“That’s because you haven’t earned my answer.”
All the blood rushes to my cock. My hand finds her throat, her pulse ricocheting against my palm.
“I will earn it.”
She shrugs one shoulder, mouth curving into something wicked. “We’ll see.”
My thumbs drags across her bottom lip. “You’re here. That’s a start.”
“You didn’t give me a choice.”
“That’s because you haven’t given me one either.”
“What does that mean?” she whispers.
My knuckles drag down the soft slope of her cheek, my muscles twisted tight. I want to say things to her that I have never said to anyone. They’re there, heavy on the tip of my tongue, begging to be spoken. But I don’t know if she wants to hear them. If she feels the same way.
We are so different. For this to work, she has to accept who I am, what I do, and I don’t know if she will ever be ready for that.
“It means you make it impossible to think about anything but you.”
Her chest rises and falls. “Is that why you’ve been ignoring me?”
“Yes.”
Something stirs in her eyes.
I fill a plate with food, the scent of garlic and seared steak rising between us. She watches as I cut a piece and set it carefully on her plate, then lift the fork toward her lips. The candlelight casts her skin in gold and shadow, and for a moment, I just stare, remembering the first time I saw her. The steel in her spine, the fire in her eyes.
She stunned me then. She still does.
She leans forward slowly, brushing her mouth to the edge of the fork as she takes the bite. Her lips part, tongue flickingbriefly against the prongs, and blyat, it lights me up from the inside.
“I’ll be a good girl,” she murmurs after swallowing, glancing down at her restrained wrists. “You can let me go.”
I smirk, leaning in. “We’ll see how good you can be after I’m through with you.”
“What does that even mean?”
The corner of my mouth kicks up.
She lets out a breathy laugh. “You’re insane, you know that?”
Her cheeks flush, desire sparking in her gaze.
“Da.” I grind my jaw as I stare at her full lips. “But only about you.”
“Mm, I don’t think that’s true. I would say you’re objectively insane.”
A rough, genuine laugh escapes me. “And what does that say about you, Ms. Prosecutor?” I cut into the steak. “Getting turned on by an insane man such as myself.”
She lets out a small huff. “I’m not.”
I lift another piece to her mouth, my eyes trained on hers as I press it between her lips. “Don’t deny it.”
The back of my hand drags up her knee, her thighs clamped shut before I part them harshly.
“I’m not. You just don’t like hearing the truth.”
