Pure money. I’m still learning about Manhattan real estate, but damn, even I know nothing’s worth less than a mil in this place. And that’s probably a basement apartment with no windows.
Location.
Location.
Why is she located so far from me in this elevator? Just the way she looks at me has me hard. Fuck, let’s be honest. She doesn’t even have to look at me. The tips of her fingers teased my leg in the back of the car. The kisses she placed on my neck when the driver was too busy to notice in the mirror had me squirming.
I was good, keeping my hands to myself, but these last few flights are a struggle. She’s so sexy I could devour her whole.
I’m still hoping to actually . . .
The elevator dings when we reach her floor, and she says, “Almost home,” like she’s talking to anyone she knows, not the guy she wanted to have sex with in the middle of a dinner party earlier. Please don’t let things have cooled. It’s a vicious cycle we’re caught in. I’m starting to think we have the worst timing ever.
Her door is at the far end of the hall. Judging by the spacing of the others in the hall, the apartments are bigger than the average New York City dwelling.
The black lacquered door stands out among the neighboring wood tones, each resident's personality already on display. Tatum’s doesn’t just stand out because of the color, but the design of the panels reminds me of the high-end shops of 5th Avenue.
I’m not used to silence, but she owns every second of it, comfortable in the quiet. Growing up with two brothers and a sister meant the noise levels at my house were always high. It was nice to escape to the Christiansens’ house, where the energy was more laidback.
“Do you have siblings?” I ask, cracking that silence in half.
With a key in the lock, she turns back, curiosity filling her pretty eyes. “I’m an only child.” A smile appears, and it’s nothing less than entertained. “Such an odd question at this juncture in the night.”
“Why don’t I know more about you?”
“Guess we never delved that deep into our lives because you were busy delving deeper into other things.”
“Mainly you.” I shrug. “Can’t resist a perfect setup.”
“What can you resist?” she asks, her breathing becoming heavier.
The door is stiff when she tries to open it, so she hip bumps it, and it swings inward. “Sometimes, you just need a solid thrust.” Her chest rises and falls as if my mere proximity to her is a turn-on.
I’m never going to last with this siren. Not only did I never think we’d be this close to having sex again but that trust she showed in me earlier blankets her eyes now as she welcomes me into her world. The sight of her practically purring for me has my body on high alert and begging for more. I move in, boxing her with my arms on either side of her head. “You found the man for the job.”
She runs the tip of her finger over my Adam’s apple and continues lower until she reaches my chest. “What am I to you, Harrison?” she whispers. I try to wrap my head around the question. She might need a different answer than what she is to me.
She’s the forbidden fruit.
A decadent dessert.
The finest whiskey. A piece of chocolate you’ve only experienced once but have been searching for ever since.
And that’s the truth of it. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want Tatum Devreux. This torture has continued for a million reasons, but both of us seem to finally be headed in the desired direction. I’ll let her lead, play the games, participate in the Q & A’s if it gets me more time with her.
“You were never a one-night stand, not to me.”
The answer appears to satisfy her as the corners of her mouth tip upward. Fisting my shirt, she tugs me closer and then kisses my chin. “It’s sad we ended up that way.”
“Then let’s write a new ending.” I cup her face and kiss her hard.
Her lips are plush and accepting, her fists holding me just as tightly. Turning, she pulls me into the apartment and kicks the door shut. Our lips part, and she takes a deep breath of air.
She spins away from me, locking the door, and then walks deeper into the apartment. “Are you going to keep me waiting?” she teases, glancing back at me over her shoulder.
“No. Just taking it all in.”
I follow her into the dimly lit living room. It’s not what I expected for Tatum. Her style is typically fashion-forward and tending toward the dramatic, so I imagined stark walls and furniture that’s slick in design and cutting-edge modern.
Considering it’s a corner unit with windows wrapping around that sharp edge, the décor lies in contrast. An exposed brick wall with a fireplace, inviting wood floors throughout that inspire me to see where they lead down the hallway, and large, black-framed windows give warmth to the space. The age and character are what I imagine in old New York City apartments and see in Nick’s brownstone. Not what I expected from a mid-rise skyscraper built in the past twenty years. “I like your place.”