Page 63 of Dirty Little Secrets
The silence swells. Tighter. Hotter. My pulse kicks up a notch as she shifts an inch closer. Her eyes search mine like she’s trying to find the man she wants me to be and the one who would just shoot a man in the head for touching her.
She won’t find him the man she wants. But fuck if I don’t want to pretend for her.
The elevator glides to a stop between floors—mid-system hold. I tapped the override. When I step toward her, she doesn't move. Her chin tilts up slightly, defiant and daring all at once, like she wants me to prove her wrong.
Her lips part. I reach down and brush a strand of hair from her cheek, letting my thumb linger on the edge of her jaw. Her skin is soft, flushed with adrenaline.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” I murmur.
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t know what I’ll do to you if you let me kiss you.”
Her eyes flick to my mouth. “Maybe I want to find out.”
Fuck.
My control snaps. I crash my mouth into hers. It’s not sweet. Not gentle. It’s need. It’s months of tension, rage, restraint. All of it unraveling in one brutal, perfect kiss. Her body melts into mine, and I’m already crowding her against the elevator wall, gripping her waist, sliding one hand into her hair as her fingers fist my jacket.
She gasps when I bite her lower lip, and I swallow the sound like I’ve been starving for it. Her lips taste like heat and sweet secrets.
She kisses me back like she’s never wanted anything more. And I realize I’m fucked.
Because I’ll never get enough. It feels like I’ve kissed her my whole life. Familiar. Like coming home during the winter.
We break apart like the air between us snapped. Her breath is shallow, cheeks flushed.
I lean my forehead against hers for a second—just a second—like I need to remind myself she’s real. That I didn’t imagine the way she kissed me back like she’s been waiting her whole life for me to do it. Her fingers are still twisted in my shirt. My hands are still buried in her hair.
The elevator jolts softly, reminding us that reality waits on the other side of those steel doors. Nori blinks up at me, lips swollen from the kiss. Her eyes dart to the panel, then back to me.
I step back first.
Carefully. Slowly. Like peeling off my own skin. She straightens her dress with shaky hands, lips pressed into a line that trembles at the corners. She won’t meet my eyes now.
Because if she did, I’d kiss her again.
The elevator dings. The doors slide open with a hiss of cold, from the street. Bash is waiting in a blacked-out Mercedes with back passenger door open.
“Call for a cleanup,” I tell him before sliding inside the car behind Nori.
“Yes, sir.”
The whole ride to the hotel is cloaked in silence. Neither of us wanting to discuss what happened because there were so many lines crossed tonight.
Our silence follows us into the suite with muted lights, soft carpet, the distant buzz of a city below. The windows stretch floor to ceiling, showcasing a skyline that looks like it’s burning gold.
I shrug off my jacket and toss it on the armchair, trying to forget the taste of her on my tongue. She stands near the window, arms crossed, staring out like she’s afraid if she looks at me again.
“You should rest,” I say, my voice lower than it should be.
She nods but doesn’t move.
“Second bedroom is through the hall,” I add. “You’ll be safe here.”
Safe from the city. From the Polish mob. But not from me and not from whatever the fuck this is between us.
When she finally turns, her eyes soften enough to gut me. “Goodnight, Xaiden.”
