“Good morning, Ms. Walker.”

The usual morning doorman, Paul, waves at me as I exit the building. Meanwhile, I’m suppressing a mixture of frustration and relief. Half of me wanted to see Zayne this morning. Catch one more glimpse of his sexy grin, his piercing blue eyes.

The other half is relieved that I don’t have to walk past him right away. Not after last night. And especially not with how I’m looking this morning—like I just rolled out of the wrong side of the bed and face-first into a pot of coffee. There are bags under my eyes that my makeup is straining to conceal, and my hair is a mess because I didn’t have time to shower.

As it is, I just wave back at Paul as I jog out the door, hurrying toward the train in my flats, because no way can I run as fast as I’ll need to in heels.

Half an hour later, I roll into my office five minutes before our first meeting is set to begin. Just enough time to pour myself a large cup of black coffee in the break room before I sidle up to the office where we meet every Friday morning to review our campaigns from last week and plan for the next.

One girl at the back of the room, a new hire I don’t know very well, Hannah-something, is staring at me blatantly. I do a quick check, but no, I remembered to button all my buttons. Huh. Weird.

I shake my head and zone back into the meeting.

Even though it’s business as usual, it’s still impossible to concentrate. I stare blankly at my manager, my mind still stuck on my text exchange with Zayne last night. The image of his cock, the knowledge that he was touching himself, masturbating in the break room thinking about me.

Before long, I have to cross my legs and clench them tight, my panties already feeling worryingly damp.

Naturally, that’s the moment when my boss calls my name. I focus on her, then the PowerPoint slide on the wall behind her. But it doesn’t help me figure out what she just said.

“Sorry, what was that?” I wince.

My boss’s annoyed stare says it all. Normally she and I are on good terms, but the rest of the day pretty much goes like that. No matter what she asks, I need her to repeat it multiple times because I can’t keep my head on straight.

Then a few of the results from previous campaigns come in abysmally low, coupled with one of our vendors trying to renegotiate a contract we’d already signed, and by the end of my very long Friday, I am in desperate need of a stiff drink.

To top it all off, none of my usual post-work happy hour buddies are free tonight. Andy has a hot date with this new guy she’s been flirting with nonstop all week, and Celeste has some birthday party for her aunt to go to. Which leaves me stranded in midtown with nowhere to go.

I heave a sigh and start heading for the train when my phone buzzes. Another message on the app. I hesitate for a fraction of a second before I tap it open.

It’s Zayne.

My stomach flips, the sensation both nervous and pleasant at once. I open our conversation, my face flushing as I remember just how hot and heated this got last time.

But if I’m expecting just another sext, that’s not what I find.

AtYourService: Hope I didn’t keep you up too late last night. How’s your Friday going?

CallMeClove: To be honest, not great. Work was pretty shitty. All kinds of projects exploding at once.

AtYourService: Would coffee cheer you up? I know a great little place not far from the building, over on Madison. And I happen to be free this evening.

I smile. Sure, the bad idea alarms are still going off, but they’re buried deep in the back of my mind now, under a few layers of my crappy workday, my friends all being busy, and, admittedly, my hormones still in full-on raging after last night’s photo exchange.

CallMeClove: Actually, yeah, coffee sounds great. Meet you there?

He sends me the address and I get onto the subway train with a renewed pep in my step. I check myself out in the mirror and fix my hair, add a touch of lipstick. My favorite distraction when I feel tired—bright red lipstick because then people won’t notice your other flaws.

I actually don’t look too bad by the time I step off the train at the other end. I guess an overdose of coffee and stress is a decent remedy for sleepless bedhead after all.

The coffee shop Zayne picked turns out to be a cute place a few blocks from my apartment that I’ve been eyeballing for months. It opened last summer but I hadn’t made it over here yet. It’s funny how you get set in your routines. You don’t even know that they need breaking until someone comes along and smashes them.

And hell if Zayne isn’t doing a damn good job of that right now. The moment I step through the front doors into the cozy little café, I spot him. He’s impossible to miss now that I’ve finally tuned into his frequency. His eyes catch me from across the room and nearly pin me to my spot in the doorway. My heartbeat speeds up and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything but the extremely hot man standing up, drawing out a chair for me, eyes locked on mine all the while. In the warm café lighting, his cheekbones stand out sharper than ever. He looks sexy as hell in jeans and a T-shirt, relaxed and off duty, like a completely different person from the uniformed hottie who saved me last night.

Was it only last night? It feels like so long ago now. Like so much has already changed.

For one thing, I finally woke up to notice the guy I’ve spent the last two years walking right past, blind as a bat.

I take a seat across from him and look down to find he’s already ordered. There’s a latte cooling in front of me, a little heart drawn into the foam.

I smile and lift it to tap against his in a cheers. “How did you know my drink?”

“Educated guess. I figure, you’re a twenty-something bookworm with good taste, you probably like your coffee strong with a dash of sweet.”

I glance into his cup and find he’s drinking the same thing. “Great minds think alike,” I point out.

His smile widens. “But fools seldom differ.”

I laugh. Everybody always forgets the second half of that quote. “Touché,” I say, and take a long sip of my latte. It’s delicious.

“So, tell me all about your shitty day,” he says, leaning back in his chair. It shows off his muscles to perfect advantage, which I’m sure was the point. I can’t help letting my gaze wander down across his chest, along his arms, before I force myself to look back at his face.

He lets his eyes wander too, and he doesn’t seem to care that I see him checking me out. I shiver. There’s something sexy about a man who’s blatantly turned on by you and doesn’t mind that you know it. His gaze lingers on my curves, my dress, then darts back to my face.

“You really want to hear about my crappy work problems?” I counter.

He laughs. “Only if you want to talk about them.”

I heave a sigh. “Where to even start?”

“Start with what’s got you so stressed out that your shoulders are up to your ears,” he suggests.

I force myself to relax my posture, shooting him another glance. Normally guys aren’t interested in hearing about my day-to-day life. But okay, I’ll give him a try. I tell him about how my boss is annoyed at me for missing my deadline and how my project fell below par.

“But you don’t normally have a tricky relationship with her?” he asks.

I nod. “Normally we get on great. Normally I perform better than this.”

“Well everyone has off days. She understands that, I’m sure.”

I feel myself bobbing my head. Why is he so easy to talk to? I blink and shake my head, pulling myself out of my own world. “But this has got to be boring for you,” I admit, realizing we’ve just spent the last 15 minutes talking about my office politics.

“If you’d prefer, we can change the subject. Talk about something more distracting.”

“You do seem good at distracting women,” I reply with a smirk, letting my gaze drip over his body.

“Only when I’m inspired.” He leans closer across the table and those blue eyes draw me in again, magnets that are impossible to tear myself away from. “And I must say, you are extremely inspiring, Clove Walker.”

I raise an eyebrow, grinning. “What exactly do I inspire in you?”

“Dirty as hell fantasies for one thing.” He hooks a leg around mine under the table and slides his calf against mine. I catch my breath, brace myself against the table with both hands. But he lets me go almost right away and leans back in his seat, casual and nonchalant once more, as though he didn’t just say that. “For another, you make me want to know more about you. I mean, I know the basics. Name, address of course, and the volume of Amazon packages you get on a weekly basis…”

My cheeks flush bright red at the reminder of how we know one another. Of how well he knows my private details. I also take the opportunity to kick him lightly under the table. “Hey, I don’t get nearly as many packages as Mr. Horton down in 3C, okay?”

“True, but he’s going for the Guinness World Record of longest a man can go without ever leaving his apartment, so he hardly counts.”

“When was the last time you saw him outside?” I muse.

“November three years ago,” Zayne answers without hesitation, and I laugh again.

“No, but seriously, do you think he’s okay in there?”

“I bet he’s got a more interesting life than all the rest of us combined.” Zayne shakes his head with a half-laugh. “Watch, we’ll find out one day that all those food deliveries and household supplies he orders are actually secret spy equipment in disguise.”

“Ooh, yes, and I’ll bet he’s got a Russian spy lover who sneaks into his apartment via the fire escape every night for secret trysts.”

“Who’d have thought Mr. Horton would be the kinky type, huh?” Zayne lifts an eyebrow, smirking.

“Guess it just goes to show that you can’t judge a book by its cover.” I lift an eyebrow in return, unable to keep a wide smile from dancing across my face.

“True enough.” He’s leaning forward again, and so am I, unable to stop myself. He’s not just magnetic, he has a gravitational pull of his own. “After all, I never would have guessed you were so naughty, Ms. Walker.”

“I never would have guessed you were so dynamic, Zayne.”

“Pearson,” he says, filling in the unspoken blank.

My cheeks flush. “We seem a little uneven here, Zayne Pearson. You know way more about me than I do you. So come on, share some details.”

“What do you want to know?” He tilts forward, so close to me suddenly that his lips graze my ear as he whispers. “Beside the size of my cock?”

My cheeks burn red-hot now, on fire. But the rest of me is burning too. Especially my belly and the growing tight spot between my legs. I swear, when he talks dirty, I feel it directly in my pussy, like an electric shot straight to my core. “That’s definitely on the list,” I murmur with a grin. “I mean, I do have that one lovely photo, but I have to say, I’m tempted to request more…”

“Done,” he says without a moment’s hesitation. My eyebrows rise. I must look surprised because his grin deepens and he adds, “Of course, that means I get to ask for something in exchange.”

I turn my face a little, so our cheeks are almost touching now. We’re close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, and I catch his scent again, every bit as intoxicating as it was last night. Salty and sweet all at once. “And what is it you desire, Mr. Pearson?”

“Turnabout is fair play,” he answers. “A photo for a photo. You teased me with that sexy little lingerie piece last night…” He lifts a hand slowly and lets it hover in the air between us. My breath catches in my throat, my whole body tense in anticipation of his touch. When it comes, it’s feather-light, just the faintest caress, his fingertips grazing across my collarbone before he drops his hand to the table once more. “I’d like to see what’s underneath.”

If my cheeks felt hot before, now they could start a fire. But the idea of sending him a photo of my breasts, something that would normally raise a whole lot of red flags on a first date, has me feeling hot and bothered instead. Because it leads me to imagining more—him jerking off in the mail room while he’s supposed to be working, unable to help himself, too turned on by the image of me, by my breasts, my body, the idea of me.

My pussy clenches, and damn, at this rate, I’m going to need a change of panties soon.

“Deal,” I whisper, and his lips quirk into a grin. He’s so close. Close enough that I could close the gap between us in a heartbeat, press my lips to his. I want to. I find myself tilting toward him, unstoppable, unable to fight the gravity.

That grin widens and he leans back in his chair once more. Damn him. He knows what I want. And he’s enjoying withholding it.

“That’s all you want from me, huh? Just my cock?”

He says it loud enough that a couple at the table beside us glance over, eyes wide. My eyes widen too, and I duck my head, face flushed.

“No, I—”

“It’s cool.” He winks. “I’ve been told it’s pretty addictive, so I can understand.”

I aim another kick at him under the table. “How long have you been doorman-ing, Zayne?”

“Oh, we’re not going back to boring first date interview questions already, are we?” He shakes his head.

I laugh. “I’m just proving I want to know more about you than just how big your cock is.”

“Two years,” he replies. “First job I picked up when I moved here and I liked it.”

“What about it?” I tilt my head, studying him.

He smiles. “The people. My tenants. Helping them out, making sure their lives run as smoothly as possible. I like that. I like being able to see the results of what I’m doing first-hand. I help somebody get their laundry done or send out a package or ferry their groceries upstairs, and I get to see the results real-time. Before this, I worked in an office, pencil-pushing gig. You did all this work but you never got to see anybody happy from it. You never saw proof that what you did mattered.”

I can feel myself nodding again. “I get that. I feel that way a lot of the time at my job. Like nothing I do makes a real difference. Not to real people.”

He slides a hand across the table to squeeze mine quickly. “I’m sure it does, Clove. You just don’t always see them through your screen is all.”

I sigh and nod again. “Maybe I envy you a little. That instant feedback.”

“I do enjoy instant feedback.” He glances down at my phone which is resting face-down on the table. “Speaking of which. If you did hypothetically want to know about my cock… I mean, since you asked.”

Right on cue, my phone buzzes. I have to laugh, even as I pick it up. There, right on the home screen, is a new message. A photo attachment. I glance back at him, lean forward to check under the table. How did he send that so fast, without me even noticing?

“You came prepared?” I ask.

He smirks. “Maybe.”

I open the photo and immediately fight the urge to hide my phone. It’s strange to look at his dick while he’s sitting right here across from me, out in the open. Especially in a public place where anyone could walk right past our table and see my phone.

Zayne must sense that I’m debating closing it again because he snatches the phone from me and plants it face-up on the table. “You asked for this,” he reminds me in a low voice. “You should enjoy it to the fullest.”

So, I resist the urge to hide and bend forward to take in the picture. This one was taken from a bedroom—I spy a duvet in the background. He’s completely naked this time, not just pulling himself out of his boxers. And damn, his cock looks even better than I remember. It’s flushed, standing on its own. He’s standing too, and as full as it is, it stands straight out from his body, strong and hard. I imagine bending over in front of him, letting him thrust that thing inside me, and it makes my pussy feel white-hot with desire. My clit throbs, feeling heavy and weighted between my thighs.

“Your turn,” he murmurs.

“What, here?” I cast a glance around the coffee shop.

“You’re right.” He stands and drops a handful of change on the table, more than enough for a 20% tip. “They’re about to close. What say we continue this next door? There’s a little Irish pub on the corner, and the bartender owes me a few drinks on the house.”

I trail after him, heart pounding. As we exit the coffee shop, he catches my hand, and I wind my fingers through his, loving the feel of his thick, strong fingers enclosing mine, protective and possessive all at once.

The walk to the bar is far too short, mostly because once we get there, he lets go of my hand again, and my skin burns where he was just touching me. I want nothing more than to grab his hand once more. Or better yet, pull him against me, crush our bodies together and pull his lips to mine. I want to kiss that grin off his face, replace it with a sexy, sultry smile. I want to taste his mouth, his tongue. I want to kiss my way along his stubble-dusted jawline, down the side of his neck. I want him to push me up against this bar and take me right here.

Shit.

Calm down, Clove.

The bartender greets Zayne by name, then catches sight of me and rests an elbow on the bar, eyes darting up and down my length with a smile of approval. “And who is this beautiful young lady?”

“Clove, this is Nick. Ignore anything he tells you,” Zayne advises with a smirk at his friend.

In response, Nick slides two glasses across the table. “You’re just in time. I’m trying out a new recipe.” But I notice his eyes keep darting back to me. I wonder if that’s because he’s surprised to see me here with Zayne. Then I wonder why. Does Zayne usually bring a different girl every time he comes here? Or does he not usually have a girl in tow at all? It’s hard to tell.

The guys banter for a minute while I sample the drink. My eyes widen. It’s delicious—fruity but not too sweet, and a little smoky on the tail end.

“I call it a Southern Fire-Starter,” Nick says, noticing my expression. “Bourbon-based.”

“It’s delicious.”

“She’s got good taste,” Nick points out to Zayne with a wink. “Well, you know, except for showing up here with you.”

I grin over the rim of the glass at Zayne while he insults Nick back.

“Seriously though, how did he talk you into going out in public with him?” Nick adds when Zayne pauses to knock back a taste of his own drink.

“Funny story…” I start, but Zayne finishes his drink with a shake of his head and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“How about not giving her the third degree right off the bat, huh, dude?” He’s grinning, but something about their postures tells me there’s more going on here than meets the eye. They’re both joking, but Nick is asking Zayne something else, I think. Something that I can’t quite put my finger on.

I shrug it off when Zayne leads me to a back table. I don’t need to figure out his friends. I’m not here for them, after all.

We take a seat in a far corner, a cozy little spot that I could definitely get used to. It’s the kind of local dive that I love best—not too pricey, not too crowded. Just the right number of locals who know each other’s names, and a bartender who remembers their favorite drinks.

We sip on Nick’s specialty cocktail and talk a little bit about the neighborhood. Zayne grew up here, apparently, and before long, he’s regaling me with stories of what this place used to be like when he was young. He’s only a couple years older than me, I learn, which surprises me. He has one of those faces that could pass for almost any age between 28 and 40.

Still, for only being 31, he knows a lot about the history of this spot. This pub has apparently been here all along, one of the only institutions that survived the real estate crash and then the following real estate explosion a few years later when rent prices started to recover. There used to be a big park next door, but about fifteen years ago they razed it to put up another apartment complex, and then in turn razed that to build a bigger, fancier complex.

It’s intriguing hearing about all this history. I never really thought about the neighborhood, about what it used to be like before I moved in. Now it’s ritzy as hell, with tons of boutique shops and fancy restaurants on every corner. I don’t mind that at all, but it’s strange to think of what it must have been like for Zayne. To grow up here, to watch his neighborhood go through so many transformations.

I tell him about my old neighborhood where I grew up, out in west Ohio. It was a tiny town, barely a blip on any map. Even locals had hardly heard of it. I had 50 people in my high school graduating class. He laughs at that. I describe our weekend pastimes—yes, cow-tipping was a real thing. No, we never actually managed to push a cow over. Though one time my brother did get kicked in the shin while trying.

Before I realize it, we’re on our third round of drinks, the first two compliments of the house, and I’m feeling them. Not to mention, with every round, we’ve inched closer together, going from sitting across from one another at this table to side-by-side, to now, with Zayne’s leg and side pressed against mine. I can feel his hips as he shifts in his chair, leans closer against me. A spark flies through me when he drapes his arm over the back of my chair, letting his fingertips trail along my bicep.

“So,” he murmurs, against my ear when we’re halfway through our third drinks. “Earlier…”

“Mmhmm?” I tilt toward him, distracted by the faint graze of his lips against my earlobe, and the continued tingles along my arm as he traces his fingers lazily over my skin.

“You were going to return my favor.”

I cast a sideways glance at him and find him grinning at me, a spark of mischief in his bright blue eyes. “What, here?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Well, we aren’t at the café anymore. And you know, they do have a bathroom…” His eyes dart to the far wall, to a little corridor that leads to the single stall at the back of the bar. It’s only just visible from here, and not viewable from the rest of the bar since it’s around a corner.

When I look back at him, I’m pretty sure my eyes are alight with the same kind of mischief. “Good point. So, you want me to go in there and…” I trace a fingertip down his chest, pause to tug gently at the collar of his shirt. “Strip?”

“Just your top, if you prefer.” He lets his gaze drop to my chest. “Though, I won’t complain if you want to take off more…”

“That’s going to cost you a lot more than just a dick pic,” I reply, leaning in to let my forehead rest against his, our eyes locked as I grin.

“Hmm… Well if it involves getting to see what’s under your uniform, I am definitely willing to pay.” His hands wander down my sides, wrap around my hips. Our breath mingles between us, barely an inch of air separating us. I want to close the gap so damn badly. I want to press my lips to his, taste him.

Instead, I decide it’s time to give him a taste of his own teasing medicine. I push out of my seat and stand, snatching my phone on the way up.

“See you soon,” I tell him with a wink, and then I wind my way down the hall toward the restroom.

It’s free, so I step inside and maneuver in front of the mirror. For a pub bathroom, it’s really not too shabby. It’s clean, well-kept. I cast a glance at the door and decide to get this over with quickly. Luckily, I wore my favorite bra today, mostly as a private mood-booster this morning when I was exhausted and trying to force myself out of bed. It’s red and lacy and lifts my girls to just the right height, giving me a hint of cleavage without going overboard. I pull my dress off, so I’m just in my panties and bra. I snap a photo in the bra first. I hit send on that, then hesitate, glancing at myself in the mirror.

I’ve sent nude pics to guys before, of course. But only guys who I’ve been dating for a few months. Guys I trust. And not even many of those. It’s a lot to ask for a guy I only just met. I’m all too aware of what can happen to girls who aren’t careful, who send nudes to guys who suddenly decide they want to take revenge on those same girls later.

But I’ve known Zayne for years, even if not intimately. And besides, he works in the same place where I live. He’s not going to risk his position to mess with one of his customers, is he?

That makes me pause.

Customer. I am basically his customer. Or his boss, depending on how you look at it. He works for the building, which means he works for the residents, which means he works for me. Is this weird? Is this too much of a business relationship for me to turn it into anything more?

And what if the flirtation goes south? What if this leads nowhere, or worse, leads to a few hookups and a bad split? I’ll have to pass him every single day on my way in and out of the building. Constantly being reminded.

Then again, we’ve come this far. I have photos of his cock on my phone. I’ll be constantly reminded no matter what happens now. I might as well take the leap into the deep end since I’ve already gone and gotten myself wet.

I grin at myself in the mirror, amused by the analogy. My phone buzzes.

That’s not what I asked for, Zayne says, and don’t I know it.

I unclasp my bra and let it slide down my arms. Take a deep breath, face myself in the mirror, and snap another photo. In this one, I’m grinning, just a little, sultry and sexy all at once. And my tits are on full display, nipples hard from the cool air in here—and from the thought of who is about to see this picture.

I hit send. Then I start to lift my bra back on.

That’s when the door opens.

I gasp and drop my phone into the sink, startled. Shit, I forgot to lock it.

But when I see who it is, I freeze in place.

Zayne turns the lock behind him, a wide grin on his face. “I have a policy about open doors,” he says.

“What’s that?” I ask, lifting my chin. Trying desperately to pretend that I’m not standing here topless in a public restroom, staring at one of the hottest guys I’ve ever known.

“I always walk through them if I want what’s on the other side.” With that, he crosses the restroom in a single stride and catches my chin in one hand, wraps his other arm around my waist. Next thing I know, his lips collide with mine, and I forget that I’m half-naked, forget where we are.

I forget everything but Zayne.

His mouth parts, and his tongue invades. I let him claim me, twine my tongue with his while our hands roam across each other’s bodies. I run one hand through his thick blond hair, along the back of his neck, while my other hand traces the hem of his shirt. Slips underneath to press my palm flat against his hot, bare back.

He grips my waist with both hands and crushes me tight against him. I can feel the hard press of his cock against my belly, and when I wriggle against him, he pulses against me, groans faintly into our kiss.

I tilt my head to let him kiss me more deeply, then gasp when he catches my lower lip between his teeth, bites down gently. His hands trail up my waist to my breasts, and trace underneath, above, circling around them. His lips leave mine, and I gasp again in protest, but then I don’t have time to think about it, because he’s kissing his way along my jawline, down the side of my neck. His stubble scratches against my soft skin, but I love it, the sharp contrast between his stubble and his soft mouth, his hot tongue wet against my neck.

He nips at the skin just below my ear, and a shiver runs through my entire body as I crush him tighter against me.

His hands finally reach my nipples, and he rolls them between his forefingers and thumbs. I moan, sinking against him, loving the sensation of his strong, muscular body, so hard against mine. I tug at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against my skin. He pauses to let me pull it off, then he’s right back on me, squeezing my breasts hard enough to make me gasp, his mouth tracing my neck down to my shoulder, my collarbone. I lean back, and he dips down to suck one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened tip, as his other hand continues to work my other breast.

The sink digs into my side as he leans into me. I glance over his shoulder, check the door, realizing someone could walk in at any moment. I should care. But it’s hard to think about that, when Zayne is pressed against me. With his free hand, he traces my spine, down, down, pausing at the small of my back to flatten his palm against my skin, and then he slips his fingers down the back of my panties, the thin fabric giving way easily to his rough touch. He grabs my ass, squeezes hard, and I arch my hips into his, loving the feeling of his hard cock pressed against my belly, his hips digging into mine.

He pushes me backwards, into the sink, and the cool porcelain a sharp contrast to his hot skin.

My clit feels like it’s swollen, a fat weight between my legs that’s begging me to take this farther. To let him take me, fuck me right here over this sink.

But when I glance away from him, remember where we are, my heart sinks a little.

I want to fuck him—desperately. I want to feel his thick cock inside me, and let him take what he wants from me. I want him to fuck me so hard I can’t walk, just the way he promised, and then I want to fuck him again and again until both of us will be sore in the morning but neither of us will care.

But not here. Not like this. Hooking up in the bathroom of a dingy little corner pub…

Zayne leans away from me, and follows my gaze. He must read my mind, because a moment later, he stoops down to scoop his shirt and my dress off the floor, and passes me mine. “As much as I’m enjoying you, Clove, I have to admit I’m not really into restroom hookups.”

I accept my dress with a grateful half-smile. “You read my mind.”

His eyes fix on me, still taking in my body hungrily. “So what’s say we blow this joint?”

“Your place or mine?” I lift an eyebrow.

He grins. “They’re the same address, so that makes it easy.”

My cheeks flush. Of course. I should have figured he’d live in the building too. Damn, this is becoming a worse upon worse idea. And yet, I feel myself bend to pick up my bra, all the while shooting him a flirty grin. “Let’s decide on the walk, then.”

We make it as far as the front door of the pub before we fall into each other’s arms again. The second we step outside and cool night air hits us, it seems to go straight to our heads. He kisses me hard, backs me up against the wall of the building, and I lift one leg to wrap it around his waist as we kiss, burying my hands in his hair.

“I have to admit, this seems like an even worse hookup spot than the restroom,” I gasp when we finally part for air again, both of us breathing hard. His cock digs into my thigh now, and I fight the urge to inch my hips a few inches sideways and grind my clit against his hard length. I’m already wet enough, soaking straight through these thin panties.

“I can’t wait to tear this dress off you,” he murmurs into my neck, his voice low, almost a growl now. “You make me want to take you right here, right now.”

I shiver in anticipation, arching into him. “I want you to take me however you want me,” I whisper.

In response, he catches my hand, pulling me away from the wall and into a brisk walk. As we walk, he casts a grin down at me. “I can be patient… For now.”

Those words reverberate through me as we cross the blocks to our building. When I was walking here tonight, it felt close. Now, it feels like an eternity. An agonizing wait, when all I want to do is jump Zayne’s bones right here.

We run up against a red light, and he takes advantage of the moment to bury one hand in my hair, kissing me once more, hard and deep. His tongue slides between my lips, and I twine my tongue around his, soaking in his taste, his scent, his heat, the feel of his hot lips on mine, his sharp stubble against my cheek.

“Who’s my naughty girl?” he murmurs against my mouth, and I sink into him, letting him take control.

His hands grip my ass, lift me half off the curb as he crushes me against him, and I tilt my head, part my mouth to let him take what he wants from me.

“You like that?” He squeezes my ass again, harder, and I grin into his kiss, arching against him. “You like it rough, Clove?”

“Fuck yes.” I bite his lower lip for emphasis, and he growls, practically lifting me off the ground and grinding his hips against mine.

“Good. Because I don’t want to go easy on you.”

I lean back far enough to catch his eye, my own alight with desire. “Don’t you dare.”

His grin widens. “Be careful what you wish for, dirty girl.”

In response, I wriggle my ass, which grinds our hips together, his thick cock pinned between us, digging into my belly. He slaps my ass, not hard, but enough to make me startle and jump against him. He grins and leans in to catch my earlobe between his teeth and bite down, just hard enough to make me gasp.

“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you…”

Then, without warning, he pulls away, and it takes me a second to breathe in enough oxygen to remember where we are. What we’re doing. Because we’re still standing on a street corner in the middle of the city, and the light has just changed. I trail after him, across the road, head swimming, cheeks on fire. Normally I hate PDA, but with Zayne, I didn’t even remember we were still in public. When he touches me, everything else fades into the background. I could be anywhere, doing anything, and all I can see, all I can feel or hear or taste or think about, is him.

He’s dangerous, I think. But even worse?

I like it.

We finally reach the building lobby, and Paul buzzes us in. To judge by the way his eyebrows rise and his gaze darts between us, to call him “surprised” would be the understatement of the year.

But Paul is nothing if not the consummate professional. So after a moment of gaping, he simply bows his head. “Zayne. Ms. Walker.”

“Evening, Paul,” Zayne says with a wink as we saunter past him, arms wrapped around each other’s waists.

“Hello,” I manage, still embarrassed, still feeling my cheeks burn white-hot. This is what it will be like if things go sour with Zayne, I remind myself. I’ll have to walk past him every day, have awkward conversations like this one.

“Lovely night out,” Paul is saying as he digs under the counter. “Ms. Walker, you had a package…”

Zayne shoots me a sideways grin. “What was that about you not ordering too much on Amazon?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow, thanks so much, Paul.”

“Of course.” His eyes trail us all the way to the elevator, and I wonder suddenly if there are security cameras in here. If he’s going to see that we push floor 11, where Zayne must live, instead of floor 5, where I live.

“You aren’t going to get in trouble for this, are you?” I ask, suddenly thinking about it. Is there some kind of rule against this? Dating the… customers, I guess?

Zayne only laughs and hits the door close button. “The only trouble we’re getting into tonight is one another,” he says, pinning me against the corner of the elevator with one arm on the glass behind me. I lean against the wall, looking up at him. I’m struck again by the way his sharp blue eyes pierce me, the way his body angles toward me to turn me on, light me up.

One way or another, tonight marks a turning point. Either this is a very, very bad decision—something the nervous rumble in my gut tells me it very well might be—or it’s a different kind of bad decision. The kind that will give me sleepless nights thinking about it for days to come.

Either way, it’s too late now. I’ve already jumped.

The elevator doors ding and slide open. We step out onto Zayne’s floor, the 11^th floor, a floor I’ve never been to in all my years living in this building so far. He crosses to his door, unlocks it, and I take a deep breath and fall straight into the deep end.