Page 27 of Claimed (For Her 3)


“And what do I want?” I bring our joined hands up to my mouth and kiss hers.

She bites her lip as she takes her hand from mine and waves for a taxi. “I think you want to come back to my place.”

“I think you’re on to something.”

As soon as we’re in the back of the cab, she’s on me. She climbs on my lap, straddling my legs, and I give her the kiss she’s after. It’s burning hot, and when she tastes my tongue, I grip her hips tighter.

“Fuck,” I grit against her lips, rubbing my hands over every part of her.

Her hands are in my hair, and she moans just as the cab driver is beating on the glass and yelling at us to sit in our seats.

I pull her off of me—I don’t want an audience for this—and sit her beside me, not touching.

“You stay on your side and behave,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

Jesus, that was like a tornado. One second I was sitting in a cab and the next I was about to fuck Jay to within an inch of her life in the middle of Times Square.

“I’ll be good if you stop being hot.” Her smile turns into a laugh, and I reach out, touching her cheek. “Hey. No touching,” she chides, pointing a finger at me.

“Fine.” I cross my arms, and she glares at me.

“Okay. Maybe a little touching.” She places her hand on the seat, palm up, ready for me to hold it.

I’m not strong enough to deny her, and so I place my hand in hers. Then after a moment of hesitation, I bring it to my mouth and start to kiss her knuckles.

“I can’t help it,” I say when she gives me a look. “I like having my mouth on you.” I run the tip of my tongue between two of her fingers, and I feel the pulse on her wrist quicken. “I can’t wait to see what you taste like everywhere.”

The cab comes to a stop right outside Jay’s apartment, and I throw some money at him as we jump out.

“Quick, let’s get inside,” she says, nearly running into her building.

“What’s wrong?” I’m confused, looking around for potential danger.

“Are you kidding me? I’m just waiting for something to go wrong. Hurry up!”

I scoop her up in my arms, and she squeals with laughter. I carry her to the elevator, and she puts in her key and enters a code to go to her floor.

“I like the safety you’ve got here.”

“I thought you might. Too bad there’s not a doorman twenty-four/seven. He’s only here from lunchtime until ten. Anything after and we’ve got to trust the automatic locks.”

“Hmm,” I say, wondering if I can look into that for her. I’m already thinking about the next time I’ll be here. Or better yet, I could just get her to come to my place. And stay. Forever.

Chapter Twelve


Jordan puts me down on my feet as we enter my little apartment. I don’t want to be out of his arms. I like when he carries me because it makes me feel small and precious to him. He closes the door, and I melt into his body, placing my head on his chest. He rubs firm hands along my back, and I love how he’s always wanting to touch me. It’s like he can’t get enough, and I want to roll around in that kind of attention.

“It’s cute,” he says, glancing around my living room.

It’s then I realize I’ve never had a man in my home before. I turn in his arms and glance around the room, trying to see what he sees. My walls are a soft lavender—an attempt to make the place appear more spacious. But there isn’t much space. It’s Manhattan, so I guess that’s kind of expected. A white sofa sits up against one wall, with a couple of windows behind it. If there was a blank wall anywhere in the house, I’ve put some sort of shelving or bookcases on it. All the notebooks that I’m constantly writing in are piled on them, along with some of my favorite books. Off to the right is my tiny eat-in kitchen, where I spend most of my Saturdays baking. Making sweet things has always calmed me and helped clear my mind. Well, that was until Jordan. When he’s near me, I’m always calm, and even baking couldn’t do that for me the way he does.

I can picture him sitting at the breakfast bar on his computer while I move around the kitchen, making us both treats and having him test them. The thought makes butterflies dance in my stomach.

The short hallway leads to a bathroom and my small bedroom. My place is simple, and everything is always tidy, because at this size the tiniest mess makes the place seem cluttered. I don’t like needless things lying around either. It drives me crazy keeping things I don’t need. It’s a habit I picked up after living in a home that was always in disarray and overrun. I like order. It brings focus to my busy mind. When things start to get messy, I get uneasy.