His index finger pointed from my chest to his.
“Us?”
“Don’t insult me, my baby. You heard what the fuck I said.”
Ever so gently, he released his next set of words. Never raising his voice. Never altering his position. He was fully in control of himself. Of me. Of this moment.
“When you open your mouth, I listen. When you give instructions, I listen. That’s how this shit is supposed to work,” he explained.
“You’re my client.”
“If you thought that was the reason, then you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Then, why is it?”
“The bottom line is you can fall in line or you can fall in line–voluntarily or involuntarily; makes me no fucking difference.”
“Is that your favorite word?”
“What?”
“Fuck? Fucking?”
“It’s my favorite action,” he clarified.
My pussy spat onto the seat of my underwear. My walls pulled together. My stomach muscles clenched. Saliva rushed into my mouth, pooling around my teeth and tongue.
“But, I’m a man of great discipline. I thought I was.” He chuckled, pulling his hand over his beard. “Until…”
“Until.”
“You.”
“Before deciding to be a changemaker, what were you doing in Berkeley?”
“You know the answer to that question. You have the blueprints to my homes. I’m sure my background is in whatever file you have on me, too.”
“I asked you a question.”
Slowly, Ishmael leaned forward. Hands on the table.
“A killer.”
A chill ran through my spine. My throbbing center salivated. I batted my lashes and squeezed my thighs closer to suppress the aching yearn that was becoming insufferable.
“You’re no stranger to that kind of crazy, are you?”
“I’m that level of unreasonable myself. But, you know that,” I breathed out, tilting my head with a smile.
“So is your family.”
“So is your brother.”
“And yours,” he replied, popping the end of a chip in his mouth.
I folded a hundred times inside. It didn’t matter what Ishmael was doing, he was unrealistic while doing it. Downright fine. Ridiculously sexy.
“Which is why this couldn’t–it shouldn’t work.”
