Eight

Lander catches the door before it closes and follows me into my condo.

"I'm getting real sick of men touching my front door," I snap before I turn around.

There's a contrite frown on his face, and my traitorous pulse kicks up instantly. Does he seriously have to be so handsome?

"Valeria," he begins, but stops when I hold up my hand.

We linger, staring at each other. I let the silence drag before I head to my bar cart, pour a shot of vodka, and throw it back. When I face Lander again, he's watching me like I'm an escaped house cat at risk of disappearing into the nearest alleyway.

"Are you okay?" he asks, breaking the silence, but he shakes his head before I can answer. "You're obviously not okay. Who was that guy?"

My hands grip the edge of the bar cart and an omnipresent, putrid memory rankles me. I can still see it. Sebastian's loaded text of, I told Vicente. He deserves to know what his daughter is doing, was the only warning I got before my father called and delivered those vile, life-altering words.

Apparently, Sebastian's haircut is new, but his penchant for telling people I'm a camgirl hasn't changed one bit.

I raise my shoulders. "There you go," I manage, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. "Now you know what I do for a living."

Lander's lips part, but he doesn't speak.

Here it comes: the disgust I anticipated a year ago when I realized my sinfully hot neighbor was a lawyer. Exhaling slowly, I brace myself. I've heard it all before.

But the letdown doesn't come. In fact, nothing comes. Lander just keeps staring at me with his mouth open and his blue eyes traveling over my face.

This coward.

The blood in my veins is molten lava and black ice at the same time. He has to say something. I deserve more than silent revulsion. I fucked this guy. I let him come inside me.

I gape at him. Nothing.

His hand drifts to the doorknob, but he doesn't look away. He just studies me while his brow furrows more with each passing second.

"Can you get it over with and go?" I finally demand.

Lander's expression shifts at last when he raises both eyebrows. He doesn't move beyond that though. His hand still grips the doorknob, his feet remain planted, and finally—finally—he says, "What?"

My arms fall to my sides. "Say whatever you want and leave. You're wasting our time."

"What?" he repeats with more vigor this time, releasing the doorknob. "You want me to leave? What did I do—"

"Be straight with me," I press, taking a step closer and glaring. "Don't be a coward and don't give me the slick, lawyerly version of the truth. Say it. Are you disgusted to learn you hooked up with a camgirl last night?"

He blinks hard, his brow still elevated like he's short-circuiting. "Valeria, look—"

"Regardless of what you say, I'm not going to apologize. My career isn't conventional, but it works for me. If being with a camgirl is such a big deal to you, you should have asked—"

He holds up his hand. "Valeria—"

"—and I would have told you. I don't enjoy telling people, but I would have. I'm not na?ve. I expect to be judged, so just come out with it—"

"Jesus, Valeria, will you listen to me?" he interjects, dropping his shoulders in exasperation.

"Don't try to finesse me, Lander," I warn, ignoring the frustrated expression on his face and holding up a stiff finger in his direction.

In that moment, something in Lander finally snaps and he bounds forward, catching me by the arm. I gasp, feeling the tightness of his hand surrounding my wrist. Minutes before, Sebastian handled that same wrist. When he did it, I wanted to flee. When Lander does it, my body tingles.

He glares down at me, his gaze scorching like I've never seen before. "Are you pointing at me?"

A normal, sensible girl would be alarmed by the sudden intensity on his face, but my stomach flips with want. I'm not normal and I'm definitely not sensible—not around this guy. "Yes. Answer my question."

"How?" he demands. The words are coarse in my ear. "How am I supposed to answer? You won't stop coming at me. It's like you don't want to hear the truth."

I part my lips to object, but he pulls me against him, putting his face inches from mine. Up close, the warmth of his breath tickles my skin, and I see the flecks of azure in his pale irises. That beautiful, speckled gaze searches me.

Lander wets his lips with his tongue. "You're asking if I'm disgusted because you're a camgirl," he clarifies, his expression heavy enough to crush me. "You're asking if I'm upset that I slept with a woman who takes her clothes off for men she doesn't know and fucks herself every which way she can reach. You're asking if I hate that."

My jaw lowers. It's so factual. It's so lawyerly. I press my lips together and stay quiet, but my lower lip is trembling.

"Fine," I finally spit out. "You're disgusted with me. Now we both know. But you're one to judge me. You do whatever the fuck you want with your body."

Abruptly, Lander pulls his head back from mine. "My body?" he questions, practically scowling. "What are you talking about?"

"You've been with tons of women," I remind him. "I heard how you made them moan. The way they cried out. I heard them say your name like you were their god. It's okay for you to use your body however you want, but I can't?"

"You heard them?" His face pales noticeably. "You heard—"

"Heard?" I reply, before forcing a chuckle. "I listened. All those one night stands you made scream and slam their palms against your bedroom wall. The ones you screwed into the mattress. I listened to them. Every. Single. One."

He's a statue. His expression is unreadable, as usual, but there's a distinct note of fury in the arms clutching my body against his. I don't care. Lander may intimidate everyone else, but he doesn't scare me.

I put my mouth by his ear. "One time, I was on my way out and I saw you coming home with a woman. I canceled my plans so I could listen to you. And if violating your privacy and listening to you fuck—" I emphasize the word, "—makes you hate me, so be it."

"Why would you do that?" he questions, the words slow and deliberate. When I don't respond immediately, he tightens his grip. "Why would you listen, Valeria?"

Whatever. I already slept with the man; there's no point keeping this to myself anymore.

"Because I wanted you, Lander," I confess, giving him the truth I've repressed for so long. "Listening to you please other women was the only way I could have you, so I took it."

He pulls back and frowns at me, holding me at arm's length but not releasing me. His eyes travel over me, drifting quickly from one feature to the next. "You wanted me?"

"More than anything," I reply, refusing to let my response sound meek. I give him the anguish. I give him the resentment. "I wanted you more than anything."

Heat. So much heat. It's like my response breaks a dam because the next thing I know, I'm no longer touching the ground.

Lander is palming my body, cradling me against him while he moves us. I gasp aloud, unable to stay quiet. I've never been held like this—not even close. I feel nothing but his strong, seeking hands—his tight-as-all-fuck grip. The overflow of sensation practically washes the anger out of my body, and excitement takes its place. I wanted this. Oh god, I really wanted this.

Lander carries me to my couch where he flings me onto the center. I sink into the cushions, the back of my neck nestled into the plush seatback, and I look up at him, waiting. He bends over me, sex embodied, and he kisses me again. No holding back this time—tongue, teeth, and desperate groans—I get all of it.

Oh god, we're doing this again.

He explores my lips, delving further into my mouth than before. His kiss is transcendent, like he's trying to convey a thousand divine things with his tongue because the only alternative—stopping to say them—would be unbearable. I meet him swipe for swipe, suck for suck, pouring as much into the kiss as I can.

When he draws his lips away, I follow him, seeking the contact until he places a hand on the center of my chest and forces me back against the couch. It's rough but controlled. It stirs an ache between my legs that compels me to obey—which I almost never do.

Lander's eyes don't leave mine while he kneels, taking up the space between my parted thighs. His gaze is so intense, I wonder if he heard anything I said before. He's not staring at me like he's disgusted with me. In fact, he's staring at me like the secrets to the universe live in my pupils. Steadily, he rests his big hands on my bare knees and runs them flat—palms, fingers, and all—along the length of my thighs, up, up, up, until he tucks his fingertips underneath my ass.

"Well, if it's not obvious, I'm telling you now," he mutters, his voice thick and lusty while he consumes me with a stare so hot it could melt carbon, "I love everything about what you do for a living, Valeria."

Nothing can describe the impact of his words. It's the simultaneous rush of confusion, excitement, relief, and desire, and the unprecedented combination weighs more than I can carry. All I can do is furrow my brow, speechless. I'm utterly speechless.

"In fact," he goes on, squeezing my ass cheeks so firmly I might see bruises tomorrow, "the way you show this pussy off to anyone who asks might be the reason I've wanted it so fucking bad for so fucking long."

And then he lowers his face between my legs.

That might be the single sexiest thing a man has ever said to me. Lander's confession has me in such a fog, I almost miss it—the implication nesting dormant in his admission: I've wanted it so fucking bad for so fucking long.

"Wait. Stop it." I clamp my thighs together and raise my hands. "Lander, you knew I was a camgirl before Sebastian told you?"

His expression is equal parts smugness and smolder. I may have stopped his face inches from my pussy, but he's the epitome of nonchalance. "Yes, Valeria," he drawls. "For the last five minutes, while you've been telling me off for being disgusted—which I'm clearly not—I've been trying to tell you the truth: I knew you were a camgirl. I knew, I watched, and I'm willing to bet I'm your best customer."