He leans in, those aqua green eyes I’ve dreamed about, the sensuous mouth, high cheekbones—he’s too close, and even through the fear I want to kiss him. Just one more time.
I need to stop. I?—
“Let me get this straight, Molly lass,” he murmurs, tracing the gun along my cheek and then under mylips. “I’m scaring you?”
“Yes.”
He shifts in the seat, moving a little closer. The gun trails down my throat, and for one terrible second…one crystalline moment of clarity…I think he’s actually going to shoot me. My lungs freeze. But then the gun keeps moving, and the fear twists into something darker. Something that makes my thighs clench.
He lowers the zipper of my jacket and continues the exploration with the gun, between my breasts trapped in the dance top I’m wearing. Then he trails it over my stomach to stroke it against my clit in my sweats, and I can’t help it, I move, too, parting my thighs. Just a little.
It feels so good.
My clit throbs in the most delicious way, sending tendrils of need sliding through my blood.
I part my thighs a little more.
Declan notices. He smiles and reveals a slight dimple on his left cheek. “But you weren’t scared in that big bad place full of big bad men?”
I was. But... “No.”
“Liar, Molly. Filthy, dirty, nasty little liar. Your clit’s throbbing, isn’t it?”
The heat rises in me, and my clitisthrobbing like it’s about to burst and release a flood of sweet, orgasmic endorphins.
There’s too much material between me and him, too much between me and the gun.
His lips feather up my throat and I’m rubbing up against him, the thick heat of want in me, the flames of desire licking up and short-circuiting my brain because all I can think of is the thing I spent so long trying to forget.
Him. All I want is another taste of him. I turn to Declan, and he’s right there. Deep, turbulent oceans of green locking on to me, his mouth now not even a whisper from mine.
“You want me.”
The word “no” wobbles in my head. But “yes” pounds hard in my blood.
“Have you joined the cartel?” His Irish accent strokes against me, his tone seductively sweet. “There are differentbranches, so you might need to be specific. Maybe I should strip-search you, Molly, and find your colors...”
His gun still strokes against me, harder, and I push down, the edge of pleasure starting to shine through the desire and need.
Declan wants to know why I was there. “My boyfriend?—”
He bites my lower lip, sliding his tongue along it, and that touch is a flare so bright I shudder, swallowing the rest of my sentence. I let the word “boyfriend” slip out. It’s not true. Leon is just a friend, but Declan doesn’t need to know that. A tiny part of me is still furious about how he led me on and then made a play for my friend right under my nose. Maybe deep down I want him to think there’s someone else, that I haven’t pined for him for all this time.
“What about your boyfriend?” Declan asks in a low voice.
My stomach drops. “He’s helping me find Dad. He told me to meet him here.”
“The only people here are shooting at each other. Is he one of them?” Declan’s voice is flat. “Because if he told you to come here and never showed up, then that looks pretty fucking suspicious to me.”
I want to argue, but doubt creeps in like ice water. Leon was late. Leon told me to wait in the building. Alone. “He wouldn’t have put me in danger...”
But even I hear how weak that sounds.
A wave of ecstasy rolls through me. Declan’s mouth is backon my neck, his free hand pulling my sweatpants down. I lift my hips.
“You sure about that?” he asks softly, the gun running along my slit, the panties pulling on the wetness of my flesh, and I groan.
No. I’m not sure about anything right now. My mind is a mess of frenzied thoughts, my body clamoring for more of his devious torment. He removes the gun and slides his fingers into my panties, starts to stroke my wet flesh, fingers toying with my clit, dipping low to push into me.
