Perfection

Julian

I carry Daphne into the house. She curls into me like her body already knows the shape of mine, arms around my neck, face pressed into my throat. Her breath is uneven, too warm.

I never once stop to ask what I'm doing bringing her into my home. A house I haven't let a woman into since Katrina left.

Maybe a part of me just wants to make sure she's safe. I couldn't leave a girl high on some substance, vulnerable to whatever's out there, alone at almost midnight.

"Boss." Luca, from the bottom of the stairs. "You have a call. Katrina Voss."

"Not now, Luca. Handle her."

I don't stop walking. I feel his eyes move between me and the girl half naked and shaking in my arms. He doesn't ask.

"She says it's urgent. I think you should take it."

"Tell her I'm in a meeting. I'll talk to her in the morning."

I take the stairs two at a time and shoulder open the door at the end of the hall before I've fully decided to. My room. Not the guest room. Mine. I don't ask myself why. I already know I won't like the answer.

I lower her onto the bed and straighten, turning to leave, when her hand closes around my wrist.

"Daphne." My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.

"Please." Her voice cracks. "Please don't leave me like this."

She pulls, and I let myself be pulled an inch, no more. Close enough to see her pupils blown wide, her skin flushed and slicked with sweat, her whole body trembling.

"Fuck me," she whispers, and God help me, every part of me wants to.

"Please..." She reaches up to cup her own breast with her free hand, rolling her hips, biting down on her lip as a small, devilish sound slips out of her, one that has my sore cock twitching back to life.

Fuck. She's perfect.

It's been years since a woman made me feel this. Years since my own body could betray me like this. And it's happening now, over a girl I pulled off a club floor minutes ago who doesn't even know my name.

I don't move closer. I dare not, because I don't trust myself not to rip every last stitch of clothing off her and fuck her straight into this mattress.

"Hey." I peel her fingers off my wrist, one at a time. "You're not in your right mind. You need to rest."

"I don't want to rest." She's shaking harder now. "I want you."

I feel that land somewhere low and stupid in me. My jaw tightens. My eyes drop to her mouth a second too long before I force them away.

"You want the drug," I say, quiet. "Not me. I need you to hear the difference, even if you can't feel it right now."

She doesn't answer. I'm not sure she can.

I pull the blanket over her instead, tuck it around her shoulders, and step back before she can reach for me again. I watch her eyes lose the fight, her body going slack into something too heavy to be sleep. Only then do I leave.

I shut the door and stand outside it longer than I'd admit to anyone. One hand pressed hard against my eyes. I'm still hard. Have been since I felt her go boneless against me on that club floor, and it hasn't eased once. I can't remember the last time my body did this without my permission.

I go downstairs. There's work to do, and standing outside a locked door thinking about a drugged girl isn't it.

Luca is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, saying nothing. From Luca, that's its own kind of question.

"She's a girl from the club," I say, before he asks. "Some group of boys drugged her. I got her out."

"Right." His face gives away nothing, which is worse than if it had. "Katrina called three times while you were bringing her up."

"I told you to handle it."

"I did. She hung up on me twice." He holds the phone out like it's a live wire. "Take this one. She didn't sound like she was working an angle."

I take it, more from certainty I'll have no peace otherwise than any real belief this time is different. It rings twice.

"Katrina.”

"Julian." Clipped. None of the honeyed patience she usually performs for me. "It's Lily. She's in the hospital."

Everything in me goes still. "What happened?"

"High fever. They're running tests. She's been asking for you." A pause, flatter now. "You don't need to come. I'm calling so you can clear the bill directly, save me forwarding invoices."

Of course. Always the money first, my daughter's name used like a key to a door.

"Which hospital?"

"Julian, I said you don't need to be there."

"Which hospital, Katrina."

A sigh, long enough to make her irritation clear. She tells me. I don't write it down. I won't need to.

"I'll come in the morning," I say. "She's my daughter. That's not up for negotiation, whatever else is."

I hang up before she can turn it into something else entirely, because with Katrina there is always something else entirely, and hand the phone back to Luca. He takes it without a word, watching me with the patience of a man who knows exactly how much he's allowed to ask.

I look up the stairs, toward the door I shut minutes ago, and don't move toward it.

"Have the guest room made up," I say finally. "For me."

Luca's eyebrows lift, just barely. He still says nothing at all.