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behind his head to tug his shirt up and over from the back. The fabric hit the floor in a gentle swoosh , but my eyes were on him. Without his clothes, he looked even bigger and stronger than I’d already known him to be. The tattoo on his arm was of a kneeling angel, but he had more ink I hadn’t realized—something tribal along his side that spanned his rib cage, words in a language I couldn’t read on his ribs, and it looked like there might be something on his back and coming across his shoulder, too.
    “You like tattoos,” I said, trying to calm my pounding heart and put the focus back on him. Anything I could do to move this along.
    He smiled, the expression landing squarely between cocky and sultry. “A bit. Do you?”
    “I’m ballerina. Can’t have tattoos.”
    Closing the distance between us, Razor reached for my hand. He flattened my palm over his chest. The steady thump, thump, thump of his heart was strong beneath my fingertips. Almost electric.
    “I didn’t ask if you had any. I asked if you liked them.”
    “I like yours.” I licked my lips again. But no matter how hard I tried to seduce him, to hurry him along, he kept moving at the same deliberate pace.
    With hands that had clearly done this many times before, he inched the material of my dress up my thighs until it gathered at my waist. Then he eased his hands under the fabric, gliding them over my skin as he pushed the dress up and over my head. I reached behind my back to release my bra, but he stopped me with one hand enveloping both of mine. He shook his head.
    Frustration mounting, my breathing grew shallow.
    Then he dropped his head so his lips could press kisses along my collarbone.
    I fought the urge to pull away. “What are you doing?”
    “It’s called foreplay, sugar.”
    I let out a huff of air. “I know that. Why you do this?” I tried to tug my hands free, but he didn’t release them, instead tightening his grip and using gentle pressure to draw me closer to him. He dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of my neck, and I squirmed. “I need no foreplay.”
    “Everybody needs foreplay.” He teased the top of my bra with a finger from his free hand, and I shivered.
    “I don’t want foreplay. I want you to fuck me.”
    “I’m getting there.” Hooking that same finger under the top of the cup, he dragged it down and freed my breast. His hot mouth came down over it, and I fidgeted to get out of his grasp. He brought his head up and gave me a heated look. “How long has it been since you had sex with a man just because you wanted to, not for money?”
    I could only blink at him in response.
    “That long, huh?”
    I shrugged. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting sex the way he talked about it. I might have wanted it once upon a time, but those days were far in the past. These days I just wanted to survive it.
    Razor steered me backward toward the bed. When my knees hit the mattress, I sat, instinct guiding my movements. Releasing my hands, he nudged me onto my back and came up over me, his big thighs on either side of my waist as he hovered above me, bracing himself on his elbows.
    Finally, he was going to get to it.
    “Let’s get one thing straight, Tori,” he said, looking down in my eyes. Through me, almost. “When I fuck you, it’s not just about me getting off. It’s not about what I want and what feels good to me. It’s about you, too. I have no intention of taking from you without giving in return. If you don’t come, I don’t. Got it?”
    I gave him a curt nod, but in my mind, I thought, Good luck with that . I’d spent too much time and effort building up my walls to let him or anyone else get through them so easily.
    He bent his head down to kiss the side of my neck, and I found a spot on the ceiling to focus on until he was done, hoping it would be enough to keep my tears locked up inside along with my heart.

 

     
     

    THERE WAS NO way of knowing how long it had been since Tori had been with a