“So, once you pay your tuition, then what?”

I took a bite from my sandwich and chewed, thinking about the question. It was sad that I didn’t know the answer. Ever since my eviction, all of my focus had been on surviving. Well … there’d been a pitiful couple of weeks when classes were wrapping up and during finals, where I mostly moped around—feeling sorry for myself. But once that had passed, I’d been so busy, so desperate, that I hadn’t exactly thought through the next step. Would there be a next step? Would I ever save enough to pay off that bill? Or was I stuck, being Nicole’s errand girl, for the rest of my life? I literally shuddered at the thought.

“You cold?” He glanced up at the fan, and I waved him off. Vic would have never noticed. And if he had, he’d have leaned forward and checked out the possibility of headlights in my shirt.

“I’m fine.” I took a sip of my lemonade and noticed him still listening, waiting for my response. “I don’t know what I’ll do after I get my degree. I’ll probably try to find a job in real estate. Something with a salary, maybe in development.”

“You like the construction end of it?”

I let out a strangled laugh that sounded a little like a cry. “Honestly, I have no idea. I chose real estate as a major because my parents pushed me there.” And that was the truth. Something I hadn’t even confessed to myself. Something that—right there in that cheap deli—was terrifying. I was working my ass off to get proof of a degree in a field I didn’t even really like. Or know if I liked. What if I hated it? What if I was terrible at it? I felt panic growing, my hands trembling a little in their reach of the sandwich.

“Chloe.” His voice was strong and steady and I lifted my eyes to meet his. “It’s okay if you don’t know. That’s what this time in your life is for—to figure it out.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Figuring it out?” Maybe he was actually an attorney, one on construction sabbatical, working on his hammering technique while his fat bank account accumulated interest.

His eyes crinkled a little at the edges, as if he could hear my pathetic inner monologue and found it humorous. “Not exactly. This is as figured out as it gets for me, right now.”

My fantasies stopped their party and slunk back to the dormant recesses of my mind. “You like being a super?” The question came out poorly—like I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to do that for a living. I winced at the sound of it and hoped he wasn’t offended.

He laughed. “I do. Plus, it has the occasional perks.”

“Like?” A big bonus at the end of the year? Ten percent ownership of the building?

“Sexy tenants.” He leaned forward. “There’s this one girl—she’s new—that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.”

The heat rose in my cheeks, and I forced my smile into a scowl. “Really? I hope you’re not talking about the blonde in B4, because I heard she’s a snobby bitch. One who parties constantly. With really loud friends.”

“Who loses her keys often?” He grinned and god, his smile was perfect.

“I heard that’s just an excuse she uses to get inside single men’s apartments.” I widened my eyes and he leaned forward, the two of us sharing the secret.

“She’s not a snobby bitch.” He whispered. “But she does have really loud friends.”

I giggled, and we were close enough to kiss.

“Do you think I have a chance with her?” he said softly.

My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “Yeah.” I said softly. “I think you do.”

He closed the gap, his lips soft to mine, then we were suddenly standing, his hands quick, our sandwiches shoved into a bag in seconds. “Let’s go.” The words were a growl, his fingers wrapping around my wrist and pulling, the frantic step of him to the door causing a smile to tear across my face.

Yes. Let’s go. Please.

52. “Please.”

We slammed through the door of his apartment, our lunch tossed in the general direction of the kitchen, his hands pushing on my shoulders, back against the wall, lifting off me long enough to pull off my shirt, tear at the clasp of my bra, and yank down the straps. When I was topless, my bare shoulders against the textured wall, he stopped. His movements slow, he ran both palms up my stomach and cupped my breasts, squeezing them gently, his large hands holding each one easily, my name a reverent whisper off his lips.

“Carter,” I begged. “Please.”

“Wait,” he said and lowered his mouth to my breasts, his tongue and lips depositing soft kisses, sucks, and gentle bites across my sensitive skin, my back arching, my hands finding their way to his head, pulling at his hair. I wanted more yet didn’t want him to stop; the need between my legs competed with the pleasure his mouth was giving. He took my nipple into his mouth, and I whimpered, my hands grabbing at his soft shirt and pulling it, his head lifting, his T-shirt coming off so I could finally touch his skin.

I grabbed his shoulders and his hands dropped lower, to the button of my jeans, the pop of restriction lifted, the zipper loud in the room, his fingertips dipping under the material, pulling my panties and jeans over my hips.

“Damn skinny jeans,” he chuckled against my neck. “I hate these.”

I pushed on his shoulders and he dropped to his knees, peeling off the jeans, his hands on my shoes, and then I was completely naked and he was leaning forward, his hands sliding to the back of my thighs and up, his mouth cupping me as his fingers bit into my ass. His tongue was confident and talented, the man unafraid of my body, my taste. He sucked on my clit gently, and my knees gave out when his tongue dipped inside of me. My weight sagged into his strong hands, unintelligible sounds coming out as I gripped the wall and tried to stay sane.

I didn’t stay sane. I don’t know why I even tried. I clawed at the wall and melted against his mouth, coming hard, then stumbling after him toward the bed. I lay back on his sheet, his eyes meeting mine as he knelt in between my legs and had the sense to put on a condom. I watched him, strong fingers sure of their actions, foil tossed aside, one hand gripping his cock as he rolled the latex over it. My first sight of him and I propped up, my glimpse quick before he lifted my legs around his neck and propped himself above me, my eyes lifting to his. He held my gaze until the moment that he leaned down for a kiss and pushed himself inside. That moment, it was perfect. So tender, so caring. Even as it hurt, my body adjusting to his size, my breath catching for the briefest of moments. I wrapped my arms around him and he started thrusting. Slowly and tenderly but somewhere, somewhere after my first orgasm and before the second, he lost control. Sat back on his heels, held on to my hips and started a furious, mad rhythm of fucking, his grip on me hard, possessive, and hot.

After the second orgasm and before the third, he rolled me onto my side, continuing the pleasure, his mouth coming down and kissing, biting, whispering things into my neck.

You make me so hard

I’ve wanted this for so long

You feel incredible

I can’t … I can’t hold off.

Oh my God, Chloe. Chloe. I’m coming…

And somewhere between my third orgasm and his first, I forgot about trying to hold back. I forgot about protecting my heart. I got over all of my hang-ups. And I fell a little bit in like with him.