Page 67 of Property of Chaos

“How else can I keep an eye on things while I run the club?” He states the fact so plainly, like a man explaining why he braises the beef first before grilling it. The reasoning is so cut and dried for him. A non-issue.

“Keep an eye on what?” I shake my head and spin for the door, striding to the living areas. “I’ve done fine on my own without your help. I don’t need you fucking spying on me!”

Chaos follows, leaning against the doorframe as I scour the living room for a goddamn nanny-cam. How big is the fucking thing? I don’t even know what the fuck I am looking for.

“Where the fuck is it?” I holler, shoving books back and forth along the shelves. “You said cameras, too. As in, plural. How many do you have?”

“Stop.”

“No.” I sweep my hand along the edges of the giant picture above the mantel. “Tell me, you fucking asshole.”

“Why does it bother you?”

Is he for fucking real?“Why should it not?” I stall, hands falling to my sides as I stare at the moron with my lips parted in disbelief.

“You didn’t mind me being in your bed.” He shrugs.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I fucking jolted so goddamn hard when I realized you were there that I pulled a muscle in my neck. So yeah, I did kind of mind.”Liar.

“Where?” Chaos frowns, pushing off the doorway. He moves behind me, hands lifting to my shoulders. “What side?”

The man tenderly kneads the flesh, working the stiffness out of my neck. My eyes slip closed, and I fight the bite of tears when he sweeps my loose hair out of the way. He’s a goddamn stalker. A talkative one, at that. But a stalker nonetheless, and yet, when he touches me, I goddamn realize what I’ve missed all these years in being alone.

Empathy. Care. The love of another human being.

“Does it feel any better?” His thumbs push hard against the base of my skull.

I moan at the instant relief.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” His guttural words glide over me in a caress.

I lean toward him. Supplicating. Eager.

There’s nothing good that can come from this.And yet, I sprint toward that cliff with careless abandon, tasting the salt of the black water thrashing below on my parched tongue.

The room falls quiet save for the rush of our breaths; any remaining protest is lost as I turn to putty beneath his hands. Chaos works the tendons until I’m a veritable ragdoll in his hands, sliding his flat palm to the base of my throat, testing.

Asking.

I acquiesce, tilting my head to offer better access as his fingertips explore the planes of my chest, teasing the neckline of my T-shirt.

My hands find their way to his legs, palms flat against the hard muscle of his thighs.

“Do you want me to stop?” His murmured question tickles my ear.

I tilt my head back and rest it against his chest. “If I give myself to you, I want you to promise this isn’t a one-and-done thing. That I mean more to you than a self-gratifying one-night stand.”

He exhales as though disappointed, his left hand finding my hip. “What does this tell you?” Chaos extends his right arm, holding the hand that was at my throat before us.

It shakes.

Fucking trembles with his jangled nerves.

I reach for him, sliding my hands along his forearm to entwine my left with his, closing my right over the back. I’ve never had anyone be that intimidated by me.Me.My throat closes, emotions warring within. I’m fucking honored. Floored that he would want me so damn badly.

That I mean so much.

I turn in Chaos’s arms, keeping my left hand knitted with his right, and place my other on his shoulder. The slope of the muscle is a treat to the senses.

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