Page 69 of Enforcer

My apartment is indeed sparse, besides things I use or need.

The only frivolous things I have are my cars. Those I won’t compromise on.

“My mother taught me to play,” I tell her as I move the bench back some to allow her to step between my thighs.

She smells of vanilla and a light floral I can’t put my finger on, and I’m drawn into her like a bee to a flower in bloom.

“She taught you well.”

I drop my head to her stomach, listening to her rapid heartbeat.

“Anna loved to hear me play. I haven’t touched these keys since she died.”

“Dante.” She sighs, and it has me lifting my eyes to hers.

“I know you don’t want to hear these things from me, Lyss. I’m only being honest.”

She slides her hands into my hair. “It’s not that I don’t want to hear them; it’s just hard. I’ve lived my life the same way since the divorce, and it’s hard enough to deal with these feelings. Then you say things like that, and it only adds fuel to the flames of what’s happening in my head, you know?”

My eyes grow heavy as she absently rubs my hair. “I get it. I need you to know. Even if you don’t stay here. Even if you move on and return to life as you know it, I need you to know. I never thought I’d be who I was when she was alive again. I never thought I’d…” I sigh, seeing her clam up right before my eyes.

“I never thought I’d be normal,” she says in the absence of my words.

“What?”

“You’re the only man I’ve ever felt anything for beyond wanting to come. You’re the only man I’ve shared a bed with or wanted to know. You have to let me go at my own pace.”

“I’d never hurt you like your dad did your mom,” I tell her, to which she drops her hands away from my hair.

“You don’t know anything, Dante. So how can you promise that?”

It stings, but I only know as much as she’s told me.

I stand, anger raging through me like a torrent.

She clutches my hips, keeping me in place.

“Let me in then, dammit. I’m here, and I want to know you. Let me the fuck in!” I growl.

She rolls her eyes and lets my hips go, heading toward the floor-to-ceiling windows so she can escape back to the solitude of her room.

“No!” I snarl, rushing up behind her and twisting her around.

Her front collides with the window, and she gasps.

“Dante.” Her voice is shaking, and I don’t care.

“You’re not running from this. You’re not running from me!” I tell her.

I shove my hands between her and the glass, ripping her crop top open. Her breasts greet the glass, and she hisses.

I shove her pants down to her ankles and palm her pussy in my hand as I bend down to nibble her ear.

“Are we still arguing?” she asks, ass pressing into me, giving my hand space to spread her cunt, my fingers moving in and massaging her clit sloppily.

“Yes,” I answer, pressing two fingers inside her heat, hearing and feeling how wet she is.

“Who’s winning?” she breathes.

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