MAD ABOUT THE BANKER (Modern Love #3)

Chapter 2

2

I’ll give Slade some credit. He waited until Cole left before he followed me to the bathroom. Even then, he stopped at second base, not allowing me to detour him further when I pulled him into the stall.

Later, when the redhead said someone should leave early since it was so dead, he jumped at the chance, hopping over the bar, taking my hand in his and escorting me out of the Thirsty Monk. I like a man who takes action.

On the taxi ride back to his place, his tongue was lodged in my throat, his hands up my shirt. Things were hot and I was more than eager to feel his rippled stomach under his white t-shirt.

“You’re so damn hot,” he whispers now in the stairwell of his apartment building.

I jump in his arms, his hands gripping my ass, mine fisting his long dark strands.

Our lips lock and he weaves us from one side of the wall to the other on our way up the staircase. He’s strong and that turns me on more than the bulge in his pants. Stopping outside a door, I unwind my legs and slither down his body until my feet are planted on the ground. His lips stay on mine while he fumbles with the lock.

“Finally,” I say, sliding past him into his apartment.

I take no time to investigate the place. As long as the door is locked behind us, I’m good with whatever. The door slams shut, his fingers hook in my belt loop, pulling me toward him, and when my lips land on his, his fingers are unbuttoning my jeans. My own fingers slide down his white t-shirt, feeling the ripples of his abs while I match his objective—to become unclothed as fast as possible.

He pushes my pants down along with my panties and I toe out of my flats and shimmy my jeans off the rest of the way. I’m hot and ready.

His hands mold to my bare hips as he backs us until I fall into a soft couch. Standing above me, he slides his fingers down his zipper. I lick my dry lips, waiting for the glimpse of the c**k I’ll feast on tonight.

The bulge in his underwear isn’t as big as I felt grinding against me up the stairs, but maybe he’s not fully hard yet, which I’m more than happy to lend a helping hand with.

Look, I should tell you now that I make no apologies for my open sexuality. I’m a single, adult female—why shouldn’t I enjoy getting it on as much and as often as I’m able? Because some man tells me it makes me a slut? Or because some uptight woman who doesn’t know her clit from a light switch thinks it’s wrong to enjoy s*x?

Screw that. I don’t mess with taken guys and as long as everyone’s a willing participant then I’m down for a little fun. And hopefully an o****m. Because who doesn’t love those?

Anyway, where were we?

I eye Slade with my sultry blues, widening my legs for him to stand between them. Hooking my fingers on the waistband of his boxers, I slide them down his legs as I promise him with my eyes how much fun we’re going to have tonight. The anticipation to feel what I’m working with is too strong and so I glance down, finding a thin p***s that gives no tingle between my legs. His fingers weave through my short dark hair and he urges my head back up to his eyes.

I’m sure this guy has been the running joke in his locker room and I’m not some bully or tease, so I plaster on a smile. It’s not how big it is, it’s how he uses it… right?

“Go ahead,” he says, grinding his hips toward me so that his d**k might reach my lips—if it had another three inches.

I size him up again, trying to figure out how a guy over six feet, with huge muscles and a ripped stomach, could have such a disappointing package. He’s fully hard now, the tiny mushroom facing upward.

My hands are shaking slightly as I wrap them around him, my fingers overlapping, and I pump.

He groans. “That’s it. Mouth, you little b***h,” he says, shaking his hips again, and my hand unclenches before I squeeze so hard he falls to his knees.

Now, I’m all for dirty talk and the right guy can boss me around in the bedroom with zero complaints from me. But there’s a way to make it hot and there’s the douche way. Slade is being a douchebag.

“I don’t take directions well,” I comment, leaning back to wait for him to apologize.

“Oh, you want to play hard to get?” A knowing smile crosses his lips and I raise my eyebrows.

I think we’re on different pages.

“My p***y is spread-eagle on your couch. I don’t think this is exactly hard to get.”

He grabs my arm, urging me back up to the edge of the couch, and he places my hand on his pencil p***s.

“I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.” He shimmies forward, and for the first time in years, I’m not horny with a d**k in front of my face.

“Let me guess.” I stand up, making him stumble back. With his pants still around his ankles he can’t get his footing and ends up falling to the floor, but he sits there, not attempting to pull his pants up.

Grabbing my own pants and panties from the floor, I put them on while continuing to talk. “I’ll blow you and you’ll expect me to swallow, which I’m not opposed to, but then you’ll tell me you need some time to recover. Have you never heard of ladies first?” I button my pants, slipping on my flats, finally able to look around the space I’m standing in the middle of.

Doilies on the table.

Vases of flowers.

Little ceramic statues of kids.

Flower fabric couches with pink drapes.

“Oh. My. God. Where are we?” I ask and step to the door, placing my hand on the doorknob.

“My place,” he answers with a shrug.

“And who else’s?” I narrow my eyes.

His gaze casts down for a moment but then meets mine with a ring of fury around his pupils.

“You’re just a tease. Girls like you think you have so much control, but all you are is some w***e guys use to get their rocks off.” He stands to his feet, pulling up his pants.

“If you’d treated me with any respect, I would have been a sure thing. As far as being a w***e, I’m going to let that slide since your hard-on probably isn’t giving you enough testosterone. But let me be very clear.” I step closer to him, staring up so that he knows how serious I am. “You ever disrespect me again and I will wrap that pencil-thin p***s of yours around a twenty-pound weight and let go.”

He laughs, a hollow and overly sarcastic one. “I’d rather have a small d**k than be the pass-around girl.”

Before I can stop myself, I c**k my arm back and punch him in the face. He holds his cheek and points to the door.

“Get the f**k out!” he yells and a door clicks from down the hall.

“Stevie?” an elderly lady says.

“Go back to bed, Gram.”

“Is everything okay?” She rounds the corner in a pink night coat and her hair in rollers. Her eyes widen at me and then she scowls at Stevie, aka Slade. “I told you no girls.” Her shaking finger points to him.

“I’m out,” I say, springing the door open and leaving the apartment before Granny gives both of us a beatdown. The door shuts behind me and I hear him apologizing and her yelling.

Crisis averted.

I hit the street and try to decipher where I am exactly, and notice that the night must still be young because couples are walking hand in hand down the street with takeout containers. Another group of people look like they’re just getting the night started as they file out of their apartments.

I take a few steps to the corner crossroads and read the street signs. Slade’s grandma lives way too close to me and I hope I never cross her in a dark alley.

After walking a few blocks I find my usual Starbucks and open the door, allowing the warm, comforting smell of coffee to surround me. I wish I had my sketchbook. Drawing has always been how I relieve stress. Maybe I can design a toy that could help men like Slade in the Nanometer Peter club.

I head to the restroom first to use the facilities and then wait in line. Most people ahead of me order iced teas and other drinks that aren’t hot or loaded with caffeine.

Missy, the usual barista, smiles up to me when I step up. “Bad night again?” she asks, one side of her lips c*****g up.

So I may come here too often after a bad night. Which seems to be happening way too often lately.

“Needle d**k,” I deadpan.

She cringes and a deep laugh rumbles from behind me. I glance over my shoulder, finding a man. I grant him a half smile and he winks, his lips only turning half wattage.

“Grande black,” I say.

“Name?” She arches her eyebrow, waiting to see what’s coming.

“Katniss Everdeen.”

She laughs, punching it in, and I hand her the cash. “I volunteer as tribute,” she says and we both share a laugh now. “It’ll be right up.”

“Thanks, Missy.”

I tuck the cash back into my purse and pull my phone out to distract myself, checking my f******k notifications. Whitney and Tahlia have both been posting about their date nights. A twinge of jealousy flares and once again I’m reminded that one thing isn’t like the other when it comes to my group of friends.

I mean, they’ll forever be my friends, but once they get married and start having kids, we probably won’t have much in common. Pretty soon, I’ll just be the crazy aunt who shows up at birthday parties and all the kids wonder who I am. No, I promise myself. They’ll always know me and I’ll be the cool aunt who gives them expensive gifts because I can afford it. I’ll be the one they look up to because I travel all over the world, live life by my own rules and have affairs with exotic men.

The man behind me leans against the counter and I glance up to see that he’s on his phone. He’s smiling as he types away. His suit jacket hangs open and his tie is loosely undone, but his vest is still buttoned. Who still wears a full three-piece suit? I have to admit though, it looks hot as f**k on him. His hand rises and he weaves his fingers through his already dishevelled brown hair. The sparkling of cufflinks catches my eye and I wonder what kind of job he has that he’s this dressed up. Aren’t most companies going to business casual nowadays?

I picture him behind a boardroom table barking out orders and the mental image of him having a very powerful job ignites a tingling between my legs. I bet this guy is packing and would know how to dominate me in the bedroom.

“Katniss Everdeen.” Missy’s singsong voice rings out.

Before I turn my attention to her and my coffee, the guy looks up and our eyes meet. A smile plays on his lips and I’m not sure if it’s from the texts he’s receiving or if it’s for me, but no matter what, it lights up his face, raising him up the attractive meter until the bell rings on top.

The tingling turns into an ache down south.

I snap my eyes away from him and grab my coffee. “Have a great night, Missy.”

“See you tomorrow,” she says and I nod because I’m here at least once if not twice a day.

Moving over to the counter to pour in my Splenda and milk, I try not to feel the small hairs on the back of neck snap to attention. Nor do I admit that I feel his eyes on me. Instead, I busy myself pouring and stirring. If he wants me, he can make the first move.

“Peeta Mellark.” Missy’s voice rings out again and then she chokes out a laugh.

I whip my head around and find a set of hazel eyes set on me with arched eyebrows. The amused smile on his lips is even more prominent than seconds earlier. My gaze whips over to Missy and she’s smiling from ear to ear, pointing to his back. She wraps her arms around herself and kisses the air. I roll my eyes and when the guy turns around to see where I’m looking, she quickly straightens her back and pretends she’s organizing the straw compartment.

“Have a good night.” She uses her sweet-as-pie voice and the man nods, stepping toward me.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I have no time to try to figure out why I’m suddenly nervous. No matter how hard I try to relax, I can’t control my heartbeat. Only five steps separate us so I don’t have time to think about why this guy is bringing out a side to me that rarely, if ever, makes an appearance.

I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he slides next to me at the condiment stand and a waft of his cologne breezes past me. The scent is intoxicating. It’s musky and all man. I cross my ankles, pressing my thighs together.

He busies himself with the sugar, no milk, and he stirs it for an unusually long time. His phone chirps as he’s placing the lid on top of his coffee.

I’m about to stop him, but something holds me back and I cower down, fascinated by his hands. Strong and manicured. Never would I have thought manicured nails would turn me on.

All movement stops and I look up to find his eyes on me. He slowly appraises me from top to bottom and back before he leans in, his lips only an inch away from my ear. Our bodies aren’t touching and somehow that’s hotter than if he’d pulled me into him.

“I thought you’d want to know…”

He trails off and the scent of his cologne has my eyes drifting closed while I wait with anticipation to hear the end of his sentence.

“… you have toilet paper stuck on your shoe.”

He pulls away and my eyes snap wide open. He winks and before I can say anything, the door chime rings and he’s eyeing me through the window as he talks on the phone and I frantically try to remove the toilet paper with my other shoe.

God, no wonder he was staring at me.

“Holy s**t,” Missy says, her hand over her heart.

I grip the counter behind me to stay upright—half from embarrassment and half because my knees are still weak. “Who was that?”

“I think he’s your Peeta Mellark,” she says with a dreamy edge to her voice as she leans over the counter.

I shake my head. “Oh, Missy. Lennon Hart doesn’t get to have a Peeta Mellark. She just gets to screw around with a lot of Gale Hawthornes.”

One thing I can’t deny, he turned me into a fumbling mess and he only uttered a handful of words. Now there’s a man who can boss me around in bed.