Page 44 of Latte Girl
Casa DelJordan
Hailey
“Welcome to the Casa DelJordan.”
I step through the door and into the dark entrance of Jordan’sapartment.
We’re both still panting from the trip between the bus stop and his building, which involved a lot of making out, and the walk up the stairs to his floor, which also involved a lot of making out. I’m about ready to just tear myself out of my own clothes, right here in thedoorway.
He flicks on the light switch and I stop unbuttoning my coat, forgetting all about the lust raging in me for a second as I let outagasp.
“Youlivehere?”
I’m staring into a massive loft apartment dominated by panelled windows so huge I feel like I’m being swallowed up by the view of the city’s twinkling lights. The exposed bricks walls seem to stretch for miles above our heads, and as I step farther into the room, my footsteps echo on the dark wooden planks that make up the floor. The place seems newly renovated; I can smell traces of sawdust andpaint.
And money. Everything reeks of a whole lot ofmoney.
“What are you, the CEO?” Idemand.
Jordan tosses his pea coat onto the rack bythedoor.
“Just a junior manager,” he says derisively, “with a powerful father who cares a lot aboutappearances.”
I wander around the room, still gaping. The kitchen is all stainless steel, with a layout more spacious than my entirelivingroom.
“Not a fan of furniture?”Iask.
The rest of the room is empty, save for a nightstand, a bed set up directly on the floor, and a suede couch with a small coffee table in frontofit.
“Just didn’t see the point in decorating,” he tells me. “This place doesn’t really feellikehome.”
He moves past me to stand in front of one of the towering windows. I hesitate, then walk over to stand behind him. I run my hands up his arms and feel him draw in abreath.
“You really have some family issues,don’tyou?”
“Yeah, you couldsaythat.”
I wait, giving him a chance to explain. He just stares out the window for awhile as I continue to stroke his arms. He reaches up to wrap a handaroundmine.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I kind of killedthemood.”
“You should be,” I joke. “I was expecting a good time, and now I have to stand here and listen to all your rich boyproblems.”
In one single motion, he whips around to face me, grabs me by the shoulders, and pushes me to the window so that he’s holding me pinned against theglass.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to be polite?” he snarls, but the corner of his mouth twists up intoagrin.
I can already feel a pressure building betweenmylegs.
“Nope,” I say, my voice catching. “I’m as bad astheycome.”
He grabs one of my wrists and fixes my arm abovemyhead.
“I hope so,” he murmurs, before pressing his lips tomyneck.
I moan as he moves his mouth to my collarbone, tugging the neck of my t-shirt down until he’s kissing the tops of my breasts. I feel him drag his teeth across my skin and I cry out. He lets go of the arm that’s pinned above my head and drops to his knees in front of me. My fingers dig into his hair as he lifts up the bottom of my shirt to trail his lips across mystomach.
I can hardly stay standing. A haze is clouding my thoughts, and my muscles refuse to do what I tell them to. It’s like he’s controlling my body now,notme.
