Dangerous Fling (Dangerous Noise 4)

"Why?"

"No reason." He motions to the bed. "Should I sit there or you want me leaning over the desk."

"No. You're the guest. Take the seat of honor." I pull my task chair from my desk.

Mal shakes his head. "I'm not going to sit while you stand."

"You should sit. Because that video is going to blow your mind. Your knees will go weak."

"I wouldn't want to embarrass myself by fainting?"

"Embarrass away. But my downstairs neighbors won't appreciate the thud of six feet of muscle hitting the floor."

His blue eyes light up as he smiles. This is the most expression I've seen on Mal's face. At least while he wasn't pretending.

"If you faint, you're going to have to pay an extra month of my rent."

"Deal." He offers his hand.

I shake.

It's not like before. We aren't pretending. Those calloused fingers against my fingertips, his palm against mine, his eyes fixed on mine—

Fuck, my body is already buzzing.

My head is spinning.

My heart is thudding.

I clear my throat. "Okay. Let me boot it up." I turn my monitor so it's facing him. "It needs a little more polish, but you should get the concept."

His gaze shifts to the bed, but he doesn't say anything.

I hit play before I can think too much about what the look on his face means.

He focuses on the video. His beautiful face is too damn hard to read. His lips barely move. His eyes stay fixed on the screen. They stay void of any particular emotion.

The video is different than Danielle's original concept. It starts with Mal sitting on the bed, staring off in the distance.

Hurting.

Longing.

Then he's reaching to the other side of the bed, staring at the empty spot with longing.

When the chorus kicks in, the video shifts into a flashback. At least, it should read as flashback—the exposure is turned up to make the footage look soft and dreamy.

That's Mal in bed with me.

We're kissing. Touching. Staring into each other's eyes.

It's soft. Tender.

Then it goes back to the verse, and he's alone again.

The next chorus, the video goes further. He's getting rough. In control. He pins me to the bed. Tugs at my tank top. Flips me over and pins me again.

During the solo, it keeps going. It gets rougher, harder. We're losing clothes—well, it's shot so it looks like we're losing clothes. The camera is on his face as he groans, this expression of pleasure, like he's about to come.