearing a towel.

A jingling sound tears my eyes from her body to see my cat—I’ve renamed him P-Kitty—as he whacks one of his toys aggressively underneath the long dresser against the wall.

He flops on his side, batting at it, but it’s too far for him to reach. Getting down on my knees, I hear her trying to stifle a giggle as I retrieve the toy and toss it down the stairs, watching as he goes bounding after it.

Without moving from the floor, I look at her over my shoulder. “What’s so funny, Red?”

She shakes her head, smiling as she plays with the hem of her towel. “Just admiring the view.”

Heat blazes in her eyes, igniting a spark low in my spine. Turning on my knees, I’m aware I may look funny as I walk slowly on them to her, but she doesn’t laugh, watching me intensely. “Do you like looking down at me?”

When I reach her, I lift my hands to her waist and guide her to sit on the edge of my bed. The towel is short and rides up as I pull her knees apart so that I can kneel between them. “Do you wanna find out just how good the view can be? With you up there and me down here?”

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