If I were in her position, I wouldn’t drop my weapon. I could kill her and call someone to clean it up while I went about my day. If she shot me, she’d die here.
And even though it can’t be more than this moment, the need to be a place she feels safe flares to life inside me. Along with other needs.
So, without releasing her hair, I remove my pistol from her neck and toss it on the bar top. “I could fuck you, or you could kill me.”
Shocked that I relinquished my weapon and possibly by my bringing up her snarky suggestion, she gasps with a slight roll of her hips against my erection, but her gun remains rammed into my rib cage. Ignoring that, I lift her legs, wrap them around my waist, and bury my face in her neck, breathing her in.
A growl rumbles in my lungs. I want to fucking devour her.
What is this bewitching spell she has on me?
She moves her free hand to my nape, her nails scratching over the hairs there—a simple gesture that feels likemore. “Both of those options cross your lines.”
That wakes me up—a little. This can’t happen, but … I sneak my hand beneath her dress, skating over the smooth skin on her thigh until I reach the supple curve of her hip. My dick is painfully hard, spearing her abdomen. It’s impossible to think straight around her.
“Axel,” she whimpers.
“Don’t fucking say my name like that,” I warn, thrusting my hard length against her to deliver a jolt of cautionary friction to her clit and ensure that she rethinks thesize doesn’t matterGIF she sent.
“Why?” she pants. She’s either a phenomenal actor or she’s as undone by this as I am.
My eyes latch to hers, savage authenticity ricocheting between us. “Because I put down my gun, like a gentleman, but if you keep making those noises and moaning my name, I’ll split you in two.”
“Sounds like a better way to go,” she warbles in a coquettish taunt.
“Be careful.” My warning is escorted by another rough pump, evoking more amorous moans from her. “I can hear the plea in your voice. You’re close to begging.” I let my breath fan over her neck, my triumph caressing her skin. “My greedy little Thorn.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mr. Noire? To force me to beg? To punish me because you can’t stop fantasizing about stepping out of bounds with me?” She swivels her hips, scrambling for stronger purchase on my steel length. “The devil can only pose as a gentleman for so long.”
“And which do you crave, Zara? The devil or the gentleman?”
“Both,” she pants, her eyes imploring me with obscene invitations. “A man who can keep me in line and praise me when I take it like a good girl is a devil worthy of shoving me to my knees.”
Christ, this woman. There are so many thrilling elements to be gleaned from that statement, so many things I’d like to explore.
“Are youupto the challenge,Axel?” To punctuate her proposition, she rocks more vehemently against the evidence of my desire for her.
She plays so fucking dirty.
I am the one who brought up fucking. But if there’s one thing I have over anyone else in this world, it’s control. Not that this encounter is compelling evidence to that point. Her goading me to lose it only urges me to resume my composure and keep us on track.
Cherry retrieval or not, she’s an intruder.
I tangle my finger in the string of her satin panties—a thong, I’m guessing. “Were you hired to kill me?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers.
She hasn’t been given a mark yet. But she didn’t lie. Maybe I’m delusional because she’s still got a weapon aimed at me, but that feels like something.
Allowing myself one more divine second of indulging, my mouth sails over her collarbone and up the column of her throat while I trace the seam of her panties with my thumb, just far enough to revel in that sexy indent that leads to her pussy, but not an inch closer. If I find her wet for me, I’ll lose my mind.
Fuck, I want to taste her.
An untethered groan leaps out of me. I can smell her—erotic cravings and sweet cyanide.
That alone ignites a ravenous yearning to take a little more. Sliding my hand back to her hip, my fingers grazing the luscious swell of her ass, I pump against her clit again and again, to the chorus of her enchanting feral moans, somehow justifying it. I’ll get to see her come, but I won’t have touched her. It hardly counts—even by KORT’s standards. Having her soworked up, on the brink of coming, could even be considered an interrogation tactic.
Withstanding how dizzy every touch and taste and whimper makes me, I go with that.
