He looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe. It’s almost pathetic. A little laugh bubbles up in my throat. The big, bad psychopath is short-circuiting at the sight of a nipple.
His eyes flick from my exposed breast to my face, then back again.
“Why are you dressed like this?” he asks, his voice strained.
“This?” I look down at myself. “It’s just a dress, Valerio. Does it distract you?” I uncross my legs slowly, then recross them theother way, feeling a cold breeze hit my pussy. “I thought we were discussing your inability to form emotional connections.”
A thin line of saliva connects his parted lips. He’s actually drooling. The sight sends a jolt straight to my clit.
“You’re testing me,” he says.
“I’m conducting a session, Valerio. That’s all. Tell me what you’re feeling right now. Be specific.”
His hips jerk involuntarily. A dark wet spot spreads across his trousers. All I can think about is tasting it.
“I feel…” he trails off, his brow furrowed. “Warm.”
Warm? That’s all he can manage? The first stirring of lust in his deadened senses, and he calls itwarm?
“Warm where?” I press, walking around the desk until I’m beside him. I pretend to adjust a book on the shelf, knowing the movement pushes my ass right in his face. “Describe the sensation.”
When I turn back, his face is flushed, his eyes wild with a hunger so raw it’s almost frightening.
“Here,” he finally manages, gesturing vaguely toward his groin. “It’s… uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable. He doesn’t even have the vocabulary for arousal. This is better than I could have imagined.
I sink to my knees in front of him, maintaining eye contact. “What do you think would happen if you acted on this feeling?”
His gloved hands grip the chair arms so hard I hear the wood creak.
“I would…” He swallows hard. “I don’t know.”
He’s never even imagined it before. Never considered what he might do with desire. The thought makes me wetter than I’ve been in years.
“Let’s explore that,” I murmur. “In hypothetical terms, of course. What would you want to do to me if touch wasn’t such a big trigger for you?”
His hips buck again, more forcefully this time. The wet spot grows larger.
“Touch,” he finally gasps out. “Everywhere.”
“Where specifically?” I press, my own breath coming faster now.
His gaze travels from my breasts down to my hips, then lower to where I’m kneeling. I spread my legs, making sure he can see everything I have to offer.
“There,” he growls, gaze pinned between my legs.
God, he’s so broken. So beautifully, perfectly broken. And I’m the one who has found his weakness—the only thing that can tame the beast—and it’s my cunt.
I stand up slowly, giving him a full view as I lean over my desk, pretending to adjust something. I move my hips from side to side, putting on a show for him that I’m still not sure I ever plan to finish. Only fools sleep with psychopaths.
I hear the chair squeak as he humps his hips into the air, grunting when he releases into his trousers, coming undone. Without a single fucking touch.
A drop of my own arousal drips down my thighs.
“Interesting,” I murmur over my shoulder. “It appears even psychopaths have breaking points. And yours, apparently, is between my legs.”
“Is this what normal people feel?” he asks, panting. “This… hunger?”
