Even as I say it, my hand drifts from her throat to her sternum, and lower. My thumb dragging over her nipple through the lace. Her head falls back, a moan tearing from her throat.
I continue lower, mapping the curve of her ribs, the soft plane of her stomach. I stop just above the waistband of her underwear.
“Your fingers. Inside me. Please,” she begs, too far gone to feel embarrassed.
My hand hovers exactly where she needs me before drifting lower, the pads of my fingers grazing the wet fabric of her panties. Her need is thick in the air.
“What’s your real name?”
She shakes her head, still fighting. Even through the chemical haze and the desperate arousal, she’s trying to protect whatever secret she’s holding onto.
I bear down harder against her, feeling the wet heat through her underwear. She lets out a whimper that makes my cock throb.
“You’re so wet,” I murmur, teasing. “So ready. All I have to do is move this aside and slide my fingers inside you. I’ll make you come again and again, until you can’t remember your own name.” My thumb finds her clit through the material and strokesher. She arches, moaning. “But first you’re going to tell me what I need to know.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” Desperation bleeds through every word. “I came here to find out what happened to my mother. I’m not a spy. I’m not working for anyone.”
A part of me believes her. The part that recognizes grief, that knows how loss decimates you.
“Tell me who trained you to fight like that. To kill.”
She bites her lip so hard blood wells up dark against the pink of her lovely mouth.
I slide my hand inside her panties and drag a finger through her wetness. She’s drenched, her whole body trembling under my touch.
“Last chance to talk,” I whisper against her ear.
She’s right there, on the edge. Her muscles tense, her breathing quickens. One more swipe of my finger and she’ll shatter.
“No.”
I press inside her for just a moment, feeling how tight and ready she is. Then I pull away.
“Kirill—”
“You made your choice.” I stand, leaving her writhing in the chair. Instead of walking away, I cross to the couch directly across from her and sit, spreading my legs so she has a perfect view.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you what you’re missing.” I unbuckle my belt slowly, unzip my pants, and free my cock. It’s been hard since she started begging, straining against my fly and aching for release. “Showing you exactly what I’d fill you with if you just told me the truth.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
KIRILL
She’s desperate.Writhing in those restraints. Begging me to touch her. And fuck, if it isn’t the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
The drug has stripped away every pretense, leaving her raw and needy and honest in a way she’s never been with me before. Her body doesn’t know how to lie even if her mouth does.
I didn’t expect our night to go like this, but arousal is a side effect of the sodium pentothal and I’m taking advantage of it. I need relief as much as she does, and there’s something darkly satisfying about making her watch. About showing her exactly what she’s refusing.
Her gaze locks onto my cock like it’s the only salvation in the world.
“You want this inside you, don’t you?” I tease, stroking myself slowly. Letting her see every inch of what she’s missing.
“Yes.”
