But he ignores me, fingers lingering, his body caging mine, his mouth so close I can almost taste him. Every second drags until my knees threaten to give. His erection digs even further into me, and it’s obvious no matter what he thinks of me, no matter how much venom we’ve spat at each other, our bodies want. They crave. And there’s not a damn thing either of us can do about it.
His mouth dips to the hollow beneath my ear, the warmth of his exhales wrapping around me, branding me. Fingertips trail up my leg, drawing fire over my skin until they pause just shy of the place that would strip me of whatever control I’m still pretending to have.
My fist finds his thick hair, gripping hard like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. His hold around my throat clamps, cutting off just enough air that I’m dizzy, painfully aware of how close I am to coming from nothing but the power he’s holding over me.
Why couldn’t this be anyone else? Why does it have to be him?
But would it even be this good if it wasn’t?
“How should I prove it?” The words come out low.
I’m desperate for a reprieve, some distraction from the madness clawing through me.
He eases back just an inch, enough to make the air rush between us, hitting me with a half-grin that makes my stomach twist. “You’re the lawyer.”
His mouth ghosts over mine, barely brushing my lips, making every nerve scream for more.
“Figure it out.” His voice drops, rough and deep, stroking over the parts of me I’ve fought to keep buried from him.
His other hand toys with the strap of my thong, knowing exactly what he’s doing. My eyes flutter shut, my body arching into his touch, craving what I swore was off-limits.
He’s a murderer, Fiona. The kind of man you hate. Men like him destroy people.
And he will destroy you.
But my mind and my body are at war, and my body is winning.
When he slips my panties to the side and drags his fingertip over my clit, a broken whimper escapes. My clutch in his hairtightens, my teeth grinding as his eyes pin mine, watching me like this is the only thing keeping him alive.
“You like it, don’t you?” He slides inside me slowly, barely breaching the entrance.
“No.” The word catches in my throat, my walls squeezing him.
“You’re not much of a liar, Ms. Clark.”
Then he drives two fingers into me—hard, deep, stealing my breath.
Before I can scream, his palm clamps over my mouth, muffling the sound as he pounds into me faster, harder, forcing every ounce of control from my limbs. My nails dig into his hard biceps, needing something to hold on to, until it’s like my body doesn’t belong to me anymore.
The lot is silent except for my muted cries, the slick rhythm of my arousal, and the low, merciless cadence of his exhales while his gaze never leaves mine.
I’m so close. Too close. My eyes roll back, frantic to escape the intensity, but his head gives the smallest shake.
“You look at me. Only me. You will remember who made your cunt drip this good.”
I force my vision back to his, and the flicker of satisfaction on his face makes my blood boil.
“That’s it.” Dark approval drips from each syllable. “You obey so well.”
His words ignite something in me, fury tightening my jaw while need pools low, shameful and sweet.
I hate that I like it. Curse him for knowing it.
His mouth curves like he’s reading my mind. “It’s okay to lose control. Give it to me, okhotnitsa. Because it’s already mine.”
“I’ll never give you anything.”
A dark chuckle rolls out of him. “Except this.” A hard thrust steals my breath. “Look at you, dripping down my fingers like a desperate whore. I bet you’d taste even sweeter begging for it.”
