“Oh, good. I should be getting home anyway – I apparently need to get fucked eighty different ways,” she snapped, slapping at his hands.
“That is not going to happen, so you can fuck right off with that plan.”
“Why not? I mean, you said it, right? 'Little Katya Tocci needs to get fucked' – right? Your words. Right? So that's what I'm going to do, I'm gonna go get fucked, so you can just fuck right off, and get the fuck out of my life, you stupid massive fucking fuck! I fucking -”
Katya was very aware that she was losing her marbles. They were possibly already gone. Wulf was probably using them to play his mind games on her. She was screaming and shouting, hitting him in the arms with her clutch. She could hear his mean, nasty words in her head, hear the hurtful tone in his voice. She wanted to cause him pain, wanted him to feel a tenth of what she was feeling.
Before she could inflict any real damage, though, Wulf declared full on war. He bent over and before she knew what was happening, his arms were around her waist and she was being picked up. She let out a shot as she came down hard on his shoulder, then he stood upright. He hoisted her into place, then locked an arm around her hips before he strode off down the walkway.
“Fuck, burden isn't a big enough word for you. You're a goddamn pain in my ass, Tocci,” he bit out through gritted teeth.
She was completely shocked. He'd picked her up. He was … he was carrying her away. He was stealing her, right in the middle of their fight. She propped herself up as much as she could and started hitting him in the back with her purse.
“What do you think you're doing!? Put me down, Wulf. Put me down, right now,” she demanded.
“No.”
“I wasn't asking, Wulfric.”
“No.”
“I swear to god, I really will start screaming.”
“Go ahead. I'm not putting you down until we get to my apartment.”
“I don't want to go to your apartment.”
“Tough. You're running around practically naked.”
“I don't care.”
“I do. I'm done sharing this body with anyone else. No one gets to see you like this but me.”
Katya was stunned into silence. It was gruff and it was rude – he was being a complete barbarian. But in his own awful Wulfric way, he'd just made a huge admission. He was done sharing her? No one else could see her like that? A hell of a statement, coming from him.
“Wulf, put me down,” she said in a low voice.
“Katya, I'm fucking tired, I'm letting you ruin my fucking five hundred dollar shirt, and on top of all that, I have a huge fucking meeting at eight in the morning, but this is not over. So shut the fuck up, or so help me god, I will shut you up.”
Good god, he sounded pissed. It sent a shiver down her spine and for a couple minutes, she held still. Allowed herself to be carried around like a rag doll.
“I can walk, Wulf. People are going to think you're kidnapping me.”
“That's what I'm going to do, if it means you'll shut up for five fucking seconds and let me talk.”
“I'll let you talk. I'll do whatever you want, just let me walk on my own.”
He put her down so abruptly, she yelped and started to fall over. Before she could completely tumble, though, he was grabbing her wrist and continuing on his war path. She was dragged along in his wake, almost jogging in order to keep up with him.
She couldn't be sure how far Wulf's home really was from the fountain – he'd carried her quite a ways and she hadn't been paying attention. Their almost-jog went on for a while, easily five minutes in silence. Half a mile? More? It seemed like an eternity. A shivering, wet, cold, awkward eternity.
They rounded a corner and she was met with an impressive, modern looking apartment building. It was a high rise, all gleaming windows and sharp corners. Intimidating – not at all like the simple, inviting building she lived in, with its seven stories and classic San Francisco facade.
Wulf had to use a key card to get in the building, then again to access the elevator. By the time they were rising up the length of the building, Katya was shivering, her arms wrapped around herself. She would never admit it to him, but she really did need to get out of her dress. Riding home in her state would have been awful.
Of course he lived in the penthouse, she wasn't surprised one bit when he hit that button. She was surprised, however, when there was a ding and the elevator came to a stop a good ten floors below the one he lived on. Katya clutched her bag to her chest, then folded her arms, hoping she didn't look too frightening to whoever was about to join them.
She didn't have to worry, though. As the doors slid open, Wulf calmly turned and stood directly in front of her. So close, she almost went cross eyed staring at the neckline of his undershirt. She took a deep breath and felt her shivering crank up a notch. His arm came around her, and it felt like the bottom fell out from under her feet. It took her a second to realize it was the lift moving again.
They stopped two floors shy of their destination, and their guest got off. Then they rode the rest of the way up, still pressed against each other. It was surreal. She was scared to even breathe, lest it would wake her up from whatever dream she was having. When they came to their final stop, Wulf pulled away and walked off without her. She took the opportunity to remember how to breathe, then she followed after him.
The entire floor was his – all one big apartment. Absolutely spectacular views, all the way around the penthouse. Floor to ceiling windows surrounded them, showing everything San Francisco had to offer. It was awe-inspiring.
The rest of the apartment was amazing, as well. Black marble floors, brand new appliances, polished concrete counter tops. Lots of shiny dark surfaces, lots of brushed steel. Beautiful, really. A marvel of modern architecture.
She noticed something else, though, right away. It had the exact same feeling as his office. There wasn't one single personal touch anywhere. Not a picture of his family or friends, no knick knacks, no plants even. She was willing to bet a designer had picked out every single thing in his apartment, from his hampers to the art on the walls to his flatware. Nothing of himself was in that place, there was nothing to indicate a human being lived full time in the apartment.
Like it's not his home. It's just a place he stays.
“How long have you lived here?” she found herself asking as she tip toed around. She felt like she was in a museum. Out of habit, she spoke in a soft voice.
“About five years.”
“Jesus,” she whispered, peeking around the living room. Not a pillow out of place, not even a remote left out on a table.