Just about my weight, which he kept under control by near starving me.
When the bus finally arrived at my stop, I hurried off, pushing back my hair in the hopes of taming the mess it was now. Checking my old wristwatch, I saw it was already 7:08 P.M.
Shit.
I couldn’t even message Dylan to tell him I’d be late because my phone was back home in my room to prevent Blake from tracking me through it.
Here was hoping that Dylan hadn’t left yet.
I needed him to be there.
3
He always rented the same room. Always. I never asked him why, but I’d considered lots of reasons. He struck me as the superstitious type for starters; also it was probably the nicest room here, on the top floor with its own private elevator, with security footage he could turn off.
Or maybe it was always the only one available because it was expensive. Or he owned it.
With Dylan, the possibilities were endless.
I stepped into the elevator, and it moved on its own, as always. My heart was hammering in my chest, palms sweaty, and my underwear was soaked before I even got halfway there, as always.
The fact that I could even get turned on after having the shit beaten out of me probably said a lot about my fucked up mental health, but whatever. One thing that’d come out of this tryst with Dylan was my newly discovered love of sex. It was an escape I’d never expected to have in my life.
Dylan was a true master at turning me into a quivering mess, hence the reason I’d been unable to give it up before now.
When the ding of the elevator signaled that I’d arrived, I smoothed my hands along my jeans, pushed my hair back one last time, and stepped out. The room was already dimly lit, and I forgot about the rest of the world as I walked further inside. Dylan had a presence, something tangible that took me over when I was close to him.
The moment his darkly enticing scent—spicy male and expensive aftershave—washed over me, my knees wobbled, and I cursed myself internally for this weakness. Last time. Fuck, maybe if I repeated it enough, I’d possibly follow through.
“You’re late.”
It was a deep rumble in the shadows, his huge body barely visible, but I could see the glint of a glass as he sipped a whiskey.
“Sorry, the bus was late.”
Fuck. Stop it, Brooklyn. You don’t need to apologize to him.
Dominant men were my Achilles’ heel. I was like Pavlov’s dog, licking their damn boots because Blake had taught me to heel.
“Are we doing this or what?” I bit out, some of my anger leaking through my voice.
He stilled—I could see it even in the low light—and I wasn’t surprised. I never spoke to him like that.
He stepped forward, into the light thrown by a nearby lamp. Dylan was every dream I’d ever had of the perfect man come to life. Warm, brown skin, broad, masculine features, full lips, and eyes that were such a piercing green they could stop you in your tracks. He was huge, at least a foot taller than me, and built like he played professional football. No one would think he worked in an office pushing papers.
I still wondered if that was a front. There was a coiled lethality about Dylan that would make any person wary. Not even one part of him screamed “CEO.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, a small crease forming between his dark brows. "You're never late. What changed today, Serena?"
I flinched at the fake name I'd been using, biting my lip against all the lies I'd told him. Not that it mattered... Dylan Grant wanted one thing from me, and it sure as hell wasn't an open and honest relationship.
"I told you," I replied, folding my arms across my chest and swallowing a groan at the pain of that movement. "My bus was late. Not all of us own a garage full of fancy sports cars, you know." More lies.
Dylan stared back at me a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away.
I released a long breath as he moved to the minibar and poured two drinks—scotch, neat. Because that's what I'd ordered in the bar that night we met, trying to impress him, and now he thought I actually liked it. Another lie.
He handed me the crystal tumbler, and I took it eagerly. Our fingers brushed, and my whole body ignited with desire. He was like some kind of fucking drug habit that