Trouble

His chin drops, and he laughs. “So I’ve heard. What do you like so much about true crime?”

Shrugging, I step around the immaculately furnished sitting room. It’s all leather and brass and stained-glass Tiffany lamps. “The passion, the fear. It’s exciting and terrifying.”

“You like being scared?”

“Yes, but I like being in control of my fear.”

His hazel eyes darken, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Do you want to eat something?”

“Not just yet.”

I take a step closer, setting my wine glass on the end table. At the bar, we started something I want to continue. My tongue wets my bottom lip.

His dark brow furrows as he watches my mouth. “You probably should. You’ve had a bit of alcohol.”

“I’m not a child, Spencer. I know when I’ve had too much to drink.”

“Do you?” The way he looks at me sometimes is pure lust, like he’s stripping me bare in his mind.

I place my hand on his wine glass, taking it and setting it beside mine on the nearby table. He slides his hand along my waist, the warmth of his palm radiating through my silk blouse.

My palm is flat against his chest. “Do you enjoy true crime?”

A hint of a smile, a deep dimple, and his voice is low. “I prefer more sensual entertainment.”

“What do you like so much about it?” I imitate him, slidi

ng my palms under the lapels of his coat and easing it off his shoulders.

He catches it and tosses it on the couch. “Pretty much the same thing you like about true crime.” His hand is on my waist again, fisting my blouse, tugging it out of my skirt and up my back.

I pause to help him lift it over my head, thankful I wore my pretty lace bra. Doubly thankful I just had the complete spa treatment two days ago… Fucking Elliot. Glad I’m not wasting a body scrub, waxing, mani-pedi, and facial on that idiot.

“Hey, beautiful. Did I lose you?” Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. He monitors my every response, and I have a feeling it’s going to be a very good thing.

“Just an old ghost trying to get me down.”

He catches my face in his elegant hand. “Don’t let it.” Our eyes meet, and he’s so focused. “Do you trust me?”

“I hardly know you.”

“You can always tell me to stop, and I will.”

“What are you planning to do to me?”

He turns my body so my back is to his chest and slides one hand over my bare stomach, pressing us flush. I’m still in my Armani skirt, but glancing down, I can see my hardened nipples through the thin cups of my bra.

“I want to take you from behind,” he speaks in my ear, his voice thick, his beard scuffing my cheek. “I want to look down and see those beautiful tits bounce as I thrust into you again and again.”

Leaning my head back, I close my eyes as he traces the fingers of his other hand up my arm, to the silk covering my breast and squeezes. I gasp as he continues.

“I want my hands all over them, lifting and squeezing as I kiss the side of your neck.” He does it, placing warm lips to my heated skin. “Smell your beautiful hair, memorize every inch of your gorgeous body…”

His teeth graze my neck, up behind my ear as he inhales deeply. My insides are wet and clenching, and when he bites the skin on my neck, I almost meow. Lust and hunger and vodka and wine swirl in my veins, and I’m blazing with need.

“That sounds good…” I manage to say.

He releases me, and I take a shaky step forward, turning to watch as he loosens his tie and lifts it over his head. His eyes never leave me as he quickly unbuttons his white dress shirt.