How sick am I?

The moment I enter the lobby of my building I see him.

Pacing near the bank of elevators, the expression on his face fierce. He doesn’t even notice me at first, what with the way he’s scowling and staring at the ground, and I watch him for one unguarded moment, loving the way he checks his cell. In the hopes he has a message from me, perhaps?

I clear my throat and he whirls around, his expression softening in an instant. But he remains coolly impassive, keeping his distance as I approach him and reach out, pressing the button for the penthouse floor.

“Hi,” I murmur, stepping back.

“Hello,” he greets in return, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his dark-rinse jeans. He looks amazing. The spring night has turned cool and he’s wearing a black Henley shirt that hugs his torso, his biceps straining against the sleeves. I always see him in suits—or naked—and I savor these moments when I get to admire him in such casual clothing.

He looks good no matter what he wears.

“Having a nice evening?” he asks as if he’s a complete stranger making polite conversation.

“Not really,” I admit truthfully.

He raises a single brow, the subtle move so sexy it takes my breath away. “And why’s that?”

“I was with a man I don’t … like very much.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I know.” I pause, deciding whether I should say what I want or not. I go for it. “I’d much rather spend my time with someone else.”

“Really?” The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Ryder holds out his arm, indicating I should enter the car first. He follows in after me and leans against the wall opposite of where I stand. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like in order to get what we want.”

I press my lips together and employ one of his tricks by saying nothing.

The doors close and the elevator starts to rise. I remain where I stand and so does he, but the palpable tension between us grows with every second that passes, with every floor we climb.

“So. Was I late?” I ask, my voice small, my insides quaking with anticipation.

“Did you want to be?” he asks.

“You said there would be hell to pay if I was.”

A smile curls his beautiful lips. “Are you telling me you’re in the mood to pay, Violet? Or should I say … play?”

Oh, God. He’s so bad. “Is that what we’re doing? Playing?”

He stares at me, his hands gripping the rail behind him. His stance is casual, but I can feel the tension in him. He’s coiled tight, ready to pounce, and I can only hope he’s ready to unleash all of that built-up sexual tension all over me.

The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. I exit without looking back, feeling his magnetic presence as he falls into step behind me. I stop to unlock my door, stiffening when he presses close, my breath catching as he trails a finger across the exposed skin along my shoulder and the back of my neck.

“Did he touch you?” he asks, his voice low, rumbling from deep within his chest. He doesn’t have to say Zachary’s name. I know exactly who he’s talking about.

I shake my head, my fingers fumbling with the lock. “N-no.”

“Good.” He steps even closer, his entire body pressed against mine, and I close my eyes, savoring the hard, delicious feel of him. “Open the door, Violet.”

My fingers falter again and he reaches out, pushing them away so he can take over. I feel the hard length of his erect cock nudging against my ass and my breath catches in my throat. He’s surrounding me. Taking over. And he makes me so weak I don’t want him to stop.

The door somehow opens and we both rush inside, Ryder slamming and locking the door before turning to me, his hands cupping my face as he kisses me. I kiss him back with everything I have, dropping my purse to the floor before I reach for the waistband of his jeans and undo the button fly with surprising efficiency.

He breaks the kiss for a quick second to tear off his shirt before he’s going back in, his tongue and lips working their usual magic over me. I shove his jeans down his hips and he kicks them as well as his shoes off, revealing that he’s not wearing underwear. My eyes are closed but I know this because when I reach for him, my hand comes in contact with his very erect, very thick cock.

I stroke him, grip him tight, and he groans in agony. The sound fuels me and I suck his tongue deep into my mouth, my entire body clenching with anticipation.

“I can’t figure out how to get this damn dress off of you,” he mutters as he pushes me away. I turn my back toward him and he undoes the zipper, shoving at my dress so it practically falls off me. I step out of it and turn to face him once more, standing in my virginal white lacy bra and matching panties, feeling not so virginal as I see the way he studies me.

As if he wants to swallow me whole.

He licks his lips as if anticipating a particularly delicious meal and he slowly approaches me. “How do you want me tonight?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to go slow?” He drifts his fingers across my cheek, then down my neck, toying with my bra strap. My breath quickens at his touch. “Or fast?”

Oh, God. I don’t know what sounds better. “Wh-what do you want?”

He hums and tilts his head. His gaze lingers on my face before it dips low, landing on my breasts. My nipples harden at his blatant contemplation and I fidget, wishing he would say something. “Both have their merits,” he finally says as he reaches out and runs his finger along the lacy trim of one bra cup, then the other.