Chapter 7: The Dock Yard

The doors opened on the forty-first floor, and Roan carried me out of the lift without breaking the kiss.

"Which way?" he muttered.

"Left. The door at the end."

My father's apartment sat behind his office.

It was a long room with a big bed and a window the size of a wall.

I had not slept in it once.

Roan kicked the door shut behind us, and the click sounded like a vow.

He set me down on my feet, and I pushed his wet shirt off his shoulders with both hands.

His chest was broad and hard and warm under my palms, with a thin white scar across the ribs.

"Rail yard," he said, when I touched it. "Nineteen years old."

"I'll ask about it later."

"Ask me anything you want, later."

He found the zipper at my back and drew it down slowly, and I shivered.

My jacket went first, then the blouse, until I stood in my bra and skirt in the glow of the city.

He stepped back to look, and I let him.

"Christ," he said softly. "Selah."

It was not a line.

His voice had gone rough, and his hands were not quite steady on my waist.

"You're staring," I said.

"I'm memorizing."

I reached behind me and unhooked the bra myself, because I wanted him to see that I wanted this.

He made a sound low in his throat and bent his head to my breast.

His mouth closed over me, hot and wet, and his tongue circled once, and I grabbed his hair and said his name out loud.

"Again," I said.

He did it again, and then he did the other side, and the room tilted under me.

I had forgotten a man could take his time.

He walked me backward until my knees hit the mattress, and I sat.

He went down on his knees on the rug in front of me.

He pushed my skirt up my thighs.

"Lift," he said.

I lifted, and he slid my underwear down my legs and tossed them somewhere behind him.

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