Page 81 of Seduction in Spades

Hell, I shouldn’t be, but between the tight T-shirt, the damp hair, and those bare feet, yeah, Nolan Fitzgerald Jones is a fucking god.

I swallow my lust and don’t respond. He squeezes my hips and rubs his hard cock against my ass.

“Tell me what you want, Avery.” He slides his hands up my sides and fists my hair, lifting my head back in a forceful yet gentle tug.

I arch my back and rub my ass against his cock. I’ve missed him. It’s been too long since he’s touched me. Kissed me. Fucked me. I love when he takes control and we have rough sex. Hell, I love the tender sex as well, but I’m not ready to admit that to him.

Even so, we only have rough sex after we’ve spent time together, had some laughs, good conversation, and lots of kissing. Never has he been like this. There’s anger bubbling inside his chest and I don’t know if it’s directed at me or the situation.

If sex will help loosen the devil caught up in his head, then I’m game. “Fuck me—” I purr.

Before I can finish, he has my leggings yanked down and spreads my legs even further. One hand cups my breast while the other finds my dripping pussy.

“Yes.” I fuck his fingers while my chest rubs against the counter.

Nolan releases my breast and I feel him unbuckle his jeans. Without warning, without him asking if I’m ready, or permission—which I’d freely give—he rams his cock inside me. I arch my back, my chest lifting off the counter.

He pushes between my shoulder blades, keeping me flush against the cool granite and drives into me over and over while his fingers hook my clit and I scream out my orgasm.

Nolan pulls out and rubs his cock against my ass as I hear him curse and feel his cum explode on my back.

Shit. We didn’t use a condom. Thank God he had enough sense to pull out. I’m still panting, the aftershocks of my orgasm are still making my legs quake, and he moves away.

“Here.” Nolan tosses a towel at me and storms off, followed by the slamming of his door.

I lift my head from the granite and stare at the empty kitchen.

What the fuck?I stand and feel his warm seed drip down my ass cheeks. I take the towel and clean myself up, then pull up my pants.

We’ve had sex in every position: against walls and doors, on the kitchen table, the couch, the floor, and now bent over the kitchen counter. It’s been sweet, tender, and mostly explosive, but never has it been like this.

Cold. No connection. No kisses. No soft words.

Even when I’m quick to zip up and leave, I at least take the time to say a few words. I leave on a friendly note. I don’t fuck, zip up, and leave.

Nolan made me feel like a cheap hookup. Something he says he doesn’t do. The tears come without any advance warning. I rip off a paper towel and catch them as I go to my room and cry into my pillow.

I wake hours later with a headache, sandpaper tongue, and dry, gritty eyes. Seems crying hangovers are worse than a night of drinking. I take a shower and dress for work. As he’s been for the past two weeks, Nolan stands by the door dressed in black pants that mold to his thighs and ass, a dark-gray shirt, and a black coat. He doesn’t often sport a tie and keeps the top few buttons open. Just enough chest and clavicle to make a woman’s panties dampen.

Not that mine are wet. Nope.

“I can do that,” Nolan says, his cell phone close to his ear and his eyes not even registering my existence. “I have to make a drop-off and will be there in thirty.”

A drop-off.Wow. Woo me some more Peter Nolan Fucking Fitzgerald Jones.

He disconnects, opens the penthouse door, and doesn’t wait for me to follow, stepping out into the private hall and punching in his code for the elevator. All gentlemanly etiquette thrown out the window.

I expect this from Trey. He’s not a gentleman, not chivalrous, and is extra sharp around his grumpy edges. Nolan, however, despite his military background and badass looks, has the manners of a gentleman.

Hadmanners. He left them in Ohio. If I didn’t need to be at work, I’d flip him off and slam the door in his face. Hell, I didn’t even have time to make myself a cup of coffee.

The elevator doors open, and he steps in while dialing on his phone. Without looking up, he says, “Your coffee is on the counter.” Before I can respond, he has the phone to his ear. “Meet up location set. See you at oh-nine hundred.”

Meet up location. Military time. Shit.I got too caught up in my emotional drama with Nolan that I temporarily forgot about the danger I’m in. I turn back to the apartment and grab my travel mug. I take a sip and relax my shoulders.

Nolan may be acting like an ass, but he knows how to make coffee exactly how I like it. I take another sip and join him in the elevator. He’s not talking on his cell anymore, but he’s holding it in his hands, texting off a long message.

When we make it downstairs, I start to step out of the elevator, but he grips my elbow and moves me behind him. His phone is gone, and he’s now on alert. His eyes dart left, right, straight ahead, up toward the cameras.

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