Touch me

Mila’s POV

I followed him to the exit.

A massive bouncer who seemed to be guarding a velvet rope near the back locked eyes with him. He straightened, and immediately unlatched the barrier.

“Good evening.” The bouncer said.

My rescuer didn't even acknowledge him. He just kept his hand on the small of my back and guided me into a dimly lit corridor.

The noise of the club died instantly as a steel door clicked shut behind us.

He pressed a button for the elevator.

“Where are we going?” My words were slurry on my tongue.

“Private suite.” He said.

The doors slid open, revealing an interior of mirrored glass.

He ushered me in and hit the top floor button.

As the elevator went up, I leaned against the cool glass wall, trying to find my balance. He stood in the center and kept watching me through the mirror.

He wasn't looking at me with pity.

His dark eyes were busy tracking a droplet of rain that rolled from my wet hair, down my neck, and disappeared into the bodice of my ruined dress.

My skin pricked with heat. I should be scared. I was in a stranger's elevator, entering god-knows-where.

But the adrenaline and the tequila were doing something in my body. I didn't feel fear. I felt the need to be reckless.

I turned my head to look at him. “Who are you?” I finally asked.

“Does it matter?”

I could tell it didn’t matter to him. He hadn’t said a word. No “where do you live,” no “are you okay.” Just silence.

“I am going with you.” I still said.

“You are.” He admitted. “Better here than the gutter.” That felt like an insult. Or a welcome. Maybe both.

I didn’t say anything else.

The doors opened.

I tried to step out, but the ground seemed to tilt.

His hand was there instantly, gripping my elbow. His fingers felt hot against my cold skin. “Can you walk?”

“I am not an invalid,” I snapped, though the wobble in my knees betrayed me.

He didn't argue. He just kept his grip firm and led me directly into a sprawling room.

It was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city while the rain buzzed against the glass. A black leather sofa sat in the center of the room, facing a fireplace.

“Bathroom is through there.” He pointed to a frosted glass door. “There are fresh towels. Robes.”

He walked to a crystal decanter on a sidebar and poured two fingers of amber liquid.

I stood shivering in the middle of the room. My dress was clinging to me. “I feel like I am in a suspense movie.”

“Or maybe a thriller.” He found it amusing. “Don’t you think I am a serial killer?”

“Not funny.” I scoffed. “And even if you are and even if I am dying, I should at least know why…”

He tilted his head. “Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

He took a sip of the drink. “I don't like seeing beautiful things broken.”

He walked toward me, extending the glass. I took it, my fingers brushing his. A shock of electricity went up my arm.

“Drink.” He ordered softly.

I obeyed. The whiskey burned, warming my chest. But cold was still biting my skin.

“You are shivering.” He noted as he stepped closer. Too close.

He was so tall I had to crane my neck to look him in the eye.

“I am cold.” I whispered.

“Then get out of those wet clothes.”

My breath hitched. I knew what he meant. I should have run away.

I would have if Caleb hadn't suggested the open relationship shit earlier. I would have if Caleb wasn’t the reason I had to leave my college, leave my friends and my brother for him. I would have if he was the same Caleb I met three years ago. The one who did not raise his voice at me, the one who did not humiliate me, even think of hitting me or hurting me let alone the idea of f**king someone else.

I took a deep breath before I reached behind me and fumbled for the zipper of my dress.

Since my fingers felt numb, I struggled.

“Turn around.” He muttered slowly.

I hesitated, then turned my back to him. I felt his knuckles brush against my bare spine as he found the zipper.

He didn't pull it down immediately. His hand stayed there until I could feel the heat of his palm through my skin.

I stopped breathing.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he dragged the zipper down.

The cold hit my back, contrasting with the heat of his body standing just inches behind me.

“There.” He murmured as his breath fanned against my ear.

He didn't step away.

My dress loosened, ready to fall. But I held it up clutching the front.

I turned back around to face him. I didn’t bother to cover my cleavage.

He was looking at me with a hunger that made my knees weak.

The look… it wasn't polite. It was raw. It was like he wanted to devour me whole.

To my surprise, he reached out. His thumb traced my jaw, avoiding the bruise on my cheek. “You are safe here.” He said. “You can go shower. Sleep on the couch. I will stay over there.”

He gestured vaguely to the desk on the other side of the room.

He was giving me an out. He was being a gentleman.

But then his eyes dropped to my cleavage, and I saw the crack in his composure. He didn't want to be a gentleman.

“You are telling me to sleep?” I blinked.

“Do you want to sleep?” I asked instead of answering.

The alcohol made me bold. The way he looked at me made me desperate to feel something other than pain and humiliation. I wanted to be wanted.

“No.” I whispered.

He went perfectly still. “Be careful.”

He took the empty glass from my hand and set it on a side table without looking away from me.

He took a step closer, invading my space until I hit the leather sofa. I could feel the heat of his body.

I bit my lip as He leaned in, keeping his face inches from mine.

I could smell the faint scent of whiskey. He stared at my mouth. Then my neck. Then the swell of my breasts where the wet silk clung.

My skin prickled with a thousand needles of awareness.

"You are still shaking." His voice sounded like a deep rumble in his chest.

"I told you… I am cold.” I lied.

"Liar."

He raised a hand.

I stopped breathing.

His fingers hovered just millimetres from my bare thigh. He was careful not to touch me as he slowly… teasingly moved his fingers upward.

The heat from his palm was enough to make my pu$$y clench.

He traced the line of my inner thigh, higher, higher, but never making contact.

It was torture.

I involuntarily arched into his touch. He wanted me. I could feel it rolling off him in waves. But his hands moved away.

He wanted me to cross the line.

My body was betraying me, aching, pulsating with a need I hadn't felt in years.

The adrenaline, the whiskey, the danger of him stripped away my defenses.

I licked my lips. His eyes followed the movement and dark hunger flashed immediately.

“What… what are we going to do?” I breathed.

“You said you don’t want to sleep.” Muttering, he stopped.

His hand hovered right over the hem of my dress as he locked his gaze with mine.

Then he placed a hand on the sofa back, boxing me in. “So if you want something else.” He looked down at the heavy swell of my breasts beneath the loosened dress. “You are going to have to use your words.”

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I let go of the silk dress. It pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my lace underwear.

His eyes flared, pupils dilating until they were almost black.

He inhaled sharply. He was clearly losing control but he didn't move to touch me. He just watched, waiting. “Well?” He challenged softly.

As I said nothing, he moved away. The distance felt so cold my bones shuddered.

I didn't want to feel cold. I didn’t want to sleep. And I definitely didn't want him to stop looking at me like I was the only thing in the world he wanted to devour.

Without wasting a second, I grabbed his forearm.

He stopped. He looked down at my hand on his arm, then back up to my eyes. Then he raised a brow.

Ask.

He wanted to me ask. He had said it already… ‘no one will touch you unless you ask.’

“Don’t go.” I whispered.

He didn't move. “That's not asking,"

He waited. He was going to make me say it. He was going to strip away my pride before he even took off my clothes.

I swallowed hard as I looked at my other hand that clutched the fabric to my body. Then I looked at his hungry eyes. I lost it.

I left the fabric and placed my hands flat against his chest. I could feel his heart beating just as fast as mine.

“Touch me.” I pleaded. “Please.”

A growl ripped from his throat.

“Say it louder.”

“Touch me.” I begged. "Everywhere… Please."