Page 12 of The Boss and the Adoption Mess
“Of course. And you?” Cute that she asks.
“You sure you want this? Otherwise, I can grab you a taxi.” Just covering my bases.
“You really are a gentleman, Gabriel. Think I’m drunk and don’t know what I’m doing?” The elevator doors slide open, and she steps inside. She drops my arm, spins gracefully, and leans against the mirrored wall, one hand on the gold rail, her eyes daring me. “Come here...” she whispers. Well, no need to tell me twice.
I walk over, hit 14, and wait for the doors to shut. Not yet. Not in the elevator. I want her to wait just a little longer before the real fun.
“What are you waiting for?” she teases, eyes hungry. But as the elevator lurches, she stumbles, lands on the floor, and starts laughing. There she is, cracking herself up. Honestly, one glass would’ve been enough.
“I’m just making sure you’re not totally wasted, Kim.” At the bar she’d seemed to hold it together way better.
“I’m not drunk. Relax,” she says, trying to stand. I take her hand, pull her up. At my place, I’ll get her coffee and a snack. She’ll need the boost—I’ve got plenty planned for her.
“How about some salmon and veggies? Got leftovers from last night.”
“I’m not hungry. Except for you,” she flirts, a little shy, which makes me grin. She digs through her purse and waves me off. “Just a sec. I need to set my alarm. Absolutely can’t be late tomorrow.”
“I’ve gotta be up early too. What time you setting it for?” The elevator dings and I watch her stride out, steady this time, phone in hand. That stumble earlier must’ve just been a fluke.
“Around eight. That gives me time to eat, shower, and drive home without rushing. I can’t stand being late.”
“Same here. Works with my schedule.” And the idea of showering together after a hot night? Right up my alley.
“It’s right here.” Only four apartments are on this floor. Celebs and foreign guests usually rent them when they’re in London for a while. I keep this one just for this specific use. That way, I don’t risk some one-night stand showing up at my actual house, all lovesick and looking for more. She won’t find me here—if she even makes it into the building at all.
I punch in the code, and flip on the lights. Kim’s wide-eyed look doesn’t surprise me. In London, every square foot of space costs a fortune, and this place isn’t exactly tiny. The main area’s a mix of kitchen, dining, and bedroom. Only the bathroom and a small storage room for clothes and other things are separate. The bed’s partitioned behind a half wall, hip-high.
“Wow, you really have a gorgeous place,” Kim says, slipping her phone away. She hangs onto my arm with one hand and slips off her heels with the other. Just like I thought—without them she barely reaches my chest. “A man with taste,” she adds, then drifts straight toward the bedroom with her stuff. Right before she gets there, she glances back. “Why are you still standing there? I didn’t come here to chat.”
“Pretty bold,” I say, following her. “That the booze talking, or are you always this demanding?”
“The whiskey. Really. Otherwise, I’m way too shy. That’s why I wanted a drink,” she admits, flopping back onto the mattress.
“You’re honest, I’ll give you that,” I say, unbuckling my belt. I slide it out of the loops and toss it on the bed. Might come in handy soon—I’m in the mood for that, and maybe she is too.
“Mm, this is so soft…” she sighs while I pull off my shirt and kneel over her. Kim stretches her arms out seductively, arches her back a little, those light brown doe eyes sparkling up at me. She’s got a certain innocent vibe, that’s dulled a bit thanks to the alcohol.
“Not everything here is soft. Hope you like it a little harder too?” I murmur, brushing my fingertips across her cheek while bracing myself with the other hand on the mattress.
“Hard muscles?” She grins.
“That too.”
“What else could be hard?” She giggles nervously.
“This… or that.” My hand trails down her neck, stopping at the first button of her blouse. I undo them one by one.
“Skilled fingers. Are you that good with everything you touch?” sheteases, letting me keep going.
“I love working with my hands.”
“Even in your free time?”
“I’d rather show you than explain,” I say, leaning in for a kiss. Finally, alone. Just her and me. This night’s ours, and my whole body’s already burning for her. I want to kiss her. Touch her. Make her shake and moan. Give her one climax after another, peel off every scrap of pesky fabric, and make this a night she’ll never forget, and—
She’s not moving anymore.
The second I toss her blouse aside; her body just goes limp. Confused, I look up—she’s lying there, eyes shut, lips parted.
