I noticed her limp with a smirk. I’d fucked her violently and didn’t plan on stopping. The night was still young and anything to distract me from my usual nightmares was welcome.
When I climbed into bed, ten minutes later, she was curled up on one side of the bed with her back to me. “Come here, Ishika,” I called, my tone non-negotiable.
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “I want to sleep.”
“You can and you will, but right here.” I touched the space next to me.
She inhaled deeply and moved up close. Keeping her back to me, she settled down, dragging a smile out from me.
I rolled to my side, pulling her with me until her back was pressed against my chest, my arm wrapping around her waist to hold her in place. “I’m not done fucking you, little fox.”
“You did say you’re into somnophilia, right.” It was all she gave me.
I chuckled, remembering that first blow job and that spirited doctor who somehow ended up in my bed. “Sleep,” I murmured into her hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’ll wake you when I need you again,” I teased.
She didn’t answer, her body already drifting toward fatigue, but I felt the relaxation of her muscles against mine, the final barrier crumbling between us. I stared at the ceiling, the darkness of the room matching the thoughts in my head. She was mine now, not just in bed but in every way that mattered.
I had what I wanted, and I wasn’t letting go. As sleep dragged me under, I knew that even though she saw me as a monster, sometimes a man just wanted to be a man.
forty-three
. . .
Ishika– 32 years old
Light peeking through my lids had me opening my eyes. For a moment I forgot where I was, just letting my senses drift. Teal walls, dark curtains, white molded ceiling, soft sheets, the distinct warmth against my side.
Then the memory stuck hard, pausing the air in my chest, feeling the bruises blooming across my hips where he’d held me, his teeth at my throat, remembering his weight pinning me to the mattress, the way I’d arched into him as he fucked me, begging him not to stop. His mouth, his hands, his lips, his tongue, his cock, they’d known no boundaries. He’d used them in ways I didn’t think possible, and his stamina, oh my God, if I didn’t know better, I’d believe it was otherworldly.
Even after washing me in the shower, he’d allowed me to sleep but sometime during the night, I woke to him inside me, fucking me in a slow taunt, that had me succumbing and disgustingly begging him for more.
Still, I hated him, his arrogance, that killer smirk, that maddening smile and that oh so sexy laugh. Yet undeniably Ishouldn’t be feeling this fulfilled, this relaxed, not with someone I should despise.
Slowly I turned my head, my gaze lowering to the sleeping man beside me, the monster who kidnapped me, undone me and fallen asleep like it was the most natural thing to do with someone you didn’t know.
I wriggled a little, annoyance coaxing me to wake him and demand he take me home. However, Remo slept with a stillness borne not of peace but certainty, a man confident he owned the world and maybe he did.
Sunlight filtered through a slit in the curtain, cutting across the broad planes of his tattooed chest. One arm tucked under his head, the other lay heavy over my thigh, his grip possessive or perhaps keeping me prisoner. Even though a sheet obstructed a skin-on-skin touch, his body radiated heat that strangely charmed me to stay still, to watch him unhindered. His hair mussed from my fingers, the faint stubble along his jaw, the shadow of a smirk even in slumber, the overpowering scent of intoxication all described him well.
Dangerous. Beautiful. Infuriating.
Annoyance prickling my skin, I eased his arm off me, taking care not to wake him and sat up, the sheet falling to my hips, baring my naked breasts. Although I felt no embarrassment, I needed to get out of there. Run before he had a chance to tie me down. Anger might’ve championed the decision, but I had to admit that Remo Rossi was a distraction I didn’t want. We belonged on opposites sides of the law and that’s where I intended to stay.
About to slide off the bed, a glint of something beneath his pillow caught my attention. Of course, he’d sleep with his weapon this close. Curiosity, mischief and some wild stirring inside me had me reaching for it. The gun was heavier than Iexpected and cool against my warm skin. I turned it over in my hand, inspecting the black metal.
For one reckless second, I imagined ending it all and pointed the gun at him, maybe using it as leverage for my freedom. I wondered what he’d do if he woke to find me holding it. What kind of man slept so soundly beside an enemy. My heart stuttered, my finger brushing the trigger.
“Pull it,” his voice rasped, rough with sleep.
I jumped, nearly dropping the gun. His eyes were open, half-lidded, his expression brimming with amusement, reminding me of a lazy predator watching his prey fumble.
“I thought you were asleep,” I muttered, breathless.
“You think I’d sleep with a thief in my bed?” He smirked, voice deepening.
“Thief?”
He stretched, every muscle moving beneath golden skin, utterly unbothered by just how frustratingly sexy he looked and the fact I held a loaded weapon. “You stole my night, my patience, my time.” His gaze flicked to the gun. “And now you’re holding one of my favorite toys.”
