Run

Chapter Two

His apartment was nicer than mine. Pretty much anyone's apartment would be nicer than mine. He flicked on a table lamp, illuminating the small living room. Blue. His eyes were a darker blue than my own. "You want something to drink?"

I stepped around the couch, pulse skittering. I wanted to get down to it. I didn't want small talk. I didn't want stupid getting to know you questions. I very much wanted to wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Before I lost my nerve for the thirtieth time.

He snagged my hips and I stumbled into him, winding my arms around his neck. "No drink," I murmured, trying not to let my voice wobble. I so badly wanted to wobble. Wibble, wobble. Like a top losing momentum. "Just you."

He smiled. He had sexy mouth creases. Lines that showed he laughed and grinned and did it often. "Say no anytime, darlin'. Preferably before I get my pants off. Might have a hard time stopping at that point."

I chuckled. "Duly noted." I stroked a hand through his hair. "Can I kiss you now?"

"Don't need my permission."

Yes, yes I did. I needed a million signs this would work, that it would give me oblivion, that I could walk out that door knowing I'd quieted the demons for a while. Long enough to find a better, healthier, longer term solution.

I started soft, tentative, rubbing my lips over his. Kind of amazing, what mouths can do. Speak, tease, calm, damn, incite. The first flurry of need spun through me as the pressure deepened and changed. My tongue darted out, flicking over his lower lip, seeking entry.

The clamoring in my head began to subside, the first whisper dying when his tongue curled around mine, long, sure strokes I wanted to feel everywhere. His hands snuck under the hem of my tank. They crept up, a rough, hot brush of skin on skin, and stayed there.

I waited to see what he'd do next. Dip his fingers under the waistband of my jeans? Stroke up along the line of my spine? He didn't move them. Didn't push my shirt up and out of the way. He splayed his hands over my back and pressed me closer. The sweetness of it tripped my heart up, and I was very, very grateful I hadn't asked him his name. I wouldn't see him after tonight. I didn't need to complicate matters by imagining feelings that didn't exist.

Another whisper quieted.

My nerves settled and my mouth moved to his throat, smiling as my teeth scraping over his skin drew a groan. I wanted slow, and thorough, and heat. I'd take the tenderness if he wanted to give it. But I didn't need it. Not tonight.

He let me tease him. Let me trail kisses along his jaw. Let me close my teeth around his earlobe and tug. His fingers dug into my back, but they didn't move. They were a brand, a sign of possession, and my heart tripped again.

I could hear now, past the guilt. How the street outside was quiet, and how his breathing was not. Little catches, soft susurrations of fabric as we shifted against each other.

His shirt came off. Lean muscle, a faint dusting of hair, those wicked broad shoulders I needed to see braced above me. Mmm. I walked my fingers up his sternum, his skin hot enough to burn. He dipped his head and claimed my lips.

Still no rush. He kept the kiss slow and thorough, exploring every inch of my mouth and turning my knees and brain to mush. God. Whoever landed this man was going to be one lucky woman.

His hands finally moved from my back, sliding down to grip the hem of my tank top. He drew it up, his gaze tracking the progress, and for a brief moment I wished for the dark. No one needed to see protruding hip bones or rib cages. He traced the line of my hip to the waistband of my jeans, but kept his mouth shut. Then he reversed his path, stopping when he reached the tattoo of Lady Justice peeking out of my jeans. He tugged on the waistband. "Interesting place for justice to hide."