Chapter 11: Wound

I did not plan to confront him.

I got home at nine with the folder in my bag, and I meant to leave it on his desk and say nothing.

The penthouse was warm and dim.

The water was running in his bathroom, and the door stood half open.

I stood in the hall with the folder against my chest and told myself to turn around.

Instead I pushed the door with one finger.

Cillian stood in the glass shower with his back to me and the water running over his shoulders.

He turned his head, and he saw me, and he went still.

"Annette."

"You didn't lock it."

"I never do."

"You should."

"Do you want me to?"

I put the folder on the sink.

I took off my glasses, and my shirt, and everything else.

He watched me with his hands at his sides and the water running down his chest.

When I stepped under the spray, he caught me around the waist and pulled me against him.

His mouth came down on mine, hot and wet and hungry.

I felt every inch of him against my stomach, hard and ready.

He lifted me against the tile, and I wrapped my legs around his hips and my arms around his neck.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he said into my throat.

"I know."

"In the equipment room, I..."

"I know."

He slid a hand between us, and found me wet, and groaned.

He rubbed his thumb over my clit while he kissed my neck, and I dug my nails into his shoulders.

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