Page 47 of Rent: Paid in Full
“I followed you.” He raises a careless shoulder. “I do that sometimes.”
I catch flies for a second. It seems like an odd and disturbing admission, even for Miller. What’s even more odd and disturbing is that my lungs expand when he says it, swelling and puffing my chest up. I quickly correct myself, sitting straight and fixing him with a disapproving look. I’m going to give myself a big lecture about this later, don’t you worry about that. It’s just that, right now, I’m in real-time, and I have to deal with Miller before I do anything else.
“Why?”
He shrugs again. “Dunno. Want to be close to you, I guess. Want to know where you go and what you do. Just want you, basically.”
His face is open and honest, totally unguarded when he says it, and it catches me off guard. Way, way off guard. My mouth moves a lot faster than my brain. “You know what to do if you want me.”
His lips tug back, full and luscious, and he lets his gaze run down my body. His eyes narrow and he cocks his erection at me. Openly flirtatious. Completely irresistible. “And what’s that, huh?”
I smile sweetly and rest my chin on one hand. “Pay me.”
The second I say it, my senses start screaming.
Danger. Hunter approaching. Run, dumbass, run!
I push my chair back and stand quickly, moving a few steps back to put as much space between him and me as possible. He moves slowly, sinuously, advancing on me with a menacing, almost-manic look in his eyes.
I find myself backed against a bookshelf, looking around hastily, unable to tell if I’m looking for help or checking to see if the coast is clear.
He reaches for his wallet. Big hands, soft supple brown leather with twoMs embossed onto it. He riffles through it and curses under his breath.
“I only have a hundred and”—he counts his small notes frantically—“twenty-three dollars on me.” I smile and shake my head with faux regret. “A kiss,” he breathes. “Just a kiss.Please.”
“You know what a kiss costs.”
He groans softly, advancing on me, blurring the books on the shelf behind him out, making the colors of the spines swim in a swirl of reds, blues, and greens. “What’ll this buy me?” He holds the money out, and I look on with interest as my hand reaches out and wraps around it.
“You can touch me. With your hands…and your mouth.”And his mouth? The fuck?That’s news to me. His eyelids drop to half-mast, and he groans again, this time in relief. It’s too much. Too close. Too hot. I can’t stand it, so I add, “But you can’t touch my mouth. A-and you can only touch skin you can see.”
I’m pleased with myself.
I do wish I hadn’t said he could use his mouth, but I think limiting him to skin he can see is borderline genius. I know I’m severely compromised right now, and I’m amazed I managed to come up with an offer like this. A tidbit. A taste. Something that won’t cost me anything, yet something that’s almost guaranteed to drive him crazy.
He takes his time putting his wallet away, flipping it closed and sliding it into his front pocket. For good measure, he takes his boner in his hand and rearranges it brazenly through his pants, smiling and squeezing it when he feels me looking. It unnerves me almost completely, but I quickly remind myself I have the upper hand here. I’m wearing jeans and a T-shirt with the sleeves pushed up to just below my elbows. My mouth is out of bounds, and he hardly has any skin to play with.
I’ll be fine.
Totally fine.
I finally have him right where I want him, and it’s a really, really good feeling. Smug with a rare, unfamiliar hint of what it would be like to have my shit together. I’m here for it.
Miller considers me for a while, grinning darkly, unnerving me quickly. Dismantling my smugness with remarkable ease. I try not to react when he moves toward me, but I feel the bookshelf behind me dig into my shoulder blades, so maybe I do. He runs a finger up the back of my middle finger, moving slowly but surely over nail and then bone, lighting a path up the back of my hand and up my arm. He stops moving when he gets to the cuff of my sleeve, but his touch keeps going. It travels through me even though he’s not moving, even though he’s not touching me at all. I try to think of something to say but come up with nothing. It’s a mercy. Believe me, it is. I couldn’t come up with anything other than a horrific series of monosyllabic grunts right now if my life depended on it.
He senses my weakness, he must, because he acts quickly, taking my wrists in his hands and lifting roughly them over my head, stretching me out enough that my chest juts out and I have to raise myself onto my toes. He looks down and smiles with pretty pink lips and sparkling white teeth. Menace and mayhem are alive in his eyes. It’s more than that though. It’s more than menace and mayhem. It’s satisfaction.
Oh shit.
That doesn’t bode well for me.
He crosses my wrists over each other, holding them tightly in one hand, and uses his free hand to stroke my inner arm lightly, stopping when he gets to the fabric of my T-shirt and skipping to his target: my lower belly.
That’s it.
That’s what this fucker has done. He’s lifted my arms and manipulated my body. He’s played me like a master puppeteer,all to expose a little more of my skin. He looks down, thoughtful and serene, watching his hand as his fingers dance over the extra sliver of me he’s uncovered. His touch is buoyant and light, so light that my skin tightens and goosebumps erupt up my sides. He rubs the ones he can see, warming them. Warming me. Careful to stay in the confines of my bare flesh. Taking only what he’s paid for. No more, no less. Burning me with the pads of his fingers and then the flat palm of his hands. I stand as still as possible and try to take it without showing anything. The last thing I want is for him to see what a mess his soft touch makes of me.
When he’s had his fill of that part of my body, he moves his attentions upward, releasing one of my hands from his grip and watching as it falls slowly, almost catatonically, to my side. He takes that hand in his, lacing our fingers together and lifting my hand to his lips. He kisses me softly on each of my knuckles and then turns his gaze to my lips. I turn my head sharply to the side so he can’t kiss me. It’s a mistake. I’ve fallen straight into his trap. I’ve exposed my jugular. He doesn’t miss it. Predators seldom do. He goes in for the kill, kissing my neck ravenously. Wet. Open-mouthed. Hungry.