Page 85 of Aftershock
“Sorry, I’m not ignoring you,” I whisper to Alaric as I bow my head to type out a message. My face is half hidden behind my hair and the hood pulled low over my head. “I forgot to tell Hope I won’t be coming home tonight.”
Lies.
I wanted to text Hope as soon as he asked me to spend the night. Then I remembered I needed an excuse to hide my face from the doorman, and well…
“Don’t apologize.” He draws circles over my wrist with his thumb. Small. Slow. Electrifying. “You can use your phone any time you like. You’re not a prisoner. You’re just mine.”
My thighs clench from that innocent touch. From his reassuring words.
“Hello, Dr. Lockwood,” the doorman greets, and my heart stops.
“Lenny,” Alaric responds.
To stay unnoticed and to make it clear to Alaric I’m not interested in being introduced, rude as that is, I keep my eyes on my phone, pretending to text.
By some miracle, it works. Alaric doesn’t linger to tell the doorman I’m with him or that I should be let through from now on. He simply steers me to the elevators.
Letting out a relieved sigh, I pocket my phone and lift my head in time to see Alaric pressing the button for the elevator.
“I’m really glad you came.” He tilts his long body to the side once the door slides open, letting me walk in first. Being a gentleman. Making my cheeks heat. “And…”
When he joins me, I have to fight the instinct to reach for the control panel.
After all, I’m not supposed to know what floor he lives on.
“And what?”
The door slides closed with a quiet whoosh. He turns to me, his knuckles brushing my cheek. My jaw. Leaning intothe back of his hand is heaven. He’s warm, as if he’s been saving his body heat for me.
“I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened if your foster parents had been assholes.” He grinds his teeth and shakes his head, his expression tormented. His shoulders tense beneath the black sweatshirt he slipped on before we left the hospital. “If you’d ended up with shitty foster siblings. If any of them had hurt you as badly as your mother had. You were in another state. You wouldn’t have been admitted to my hospital. I wouldn’t have been able to help you.”
“Alaric.” The elevator pings. Once more, he lets me walk out ahead of him, then interlaces our fingers. “You’ve done more for me than most people ever have. It wasn’t your job to keep tabs on me.”
“It’s pure luck that it all worked out well.” His hand squeezes me tighter, briefly. He releases me when we reach his apartment. “Doesn’t meanIdid enough.”
The way he says it is strange. There’s regret in his voice.
I’m about to reassure him again, tell him he did everything he could for me. But then he pushes open the door to his home. Just like that, my past is cast aside in favor of my curiosity.
While he puts his backpack away and locks up, I pull my hood back and stroll inside, eager to learn more about him. I take in the high ceilings, the dark wood floors, and the comfy, heavy furniture warming up the open space. Asmile tugs at my lips because it feels like he’s made this place a home.
But then my gaze travels to the kitchen, and my smile falters. As beautiful as it is, opening right into the living space, it’s almost too sterile. The counters are empty. A dark ceramic bowl without a single fruit in it sits dead center on the island. Even the knives resting in the butcher block are so clean they might as well have been bought today.
I’m about to mention it when Alaric comes up behind me. His presence is overpowering, comforting, and mind-numbing all at once.
So much so that I forget what I want to say.
I lose myself to him a little more when a strong arm envelops my middle, pinning my back to his front. The other one joins it after Alaric brushes my hair to one side.
His mouth presses to the crook of my neck, and I shudder.
“Dinner?” he asks, his cock throbbing against my back.
Oh, right. That’s what’s bothering me. “You cook?”
His answer is the slow glide of his lips high along my neck. The sinful scrape of his stubble makes my jaw tighten. My thighs squeeze together, my pulse picking up.
I moan when his hand pinches my nipple hard enough for me to feel it through my sweatshirt, T-shirt, and bra. I moan louder when he soothes me, rubbing it gently as if he isn’t the one who just worked the sensitive flesh to the point of pain.
