“Certainly not, ma’am.”
The elevator door had not quite closed when Mark leaned against the wall and lifted Haven up. She wrapped her legs around him, his erection pressed perfectly where she wanted it, hard heat against the part of her that had not stopped aching in days. He kissed her, an open-mouthed, helplessly hungry kiss that made her groan into his mouth and clutch at him. She yanked on his hair, hard enough that he yelped, and then she bit his lip.
A ping announced her floor, and he set her down and followed her out. “Do you do that all the time?” he asked.
“Kiss in elevators? You know I don’t.”
“Were we kissing? It felt like having sex with all our clothes on. But no, I meant, do you tell your doorman to be discreet?”
“There’s never really been anything I needed him to be discreet about before,” she said. “But I have told clients’ doormen to be discreet.”
“Does it work?”
“I doubt it. But I’d be remiss in not asking.”
She unlocked her door and he crowded her into the apartment.
There were shoes scattered around the entry, and she needed to vacuum up dust bunnies here and there. And she couldn’t remember whether she’d left chaos in the kitchen and the bathroom—
But he clearly didn’t care because as soon as the door closed behind him he scooped her up. Cradling her in his arms he said, “Which way to the bedroom?”
“Straight, first left.”
He deposited her on the unmade bed, and she tried not to notice the mess. The underwear she hadn’t thrown in the hamper, the clothes hanging off chairs and doorknobs. The sheets themselves, twisted because she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the first time Mark had looked at her in the mirror. She’d dreamed of him, and masturbated to her memories and fantasies of him, and lain awake thinking of what she wanted him to do to her. She’d worried what a terrible, terrible idea it would be to let him.
But now she was letting him, and it did not feel like a terrible idea. It felt like the best idea she’d ever had.
“These sheets,” he said. “I love these sheets now that I know what you do in them. They are the dirtiest, filthiest, most awesome sheets in the entire universe and I want to rub them all over my body. You can’t ever wash them again. In fact, you can’t ever make the bed again.”
She laughed even though she actually wanted to cry. He took something that was difficult for her and made it magical and sexy.
She wanted to give him a gift in return. “Sometimes instead of using the vibrator I lie on my stomach and shove the sheets between my legs and rub off on them.”
The stuff coming out of her mouth today—she would not have believed it if someone had told her yesterday that she’d be saying those things to him. She would not have believed herself capable of it—with not even a twinge of shame. The only twinge was the one she felt between her legs every time she said something dirty to him. And twinge was too mild a description for what it felt like. The sensation was fierce and hot. Open, and opening still, unfurling, making way for him, not just physically. She wanted more of him in her world, this confusing man who had burst into her life and unmade all her best intentions.
“Show me,” he said. “Show me what you do. Show me everything you do.”