Chapter 2

My fingers didn’t rush. Even though I wasn’t proud of the situation I was in, I’d been waiting for him to come back for three days now, spending the last three nights thinking about whether he was alive or dead.

Setting my hand on his chest like it was routine, like I did this for any man with enough cash and an ego, I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of his chest, the solid feel of his heartbeat.

Beneath my touch, he didn’t move, didn’t even shift. Moving slowly around him, I let my fingers wander: over muscle, across his back. 

God. He felt good. Too good.

I knew I shouldn’t want to touch him like I was, but I did, I had for years. In fact, I’d wanted something from him before I’d even understood what I’d wanted, or that wanting someone in this world meant they could use it against you.

With slow movements, I allowed my nails to trace up his spine and into his hair. Stepping in front of him again, close enough my thighs brushed his knees, I waited for a reaction, but gained nothing. 

His lack of reaction chafed my ass. Okay, big boy…you wanna play dead? Let’s see how dead you are. 

With that thought uppermost in my mind, my hands slid down his chest, then slowly over his stomach. My pulse picked up, loud in my ears and my skin suddenly felt prickly like I’d had too much caffeine. Or something else.

I gave myself an inward shake, ignoring the sensation, as sinking to my knees between his legs, I moved my hips.

His jaw tightened, but he still didn’t touch me.

I stood again, brushing against him on the way up, letting my chest hover near his face. “Still see me as Stye’s little girl?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His throat worked; Aacknowledgment. Subtle, but there.

My stomach flipped, but I covered it by hooking my leg over his thigh and lowering myself into his lap. The contact made heat shoot straight through me. He was hard. I rolled my hips once. Slow, careful, at the same time I slid my arms around his neck.

If he was going to pretend I was just another body in a room, then I was going to make him feel it.

I leaned in and brushed the corner of his mouth with mine. He didn’t stop me, but he didn’t pull me closer either, but his hands gripped the chair. Still holding back. Still choosing distance.

That hurt more than if he’d pushed me away, and sliding off him, I bent at the waist, running my tongue across his lower lip. His lips parted and his hands twitched at the action, but still, he restrained himself. 

“Touch me,” I whispered. It came out sounding wrong. Not sexy, playful or even teasing…it just sounded…needy.

His fists clenched and something shifted in his eyes: hunger.

Climbing back into his lap fully this time, I straddled him, then leaning back, I began grinding against him. “I’m not a kid,” I breathed.

At my words, his hands came up fast, gripping my ribs and pulling me into him. His mouth crashed into mine: rough, like he’d been holding it back.

With a groan, his hand fisted in my hair and he moved against me hard enough to make me gasp. “Fuck, I want you, Marl,” he rasped.

That cracked something open in me. I’d wanted to hear those exact words since I was sixteen, and followed him around like a shadow. My body reacted before my brain caught up, but suddenly, he stopped. His grip changed, and his mouth left mine, as eyes sharpening, he growled, “What did she give you?”

“What?” I asked, my mind trying to catch up.

His thumb pressed under my chin. “What did she give you, Marl?”

The room felt slightly off center, and I shook my head, denying the suspicion. “I didn’t take anything,” I lied, but even I heard the delay in my answer. My tongue felt thick, my balance suddenly unsteady as I tried to slide off his lap.

His expression hardened, not aimed at me, but toward something else. “Fucking, son of a bitch,” he growled. Afterward, he didn’t ease to his feet, he exploded up, the chair scraping violently across the floor.

I swayed when his hands left me. Just a little, just enough it was visible as I began, “Torin—”

He grabbed my arm, steadying me when my heel caught the rug. That’s when I realized how unsteady I actually was.

Peering at me, his jaw locked, and reaching past me, he killed the music with one hard hit.

Silence exploded around us and I mumbled, “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, instead he began moving us toward the door. Twisting the numb he jerked the door open, the light in the hallway stabbing at my eyes. 

Darius, one of the newest prospects, nearly ran into us. “What the hell—” he started.

Torin interrupted him as he snarled, “Move.”

“Tor, Stye’s not gonna be happy—” Darious tried again.

“Fuck Stye,” Torin hissed. His words weren’t loud, instead they held a deadly calm.

Darius looked at me then, really looked, and I felt exposed under the hallway lights. Too warm, too aware of how my body felt slightly delayed.

Torin saw it, and his arm wrapped around my waist, then, before I could argue, he lifted me. “What are you doing?” I hissed, grabbing onto him.

“You’re done,” he bit out.

“With what?” I managed to get out.

“With this,” he answered.

Darius reached for him. “You can’t just—”

Torin turned his head slowly. “Try me.”

Darius stepped back, and Torin carried me down the hallway without another word.