After Hours

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “The doctor?”

  “Did you forget? You have your follow up this morning.”

  I groaned. I had forgotten. Because I’d been too busy thinking about getting into Marc-the-Monk’s pants.

  Speaking of which…

  I pressed a hand to his thigh and slid it up. For a blissful second, he let me touch him. Then he pushed up, delivered a swift, far too chaste kiss to my lips, and climbed out of bed. With a frustrated mutter, I flopped backwards.

  “Marc?”

  “Yeah, honey?” I heard his pants zip up.

  Damn him.

  “I’d like it a lot better if you’d come back to bed.”

  He chuckled. Probably amused by my needy ache. It annoyed me. But it didn’t make me want him any less. I’d take angry sex with Marc over no sex with Marc any day. In fact, the idea kind of appealed to me at the moment.

  “Jerk,” I grumbled as the sound of teeth-brushing started up in the en suite. “Big, giant, uncooperative jerk.”

  The water in the bathroom turned off, and Marc appeared beside the dresser again. “Are you calling me names, now?”

  I propped myself up on my elbow. “Yes. Come over here and make me pay.”

  “How about you come over here and put some pants on.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “I have it on good authority that I am, in fact, fun. But I’m also a punctual adult. Your appointment is in thirty minutes.”

  “You. Are. No. Fun.”

  He grabbed the sundress I’d taken from the closet the day before and held it out. “You’re wearing this?”

  I considered tossing a childish denial back in his face, then thought better of it. I could be an adult, too. Sort of. I swung my feet to the floor and stood. I marched—with no limp, I might add—to the laundry basket in the corner. Then I stripped off my PJs and my underwear, slipped on the dress and smiled sweetly.

  “I’m ready.”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not forgetting a little something?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fine.” With an irritated twitch of his mouth, he spun. “See you downstairs.”

  “Wait.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re not going to help me?” I asked.

  “Call me if you get stuck.”

  I narrowed my eyes at his back as it disappeared out the French doors. But as I stood up, I found that my leg didn’t twinge at all, and even going down the stairs didn’t make it ache. Without any assistance, I made it all the way to the parking garage and to Marc’s car. As I climbed in, I had to resist an urge to pretend it did hurt, just to spite him and his lack of willingness to be my personal sex slave. But he’d supplied a coffee in a to-go cup, and a fruit Danish, too, so it was kind of hard to stay mad.

  Thankfully, the traffic between my place and the doctor’s office was minimal, and since I was the first patient of the day, I got ushered in quickly. I expected Marc to insist on coming in, but as I stood, he got a call from Mike Roper, and he waved me off. I was almost disappointed to find myself facing my doctor on my own.

  I made myself not overthink it, and greeted the familiar woman with a smile. “Morning, Dr. Link.”

  She positioned herself beside the examining table and smiled back. “Morning yourself, Aysia. Looks like you’ve been busy.”

  For a second, I thought she was talking about Marc. Then clued in that she meant my injury.

  “I got in a fight with a wine glass,” I joked weakly. “And I lost.”

  She leaned down to examine the stitches, then bent my knee up and down. “Looks to be healing well, though. Much pain?”

  I shook my head, then answered a few more questions. She made a quick note in my electronic file before she pronounced me fit to get back to my regular day-to-day activities, smiled again, and told me to enjoy the rest of my day.

  But I paused at the door as a request sprung to mind.

  “Something else, Aysia?” she asked.

  I hesitated, then told her what I needed in a rush. I was sure my face was redder than a teenager’s as she handed over a sample. And it was still burning as I pushed through the door into the waiting room. Marc shot a little frown my way. I ignored it—and him, more or less—until we were out in the hall. And he was the one who spoke first.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Well what?”

  “What did the doctor say?” he asked.

  “Oh. I’m good.”

  “How good?”

  “Cleared for normal activities.”

  His caramel eyes slid up and down my body. “How normal?”

  A heated flush crept from my toes to my hairline. “I asked her to put me on the pill.”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Thank fucking God.”

  I might’ve laughed. But his face was more intense than I’d seen it since the second we met. His gaze was hungry. And then—without warning—he was on me. He grabbed me by the waist and dragged me close, slamming his lips into mine with heart stopping ferocity. His tongue danced through my mouth, warm and persistent, thorough enough to make me moan. Then he slammed my hands over my head and pinned my wrists to the wall. I fought a yelp.

  “Hey!”

  “Do you have any idea how crazy I’ve been going?” he growled.

  “No.” It was a squeak.

  “Walking around in the short fucking shorts all day. No bra. Wiggling your perfect little ass against me in the night. Then coming here with nothing under that dress.”

  His free hand slid up my hip, then my stomach, then cupped my breast firmly. Possessively. His thumb flicked over the thin fabric, torturing my already taut nipple.

  “We’re in a public place,” I gasped.

  “Don’t care.”

  “Someone could walk by any second. Someone probably will walk by.”

  “Still don’t care. You told me you wanted to be mine five whole days ago,” he said. “But I haven’t been able to claim you even once since then.”

  “You could’ve,” I managed to say.

  “And risked tearing that wound of yours so that I had to start waiting all over again? Not a fucking chance.”

  “So what are you waiting for now?” I challenged, forgetting all about being in public.

  His hands slid to the hem of my dress, then we both froze as the elevator dinged a warning. Any moment, it was going to open, and we’d have company.

  Marc dropped my dress, grabbed my hand, and tugged. I stumbled along beside him, clueless as to where he was pulling me until we he shoved open a heavy door. A stairwell. Cool air blew up from below. But I didn’t even have time to shiver.

  He took a hold of me again, pressing me to the wall, the heat of his body more than enough to stave of the chill from the concrete.

  “Tell me again,” he commanded.

  “What?”

  “That you’re mine.”

  The way he said it—all caveman and ridiculously sexy—took my breath away, and my reply came out in a quaver. “I’m yours.”

  “Fuck, yes, you are. I’ve been counting the seconds. Fantasizing about burying myself inside of you. Licking you up and down. Sucking on every bit of you.”

  My knees shook a little at raw-sounding admission. “Tell me more.”

  “I’ve been wanting to fuck you so hard that Mrs. Fisk calls that cops. That my parents hear you scream from their hotel.”

  “More.”

  “When I’m done with the hard and fast, I’m going to take you again, nice and slow.” His tongue darted out to taste a spot just below my ear. “I’ll make you come over and over, and just when you think you can’t possibly handle any more…I’ll make you come again. I’ll use my fingers and my mout
h and my cock. You’ll be so full of me that there won’t be room for anything else.”

  I was panting. My thighs shook. If I’d been wearing any underwear, they’d have been soaked through, and I wondered if Marc knew I was halfway to where he wanted me, just based on his words alone. And, damn, did I want to get the rest of the way.

  I tipped my face up and spoke against his mouth. “Are you all talk?”

  “Have I ever been all talk?” He pulled my lower lip between his teeth.

  “People change,” I teased.

  He laughed, low and sexy as usual, then reached down, put both hands on my ass, and lifted me from the ground. He ground against me, his denim-covered erection driving forward in the most frustrating way.

  “Your pants, Marc. Please.”

  “Hang on tight.”

  I clung to his shoulders and tightened my knees on his hips as he dropped his hands to unfasten his belt. The sound of his zipper coming down made my breath quicken once more. And then his tip was positioned in just the right spot. He circled lightly against my clit before he drew back and—

  “Wait.”

  He paused. “Fuck, honey. Why?”

  Had he seriously forgotten his own rule?

  “Well,” she replied. “I don’t think the pill starts working the moment I ask for it.”

  One of his hands released, and when I slipped down a little, he immediately brought it back to keep me in place.

  “Wallet,” he said.

  “Wallet?”

  “Fucking condom in my fucking wallet. It’s in my back fucking pocket, Aysia.” His cursing was vehement, but not really directed at me. “Can you reach?”

  I dropped my hand. My fingers just brushed the leather edge. I wriggled, trying to grab it, and I very nearly drove him straight into me. He growled and adjusted again, propping me up with his knee. His hand came around his back, meeting mine. Together, we yanked out the wallet, then Marc tugged it away from me and smacked it to the wall. He freed a metallic package and let the wallet fall to the ground.

  So fast that I barely saw it happen, he unwrapped the condom, got it properly in place and met my eyes.

  “Need me to wait for anything else?” he asked.

  “Just one thing.”

  “What?”

  “This.” I pushed my lips to his. For ten seconds, the kiss was tender. Meaningful and definitely sexy. But not more. Then it intensified. Dragged into something else—something full of need.

  Marc eased back, repositioning himself.

  I closed my eyes.

  And as promised, he filled me so well—so hard and so thoroughly—that there wasn’t room for anything else.

  Chapter 15

  Marcelo

  I snuck a glance Aysia’s way, then smiled to myself. We were on our way back to her condo, and she had her hand out the Maserati’s window, her fingers spread wide to catch the wind. Her hair was catching the breeze, too, whipping wildly around her face.

  Fuck, how I loved the way she looked right then. Satisfied and free and happy. So goddamned beautiful.

  I looked away again, focusing my eyes on the road, even if my mind preferred to stay on her.

  I loved how I felt right then, too. My chest was tight and full. Swollen up with pride that I was the one who made her mouth turn up, that I was the one whose name she called out. I dragged in a deep breath, and instead of easing the pressure, I drew in a lungful of her sweet scent. It was on my skin, permeating my existence. Making her mine.

  Mine.

  I’d never used the word to describe a woman before. Not even Janie, when she’d told me she was pregnant. My girlfriend, yes. But not mine, not like this. I loved that, too.

  In fact, I loved everything about being with Aysia.

  Shit.

  My foot just about flew off the gas pedal as I realized what I’d just admitted to myself. I tightened my grip on the wheel and steadied my driving path. I tried out the word again.

  Love.

  Hell, yes. That was it. This was it. A few insane weeks in, and I was falling in love with her. I drew in another breath and fought a need to turn and ask if she felt the same. I was pretty damned sure she did. I was also pretty damned sure bringing it up would make her open the door and jump out of the moving car. How long would it take before she knew it, too? And how long after that until she’d acknowledge it and accept it?

  Patience, I said to myself.

  She was worth the fucking wait. All good things were, right?

  “Are we taking the long way home?” Aysia’s question brought me back to the moment, and I realized that I’d managed to skirt around the turnoff to her street.

  I tossed her a smile. “Guess we are.”

  A little frown creased her forehead, and she sighed. “I’m in a really good mood.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And I don’t want to wreck it.”

  My ribcage compressed. “So don’t.”

  “I just—”

  “Seriously, Aysia. Now’s not the time to break my fucking heart.”

  It must’ve come out with more emphasis than I intended, because her hand suddenly landed on my forearm, her fingers warm.

  “Would you let me finish?” she asked.

  I refused to let her see the look I knew had to be in my eyes, and kept my gaze fixed out the front windshield. “Fine.”

  “I was just thinking about what to do about work.”

  “Work?”

  “Yes. I mean, this is still officially against the rules. I’m not quitting, and you’re not quitting, but—”

  Without even thinking about it, I slammed on the brakes and swerved onto the shoulder of the road. Behind us, someone honked, but I didn’t care. Aysia’s eyes went wide. Then wider still as I leaned over, took both her cheeks in my hands, and kissed her soundly.

  “What was that for?” she breathed as I finally pulled back.

  “For thinking about what we’re going to do about work.”

  “All that for a thought?”

  “A few days ago, you wouldn’t even have considered the idea that there was something to be done about it. So I’m thrilled as all hell that you’re opening this particular window.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, well. Don’t jump through it yet. I want to be cautious. And practical. So I’m still trying to think of a way to make it work.”

  “Because I’m your boyfriend.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you’re my girlfriend.”

  “You’re really pushing this, aren’t you?”

  “Yep.” I kissed her again. “However we handle it…It’ll be worth it, honey.”

  Her expression turned serious, her blues eyes searching my face for a long moment before she responded. “I know it will, Marc. That’s why I want to do it.”

  My throat tightened. “Aysia?”

  “Yes?”

  “I—”

  Her phone came to life in her purse, cutting me off.

  Probably a good thing, I said to myself. God knows what you were about to say.

  I gestured to her bag. “You gonna get that?”

  “Uh. Sure.” She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, then answered in a cheerful voice. “Hi, Mom! How are—what? Slow down. No, I’m fine. Yes. No. I’m with Marc. No. Yes.” She paused and looked at me, bit her lip like she was going to add something else, then shook her head instead.

  “You forgot to tell her I was your boyfriend,” I whispered with a grin.

  Aysia swatted at me, her face pink, but continued to speak into the phone. “No. Never mind. Mom. You were saying something about my condo? I said—seriously? Okay, we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The alarm at my place went off. Apparently, the company tried my p
hone and couldn’t get through. Must’ve been when we were—um—preoccupied? Anyway, my mom is the secondary contact. The police are at the condo now, and so is she.”

  “They actually sent the cops? It wasn’t a false alarm?”

  “Doesn’t sound like it.”

  “Damn. Okay.”

  I guided the car back onto the road, my gut churning with worry. Her building was secure. Or should’ve been. Between the key coded entry system, the nice neighborhood, and the fact that she wasn’t on the first floor, a break-in couldn’t be a crime of opportunity. My mind darkened. I didn’t know every nook and cranny of Aysia’s personal life, but the last five days of all talk, no sex had given me some pretty good glimpses. And I could only think of one person who carried open hostility toward her.

  Carl fucking Reeves.

  I actually hadn’t thought of him in days. Not since he’d brushed by me in the hall at the beginning of the week, and even then, it hadn’t been in relation to Aysia. In fact, I’d been more amused than anything at the way he’d first apologized for bumping me, then jumped back when he realized it was me.

  If the fucker is responsible for this, he’s going to do a hell of a lot more than that.

  I kept my mouth shut, though, as we drove the last few minutes. When—if—we found out this had anything to do with him, I’d deal with it then. For right then, I just wanted to make sure everything was safe and secure.

  As we pulled up to her building, I spied a solitary cop car, and took that as a good sign. Two officers stood on the curb, too, flanking a woman who could only be Aysia’s mother. She had the same wild hair, though hers was flecked with blondish highlights, and when her gaze landed on the Quattroporte, I saw that her eyes were the same too-blue shade as well. She lifted a brow in a familiar gesture, then put her hands on her hips and said something to the police officers.

  Aysia leaped out the moment I put the car in park, but I followed a little more slowly, scanning the exterior of the building. I had no clue what the hell I was looking for. Building security was something best left to the experts. I just felt a serious compulsion to look for something—anything—that would guide me to her asshole non-ex. No matter what excuse he had, no matter what he threatened to blackmail me with, he couldn’t walk away from a breaking and entering charge.