“Why?”
“Because the things that require a lot of thought aren’t usually for us. The thought means we’re trying to talk ourselves into — or out of — something. We left that kind of navel gazing behind a long time ago.”
“What does that have to do with choosing me in the Hunt?” I asked.
“We agreed to let you play because it sounded fun to do something that would cause problems later. But hunting you — claiming you — wasn’t a choice. You walked in and we just had to have you.”
I blushed. “Why? Why me?”
He shook his head, his gaze locked on my face. “It’s wild to me that you don’t know how fucking pretty you are, how fuckingsexy.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “I’m honest enough to admit I have some good qualities, but being sexy isn’t one of them.”
I was surprised when he leaned over, stretching his body out over mine, forcing me onto my back on the floor.
He ground his hips into mine and I gasped at the friction of his hard dick against my pussy.
“You have that wrong. Why else would I be walking around with a twenty-four-hour hard-on?” He stared down at me, stroking my hair as he stared into my eyes. “See what you fucking do to me? I want to fuck you so much it hurts. But that’s not all. I also just want to kiss you.”
He leaned in, slipping his tongue into my mouth, and I opened my legs for him, allowing him to sink deeper into the cleft between my legs, his jeans and the thin fabric of my skirt the only thing between us.
He pressed his dick against my throbbing pussy and I shoved my fingers into his hair, meeting every sweep of his tongue with my own, my nipples hard as his chest pressed against mine.
I was desperate to feel him inside me, desperate to do all over again the things we’d done in his room.
We were both gasping when he pulled away. “So yeah,” he said, “I think you’re pretty cute and my dick wants to rail you every second of every day. No big deal.”
I laughed. “You’ve made your point.”
His expression grew serious. “I’m not going to fuck you for the first time on the floor of your apartment with your dead parents’ papers all around us. No offense.”
“No offense taken,” I said. “We should go through everything anyway.”
We sat up and I reached back to straighten my ponytail, then reached for the pile of papers I’d been working on before we got distracted. My pizza was cold, but it had been worth it for the kiss and we spent the next hour working in silence before we switched boxes.
“A lot of bank transfers in this one,” Jagger said, his head bent to some of the papers I’d already looked through.
“I noticed that too,” I said. “They’re all from companies though, and I can’t tell what’s important and what’s not.”
“This is interesting,” Jagger said, his brow furrowed
“Which one?”
He shuffled the papers in his hands. “The transfers to Aventine.”
“I thought so too, but I’m pretty sure I checked the company’s listed on the transfers and didn’t find anything.”
He froze, then swore.
I lowered the stack of papers in my hand. “What?”
“It’s not just the companies making the transfers that matter,” he said. “It’s the bank the money is drafted from.”
“What about it?” I asked.
He held out one of the pieces of paper and pointed to two highlighted entries: transfers for more than a hundred thousand dollars from a bank called Kensington Trust.
“It’s not a bank, not in the traditional sense,” Jagger said. “It’s more like… a private banking institution.”