Page 59 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

But I’d always been a lucky kind of guy.

I glanced at the clock on the dash—just past midnight.

An hour passed, and I stared at the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. My knuckles still throbbed from the encounter with Charles, and so did my knee, and I absently opened and closed my fist, trying to work the soreness out as I waited to ensure Sloane was into thedeep sleeppart of her night.

When I was sure enough time had passed, I stepped out of the truck and headed toward the doors. They were locked.Fuck.I hadn’t thought about that. I glanced around, spotting a keypad next to the glass, and I held my breath as I typed in her elevator code.

The door clicked open, and I grinned. Perfect—although I’d have to talk to her about increasing her safety measures after we were officially together. Getting into her place should not be this easy.

I made my way to the elevator and typed in her code again, anxious adrenaline throbbing through my veins.

Like always.

Fun fact, Asher and I had been hellions growing up, and something we had liked to do—break into places for the fun of it. There’d been an asshole in our high school, Peter, who we both despised. We’d spent a summer sneaking into his house and leaving things in his room to scare him—like dead birds—and we’d never gotten caught.

I hadn’t done anything like that in a long time, but years of breaking and entering were certainly coming in handy right now.

The elevator doors opened to her dark condo, the only light coming from the soft glow of the outside city lights filtering through the windows.

For a moment, I just stood there in the entry, listening. I could hear the hum of the fridge, the occasional creak of the building settling. But no movement. No sound from anywhere else.

After a few more minutes, I began moving through the living room quietly, my steps careful and controlled. I probably should have asked for a tour before doing this so I knew where everything was, but I’d had to make a point with her—that I wanted this for the long term, not just for the night.

Coming inside and inevitably ending up in bed would have been the opposite of that.

Although it would have been very useful right now.

A quick glance through the first door in the hallway and I saw a home gym. The second room was completely empty. The third room…jackpot.

Peeking through the cracked door, I saw Sloane, seemingly fast asleep, her body curled under the blanket, her breathing gentle and steady. The soft light from the windows illuminated her just enough to outline her features, casting delicate shadows across her face.

Fuck. She looked ethereal right now. Without much light, her hair was a cascade of dark silk, spilling out over the pillow, framing features that seemed almost too perfect to be real—sharp cheekbones, long lashes that rested lightly on her cheeks, and lips slightly parted, like she was waiting to be kissed. The faint rise and fall of her chest gave her an almost fragile serenity. I cocked my head, still studying her. It was an interesting thing that even in sleep, there was something untouchable about her, like she belonged to another world entirely.

Tiptoeing across the room, I made my way to a chair in the corner and sat down. Leaning back, my eyes locked on her sleeping form.

There was something calming about watching her like this, something that made the rest of the world fall away. She looked so vulnerable, so delicate, and it only fueled the possessiveness in me.

I didn’t move. I just sat there, watching her breathe, listening to the soft rise and fall of her chest…trying to make excuses for why I’d turned into a raging psychopath since I’d seen her.

Was that what love was? Absolute lunacy, where nothing you did made sense? It would explain why my parents had been such a miserable mess—my mom had married my dad for money, and my dad had married her because she was pregnant. If they’d loved each other, everything would have been different.

What I was feeling didn’t feel like love, though. It felt darker. It was a need thrumming through my insides, blocking out all rational thought. It was a need to own her, to devour her, to carve her into my skin…

Into my soul, maybe.

My dick was throbbing in my jeans, and the more I stared at her…the harder it got.

Until I came, right there in my pants. A low groan seeped out of my mouth as pleasure licked across my skin.

Fuck.

Sloane whimpered as she stirred, and I tensed, prepared to throw myself onto the floor if her eyes opened.

A minute later, though, her breath evened out, and I could sit back in the chair.

I kept watching her.

My pants would dry, but everything else about me was never going to be the same.

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