My heart thuds in my ears, and after a long, internal debate, I slowly lift my head and meet him stare for stare.
You’re sporting a hard-on, genius.
He knows.I know.His dick definitely knows.I’m pretty sure it nodded at me.
His smirk is gone.No mockery in his expression.He wears a tight look, controlled and waiting.
He tilts his head as if curious what I’ll do with the ten hard inches ofDon’t read too much into thisbobbing under my nose.
“How about you tuck that before it starts making eye contact?”I turn off the machine and set it down.“If you need to jerk, you know where the bathroom is.”
“You do it.”He doesn’t look away, daring me.
“Hand jobs are extra.”
“Name your price.”
Most straight men would laugh off this whole exchange and awkwardly change the subject.But I’m not most men.
I was raised by a psychopath.
The only way to survive Denver Strakh was to learn how to outmaneuver him, to outsmart a pedophile who used love as a weapon and sex as a punishment.
So yeah.I know how to play sick games.Really fucking well.
Holding Jag’s unwavering gaze, I remove the gloves and let a wicked, slow-burning grin crawl onto my face.
“When I ruin your life, kitten, I won’t use my hands.”I lean forward.Not rushed.Not hesitant.I reach for the material draped over his lap with my mouth and slowly, tauntingly, slide it off with my teeth.
His breath hitches, and his dick stands fully erect, flushed, and throbbing against the absence of fabric.For once, he has nothing to say.No quip.No smirk.Just wide, unguarded silence.
He wants this, wants me, more than he wants control.
I bend in.Close.Close enough to feather my breath over the head of his cock.Close enough to make it twitch.To feel the heat coming off him in waves.
He stops breathing, his bedroom eyes in full effect, heavy-lidded and smoldering amber.
Please, his body says.Please suck me.
I smirk.
Then I sit back, grab clean gloves, and snap them on with a loud, surgical pop.
“Settle down, sugar.”I reach for the machine again.“I agreed to scar your surface layers.Nothing more.”
“You’re a tease.Didn’t see that coming.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”A charming grin.“Besides flirting with a beautiful man?”
“Someone without a drop of ink doesn’t walk into a tattoo parlor and demand a full-leg sleeve.That’s not impulse.It’s strategy.You saw an opportunity to spend sixty hours with me.With your dick hanging out.You’re not here to mark your territory.You’re playing the long game.You want something from me.”
“What do I want, Wolfie?”
“You want Dove.But by now, you’ve learned she has a security detail.What better way to separate her from her guards than to flip the threat and turn me to your side?That’s your usual game, right?You don’t fight for her.You infiltrate.You get inside her circle, fuck her friends, bogart her lovers, and make them yours.You manipulate them.Bribe them.Turn them into weapons to use against her.”I wipe away ink and blood, revealing a shaded jaguar paw.“You’re not here for my art.You’re here to see if I’m weak enough to fall for your tricks.”
“Smarter than I thought.”His smile spreads like a blade being unsheathed.“Good.I was starting to get bored.”
