“For you,” he says, “and also because of you. I read about your involvement with the shelter and your small business grant, and I think we can do some great work together.”
“You do?” He seems genuine, but I’m still dubious. “Is this my consolation prize for not getting into the club?”
He tilts his head side-to-side before tossing a shirt into the Large pile. “Look at it as a foot in the door.”
We spend the next few hours brainstorming ideas for ways to create opportunities for women in the community—internships, childcare support, scholarships. The more he talks, the more intrigued I am by him. His business prowess is obvious as he considers all angles of an idea, but he’s also passionate and dedicated, talking like he’ll do whatever it takes to make a good proposal work. I never expected an Oakwood Boy to ever devote his time to a project that didn’t garner him money or power, so I’m still a little suspicious, but I find myself falling deeper and deeper under his spell as we talk.
After we’ve worked through one shelf, the director asks us to do some weeding in the flower beds outside. That work is hot and sweaty and not conducive to conversation. I expect Losev to complain, but he surprises me again by getting to work without a moment’s hesitation.
It’s six o’clock and clouds are rolling in, signaling an evening storm, when I finally stand, wipe my brow with the back of my wrist, and declare our work here done. Losev tosses a branch into the bin and turns. Sweat drips down his brow, drawing dark streaks through the dirt on his handsome, sunburned face. Then, before I have time to process what’s happening, he tugs his shirt over his head and mops his face with it. I’m awestruck by his chiseled abs and broad, round shoulders. The tattoo that had been peeking out from beneath his sleeve covers his whole shoulder and one side of his chest. It’s an angel with wide, white wings and horns instead of a halo. He’s on his knees, his head tilted back, his arms spread wide, either in penance or supplication.
Losev catches me before I can look away and smirks, draping his shirt over one shoulder. “Do you like it?”
“You’re—It’s beautiful,” I say. “Your alter ego?”
He gestures for me to go ahead of him toward the parking lot. “We all have both good and evil inside, don’t you think?”
“Some of us maybe lean more one way than the other.”
His smile is disarming when he says, “Depends on the day, I suppose.” He stops beside the Spider. “So, dinner?”
I look down at myself and then gesture to his naked torso. “Like this?”
He frowns and says, “We can have pizza delivered.”
“I’ll have to go home and get cleaned up first.”
“No need,” he says quickly. “You can clean up at my place.”
Everything in me recognizes this for what it is—a trap. But for the first time in my life, I don’t mind being caught.
♦ ♦ ♦
Losev’s house is in a high-rise building on the west side of downtown Oakwood Park. We park in the underground garage and he leads me in through the opulent, marble-floored lobby. The doorman already has our pizza and hands it over as we’re waiting for the elevator. I take one look at it and recognize the box.
“Is that from Luigi’s?”
“Is there any other pizza?” Losev asks.
I laugh. Of course, there are hundreds of pizza places in Oakwood City, but Luigi’s has always been my favorite. He pops open the box and reveals a traditional pizza with prosciutto, large chunks of mozzarella, and fresh herbs. It smells divine. I don’t know which is more mouth-watering—the delicious pizza or the shirtless man holding it.
The elevator takes us up to the top floor, opening on a gray and white lobby. Beyond it is a pristine living room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the rounded tops of green trees in the park and the skyscrapers of downtown. It’s a view fit for a king…or a queen. I love my place on River Street, but someday I’ll be able to invest in a place like this. It’s important to keep that upward momentum, to always have something bigger and better to strive for, to never settle.
He urges me forward with a hand on my back, and I step further into the living room, noting a hallway to the right that must lead to the bedroom. To the left is an open kitchen with white cabinets, gray countertops, and stainless-steel appliances. Losev gathers plates and two beers and then opens a sliding glass door.
“Would you like to eat on the balcony?” he asks.
“It’s going to storm soon,” I say, but I can’t resist the desire to get closer to the view. Putting my purse on one of the counters, I follow him outside.
He places the pizza box on a low patio table and lights a citronella candle nearby. I lean against the glass panel railing and take in the view. The people below us are as small as ants, and the dark, rolling clouds seem close enough to touch.
“How do you not just spend all day out here?” I ask him.
He doesn’t respond, but I can feel his nearness even before he touches me. Slowly, his hands grip the railing on either side of me and his lips brush against the sensitive place where my neck meets my shoulder. Electricity spreads like lightning down my spine.
“Because I don’t have anyone to share the view with,” he says.
I let out a breathy sigh before saying, “You don’t seem like the type to share.”
“You’re right,” his lips whisper against my ear. “What’s mine is mine.”
I turn my head, my lips feather-light against his. “You don’t own me.”
He doesn’t deign to respond. Instead, he slides his tongue over my lips and then presses it inside. The kiss is slow and languid. His hands that had me trapped against the railing begin to caress my body, one sneaking beneath my shirt and splaying across the flat plane of my stomach, the other coming up and grasping my neck, squeezing lightly. As he deepens the kiss, I press my ass back, demanding more. I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want him in this moment.
Thunder rolls, vibrating the balcony. He pulls my t-shirt over my head and digs his teeth into my shoulder as he works my breasts free of their bra. His fingers pinch and tug my nipples, drawing small cries from my lips as the pain turns to pleasure. Rain starts to fall, cool, light pinpricks against my bare skin.
I lean back against him, my hand sliding between us and down the front of his jeans to find his hard length, the tip wet with precum. I pull it out, lowering his pants and boxers with my hand, and stroke the shaft, squeezing and massaging as he grinds his hips into my ass. One of his hands leaves my breasts and skillfully unbuttons my jeans. His fingers dip beneath my underwear and part my folds. I spread my legs to give him better access and he takes advantage of it, plunging a finger inside of me while his thumb presses against my throbbing clit.
My head falls back against his shoulder, my lips parted in ecstasy.
“I may not own you,” he says, “but I own your next orgasm, and every one after that.”
“Prove it,” I say even as the tightness builds inside of me.
He huffs a small laugh that I feel against my back and wastes no time bringing me to the edge of the cliff, only to take his hand away at the critical moment.
“What the hell?” I ask.