The Girl Who Doesn't Quit (Soulless 12)

I stilled at the way his deep voice cut through the air, cut me off and severed my train of thought.

“Have you made a decision yet?”

“About what?”

“Us.” Now that everyone was gone for the day and it was just the two of us, he went for it again. With his foul mood, it hadn’t seemed like that could even be on his mind right now.

Guess I was dead wrong about that. “I’ve thought about it…”

“And?” He came closer, his shoulders strong and straight, his handsome face sexy when it was serious like that.

“I’ve got too much to lose in this situation, so I’m not going to bother unless all my requirements are met.” I closed my folder and got to my feet. “So, I need to check one more thing, and if it’s a go, then yes, I’ll give it a try.”

“Alright. What is it?”

“We need to have sex.”

His eyes immediately widened in surprise.

“You’re my boss, you work with my dad, we used to hate each other… It’s gotta be worth it. Are you done for the day? Because I’m ready to go.”

He continued to look surprised, even a little overwhelmed. “Oh, you want to do this now?”

“Yeah. My place is just down the street.”

He remained frozen in disbelief.

“Unless you aren’t up for it—”

“No, I’m up for it,” he said quickly, a smile coming over his lips while the intensity in his eyes remained.

“Good. Because I don’t want to get involved and then the sex totally sucks.”

He gave a slight chuckle. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“You sound confident. I like that.”

“Yes, I’m very confident that I’ll pass your little test.”

I put my stuff away then pulled my bag over my shoulder. “Oh, it’s not a little test. I’ve got high expectations.”

“So do I.”

“Alright.” I rounded my desk. “Then let’s get out of here.”

We entered my penthouse, and I dropped my bag on the couch in the living room. It was a modest penthouse, not like the ones my brothers had. But it was perfect for a bachelorette like me, with white moldings along the walls, the furniture in white and gray, a sleek and modern look that complemented the floor-to-ceiling windows, the artwork and sculptures my designer had picked out.

I turned around and expected him to scan the room and give customary compliments.

His eyes were only on me—like he didn’t give a fuck about the penthouse.

Good.

The stare continued, the intensity in his eyes and the tightness of his mouth. It was the same look he’d had underneath the glow of the fireworks—but a lot deeper. Confident and unyielding, he moved closer toward me, his steps audible against the rug.

He stopped in front of me but didn’t make a move. His eyes studied mine before they dropped to my lips.

He set the tone without white candles and music. He set it with his desire, filled the room with his palpable need to have me. He didn’t rush it by going straight for the kill. He let the natural chemistry between us burn like a fire in the woods.

The first move he made was a hand to my neck, his big thumb pressed to my skin, feeling my pulse quicken at his touch. He tilted my head back slightly, his eyes examining the curve of my jawline, the elegance of my neck.

That same hand slid into my hair, spun it around in his hand, and then fisted it like a rope to climb a mountain. His mouth landed on my neck, a gentle kiss to the warm skin, slow and purposeful.

My eyes immediately closed.

He kissed me again. Another slow and purposeful kiss. Tasting me. Feeling me. He forced my head the other way so he could kiss the other side, his free hand yanking down the strap of my dress so he could kiss my exposed shoulder.

I sucked in a breath between my teeth, feeling his stubble scratch my skin, feeling the need in his kiss. His mouth migrated up, sprinkling kisses along my jawline, getting closer to my lips. When he got there, my lips immediately parted, ready for the fireworks again.

But he stopped to stare.

To stare at my mouth.

To brush his thumb against the corner.

A predator locked on to his prey, he cupped the back of my head and pulled me in, bringing our lips together.

With one strap hanging off my shoulder, I circled his neck with my arms, my fingers digging into his short hair, feeling his warm lips separating mine with the precision of a surgeon. His hard chest pressed against my tits and crushed them into my body as he gripped my waist and pulled me in.

Our kisses filled the living room, and our heat brought up the temperature several degrees. We were standing near the couch, so he hooked his arm around one of my legs and lifted it to the couch, my heel digging into the cushion.