Chapter 8: Free

His apartment was on the top floor of a freight company building, and the elevator needed a key.

He had one.

He didn't say anything the whole ride up, and neither did I.

My boot clunked on the marble floor of the hall, loud in the quiet.

"Terms," I said at his door. "Rule three. Nothing happens in private."

"I remember."

"Nobody is paying for this."

"I know." He turned the key. "Tell me to take you home and I will."

I looked at his hand on the doorknob, and at the gold in his eyes.

"Rule three is canceled," I said. "Don't read into it."

He kissed me against the inside of the door before it had finished closing.

It wasn't like the cafeteria.

There was no audience to perform for, so it was just his mouth, hungry and unhurried, and his hands pulling me against him by the hips.

I got my fingers into his hair.

He made a sound low in his throat that I felt in my stomach.

"The zipper," I said, against his jaw. "It's down the back."

"I've been thinking about this zipper since Thursday."

"It's a very basic zipper."

"Shut up," he said, kindly, and he turned me around.

He drew it down slowly, one tooth at a time, and kissed the back of my neck at every inch.

The green dress dropped to the floor.

I stood there in my underwear and a medical boot.

"Don't laugh," I said.

"I'm not laughing."

"Your shoulders are shaking."

"They're shaking from wanting you. Hold still."

He lifted me and carried me to the bed, and he took the boot off with great care and set it by the door.

Then he knelt on the floor between my knees and put his mouth on the inside of my thigh.

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