Chapter 7: Not for Him

Willem came up behind me at the window and stood close enough that I felt his heat through my T-shirt.

"He's been there since eleven," he said.

"I know."

"I could walk out and ask him to leave."

"Don't."

I kept looking at the black car under the streetlight.

"Rule two," I said. "I touch you only when he can see."

"He can see."

"He can see right now."

"Then touch me, Ginny."

I turned around.

The only light in the room came from the street.

It fell across his shoulders and the plain white shirt he'd pulled on in the dark.

I put my hand flat on his chest.

His heart hit it twice, hard.

"This isn't for him," I said.

"I know."

"I'm done pretending it is."

He didn't ask me twice.

He picked me up under the thighs, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

He carried me across the room and pinned my back against the rough brick wall.

His mouth was on my neck before I had finished breathing in.

I pulled the shirt up over his head and threw it somewhere.

He dragged mine off just as fast, and the cold air hit my bare breasts.

Then his mouth did, hot and slow, and I swore out loud.

"Say it again," he said against my skin.

"Fuck. Willem."

He laughed, low, and sucked my nipple until I arched off the brick.

His hand was already under the waistband of my sleep shorts.

His fingers found me wet and slid right through, and I gasped.

"You've been thinking about this."

"Since the steakhouse."

"Since the kitchen," he said. "When I held your wrist."

I took his face in both hands.

"Then stop talking."

He set me on the arm of the couch and got down on his knees on the dusty floor.