Dean had a perfect family life. Amazing parents, two over-achieving sisters. The whole deal. But as great as his family was, it wasn’t interesting enough for me to keep the mementos of them in what was supposed to be my apartment. I couldn’t explain these pictures to Emilia, and I didn’t want to tell her it was Dean’s place because I didn’t want her to think I was fucking her to avenge what happened when we were teenagers.

Because I wasn’t.

I was fucking her because I’d wanted her pussy ever since I first saw her standing outside the library door and knew those peacock eyes were going to haunt me.

I lowered Emilia to the bed and ordered her to keep her eyes closed as I rushed to the living room. I grabbed the framed pictures of Dean and his family and shoved them all into his pantry. There were plenty of them, too. All over the living room, hallway, and kitchen area.

Fuck! Why couldn’t he have had a shitty family like mine? He could bring a whole FBI unit, fifty CIA agents, and fucking Nancy Drew to my condo and none of them would know I lived there. The guy’s place was more family-orientated than a Chuck-E-Cheese restaurant.

It took me ten minutes to get rid of Dean’s crap, and when I walked back to the bedroom, breathless, I saw Emilia lying flat on the mattress, her arms stretched out like a snow angel, snoring softly.

Snoring.

As in, not awake.

Snoring.

As in, she fell asleep.

Goddammit.

“Thanks a bunch, Cole,” I muttered, biting my own fist to suppress a frustrated scream.

This day was for nothing. We weren’t going to fuck. Well, not tonight, anyway. It wasn’t that today was torture—far from it, I’d mostly had a good time—but the only reason I agreed to it was because I knew what was waiting for me in the end.

For a slight second, I contemplated whether I should accidentally wake her up by breaking something or turning on the music because I simply didn’t know she was asleep, but apparently, even my assholeness had its limits.

I covered her with a blanket—again—and strode to the walk-in closet, pulling out my work-out clothes. The night was young, and sleep wasn’t on the menu for me, as usual.

I worked out at the indoor gym Dean’s building had to offer, then went back up to the penthouse—she was still asleep—and took a shower. When I was in my jeans and plain black tee, I padded barefoot to the living room and started going over documents for work. There were two agreements I needed to draft before New Year’s Eve. Easy Peasy. It wasn’t like I needed to spend some time with my family.

At four in the morning, I felt her arms wrap around my shoulders from behind as I sat on the sofa, scrolling through one of my client’s files.

“Do you have insomnia?” she asked bluntly into my ear before blowing on it teasingly. “You never sleep. Ever. I’m starting to think you’re not human.”

“My stepmom seems to share the sentiment.” I set my laptop on the coffee table and got up, spinning to face her. She looked how I felt. Pretty goddamn tired.

“Well, do you?” she probed.

“No,” I lied. “It’s four in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired anymore,” she protested. “And my new tattoo burns.”

“Pretty sure that’s not unusual. And you can go to sleep or let me fuck you, but we’re done talking for the day.”

“You know what, Vicious? I’m trying. I really am. To take you as you are. But sometimes, even I’m not immune to how horrible you can be.” She turned around and walked to the bedroom.

I watched her ass disappear down the hallway before she came back out with her courier bag and threw it across her shoulder. Her shoes were on. Why the fuck were her shoes on?

“Thanks for a mediocre day.” She collected her hair into a messy, high bun. “See you tomorrow at the office.”

She was leaving?

I felt like a chick. This was the male equivalent of being fucked and dumped. Some men called a taxi to pick up the women they screwed after sex. But she…she just wanted to leave after milking the longest date in the history of dates out of me.

I grabbed her by the ass and pulled her into my body until our noses touched. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I breathed hard into her face.

“Home, Vicious. I’m going home.”

“You know, Emilia, I feel a little robbed today. Can you see why?”

She blinked at me a couple of times. “You came in my mouth.”

“You came on my fingers,” I countered. “Yet, here I am, still ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent virgin, according to you, waiting for you to pop my cherry.”

She threw her head back and laughed, allowing me the opportunity to admire her straight white teeth.

Then she stopped laughing altogether and sighed. “You need help. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. In my apartment. Goodbye.”

Without thinking, I pushed my shoulder to her midsection, lifted her up fireman style, and carried her to the bedroom. This, right here, was what I’d wanted to do to her so many fucking times when I spotted her on the bleachers at one of my football games. I tackled big sweaty guys when, really, it was a cute fun-sized girl I wanted to take down.

To bring her down with me and drag her to my bed like a caveman.

I sauntered into the bedroom, pinching the sensitive flesh behind her knees and breathing her in. A throaty giggle escaped her.

I knew she had a great view of my ass. I also knew she was not going anywhere. Not this time. It was happening.

“Let me go, Vic,” she ground out. Lying. Again. She didn’t want to leave, and we both knew it. I didn’t answer. “I’m not going to sleep in your bedroom.”

Dean’s bedroom, but again, there was no reason for her to know that at this point.

I threw her on the bed, then bit my lip as I watched her sprawled on it, staring at me wide-eyed. Her purple hair was everywhere, and it was about to be tangled in my fist.

“That really hurt my tattoo.” Her hands moved to the back of her neck instinctively before she remembered she shouldn’t touch it. She rubbed her thighs instead.

“Strip for me,” I croaked. It sounded almost desperate to my ears. “Now.”

“I’ll take the non-jerk version, please.” She started with this again.

“Fine. Please, take off your clothes.” I pressed my palms together. I’d have gone down on my knees if I needed to. I didn’t want to do it myself. I wanted her to come to me willingly. To ask for it. For what she clearly wanted all those years ago.

To stop lying.

For the first time, I wanted her to invite me in, not to be the one to burst through her door.

“No,” she said, smashing my fantasy to pieces.

“No?” I lifted one eyebrow. “Then I guess I’ll have to chew them off of you.”

“Be careful,” was all she said, nodding.

Stupid tattoo.

I lowered myself to the bed, grabbing the hem of her red sweater and slowly peeling it off of her, inch by inch. Every sliver of skin was important. Like a blunt at the end of a stressful week, like a meal after days of starvation.

I. Was. Going. To. Savor. This. Woman.

She moaned when her sweater fell to the floor, and I licked an arrow straight to her belly button. I used my teeth to get rid of her stupid leggings and cotton panties while she watched me in awe. Then unsnapped her bra between groveling kisses.

She was naked.

She was mine.

This was happening.

I got up, standing on my knees on the bed, and simply stared at her for a few seconds, taking it all in. I was going to fuck this girl until there was nothing left for the next guy who came after me.

Hell, just thinking about it made me want to kill him.

I crawled onto the bed between her thighs and placed my groin over hers. Grinding slowly, building pressure, I kissed her mouth deep and licked her neck, her shoulders, the hollow at her throat. She sighed and grabbed my ass through my jeans, kneading, before unbuttoning the denim and pushing my jeans down along with my boxers. My flesh met her hot skin, and she was smooth, smoother than I’d imagined all these years. When she grabbed my shirt, I clasped her little hand in mine and bit her wrist softly.

“I don’t do shirtless,” I whispered. It was the truth. No shirtless. No dates. No relationships. These were the rules.

She shook her head no. There was something almost violent about that movement.

“You’re not going to have me unless the shirt comes off.”

I didn’t budge. I didn’t want to tell her to fuck off. For once in a very long time, I didn’t want to deal with the consequences of being an asshole. But I didn’t want to take off my shirt either.

“I don’t care about your scars, Vicious,” she stressed, searching my eyes. “They make you you.”

A moment ticked by. I took a deep breath. I’ve never fucked a woman with the lights on. Ever. By the time I started having sex, my skin was already so stained with Daryl’s abuse, I couldn’t bear it. The shame. The weakness it conveyed. Letting her fingers run freely against the bumpy scars was like giving up something that was completely mine.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” she insisted, cupping my cheeks and pressing our lips together. I frowned, breathing her in, my eyes squeezing shut, but Emilia continued.