Silence fills the air, cut by her shaky breathing. Hearing the wheels in her head rolling, I can only imagine what she’s trying to plan. She’s been in survival mode for who knows how long. Will she try to kill me? She’d promised it earlier.
A soft sound leaves her, her mind made up. The last thing I expect her to do is move against me, rather than away.
“If you free me…” Starting slow, my teeth grit when her hips roll. “I can move more easily.”
I don’t need to ask what she’s offering. Not when the slide of her body is an answer in itself. My cock, with a mind of its own, stiffens from the friction.
I think I prefer the death threat over this. This is… bad.
Destiny can feel it, and her frown is what I get in return. I can tell her that I’m not some horny bastard, but my word means nothing to her.
“Give me the key, and I’ll give you something in return.” Like she realizes she’s frowning, her mouth quickly curves up. “Something only you’ll be able to say you’ll have.”
When I don’t move, she lets out this impatient huff. My stare has her flushing slightly. I don’t understand what she’s talking about, and she has to spell out her virginity.
My cock twitches, but my frown only grows at her offering herself so easily.
Her breath tickles my ear as she leans down, and I can almost make out the snarl on her lips. “Why do you think we were so valuable in that container, anyway? Men don’t just want a pretty face, you know. Let me go, and it’s all yours.”
A voice in the back of my mind tells me that I want it. No, it demands I snatch the key and give her exactly what she wants.
If I say yes, I’m the monster she thinks I am.
What I need to do is set her straight. Make her get the thought out of her head so she doesn’t try something this dangerous again. Something this tempting.
My hand finds her thigh, and I feel the goosebumps already formed. One squeeze, and I can feel her muscles jerking.
I can tell her that I’ve dealt with plenty of people trying to act brave to save face, that I’ve memorized the telltale signs of when a part is being acted or not.
If I tell Destiny that I think she’s full of shit, that’ll end this. A part of me, one that never surfaces, demands I see how far she thinks she can take this before she realizes I’m not the person she thinks I am.
Maybe then, she’ll let me sleep, and we can take on tomorrow and whatever disasters it brings.
3
Destiny
I should be free by now. This is bullshit. The metal of the handcuff grates against my wrist, a dull ache against bone. But the deeper throb is elsewhere, a traitorous pulse keeping time between my legs, answering the pressure of his fingers against my thighs.
This is a power play, nothing more. A test of who breaks first. The key glints in the corner of my eye, a cruel, arms-length mockery of my freedom. If only I’d been able to reach a little further…
My breath hitches as his fingers dig deeper into my thigh, his thumb sneaking beneath the frayed cuff. The borrowed shorts are already obscenely short, offering him no resistance, no real barrier. He wouldn’t get anything from me without a fight.
I roll my hips, a defiant motion meant to destroy this cool front of his. It earns a low, rough grunt from him, a sound that vibrates straight through my core. He’s playing the statue,pretending indifference, but the hard, unyielding line of him beneath me doesn’t lie.
The friction is a double-edged sword; What was meant as a challenge sends a wave of tension through my own nerves, causing them to hum with a treacherous tremor. I was trying to unbalance him, but the scales are tipping dangerously, and I’m the one feeling dizzy.
When I look at him like this, his face shadowed and his body a tense fortress beneath mine, it does strange, melting things to my insides. Such a strong man, all coiled power and grim intent, could easily throw me off, could snap me in two. But he doesn’t. Instead, he lets my weight rest on him, his touch a brand on my skin, playing along like this is a game only he knows the rules to.
“What if I told you I wasn’t interested in sex?” He cocks a brow, his gaze calm, a direct contrast to the heat he’s stirring in my blood.
“Then I’d have to change your mind.” The retort is meant to be a weapon, but it comes out breathy, weak, and crumbles into a gasp as his palm moves to cup me fully in an explorative touch.
The heat of it is searing, even through the fabric, a shocking, intimate claim. He’s too forward, hardly giving me any warning, and my body betrays me entirely, arching into the contact for a devastating, pulse-hammering second before my mind can scream in protest.
Much to my dismay, I don’t think I’d be telling him to stop. I can already see the green light behind my eyelids as I pinch them shut.
“What’s so good about this, anyway?” His thumb begins a slow, teasing stroke along my seam, and the cotton might as well be air. My throat closes. “I’ve had women throw themselves at me. It’s never been that great.”
