Page 11 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

One of the knots in my stomach loosens at his quick response, but another alarm bell starts jangling.

“Hurt me in some other way, then?” I sink the knife a little deeper into his thigh, keeping my voice strong, not scared. “Do trapped, terrified women get you off?”

“Fuck. No. I’m a murderer, not a rapist.” He releases me so abruptly that I stumble and have to catch myself against the wall. That’s one way to remove a knife from your leg, I guess.

I’m free. I should already be gone. But outrage colors his voice. Outrage and a hint of hurt. How is it that my accusation, not the knife I had stuck in his thigh, is what actually wounded him?

Instead of doing the smart thing and sprinting toward freedom, I turn to face him, tilting my head up to take him in. My eyes have adjusted to the low light, allowing me to see that, like me, he’s dressed in black with a mask covering everything but his eyes.

“Swear?” I point my knife at his groin, not faking the huskiness in my voice this time.

He groans softly in response. “Forgive me for being excited to meet someone like me.”

That fires my lust even higher. I don’t know anyone else with a void inside them that can only be filled with violence. Someone who understands the rush and the righteousness of removing someone like Howard Marshall from the gene pool. The thought has me moving toward him even as my rational mind screams that this is not the smart play.

I’ve barely taken two steps forward before he spins me so I’m facing the wall again, his body once again trapping mine. But this time, he’s the one grinding into me, and his arms are a delicious restraint, not a frightening one.

“What’s the plan, then?” I ask, my voice embarrassingly breathy. “Only one of us can do the thing.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, shifting from side to side to rub that hard cock against me, making us both shudder at the contact.

“S-so how do we decide?”

He slides one hand up my body to grip my jaw, and he snakes the other down to rest between my legs.

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs. “I bet I could make you come faster than you could bleed me dry with that little knife of yours.”

Knife. Fuck. I’m so turned on and so shocked by what’s doing the turning on that I forgot I’m still gripping my blade.

“Well?” His mouth is back at my ear, a little muffled through our masks. But his next words are clear enough to make my pussy throb. “How about a little competition? Winner gets to kill Howie.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Hugo

Safe to say, tonight isn’t going as planned.

At all.

I showed up to kill a murderer and ended up with a painfully hard erection, bleeding lightly from the leg and cupping the hottest pussy I’ve ever had the privilege of touching.

None of my contingencies account for this.

“What?” the woman in my arms asks.

Her body’s rigid and her voice is suspicious, but underneath that, I hear excitement. And hell, I can’t back out now. Even if I could, I don’t fucking want to. Not when she’s gripping her knife and my cock’s prodding her ass and both hard objects are demanding I give her everything she wants and then some.

“First person to make the other one come gets to kill Howie.”

There. I said it again, out loud. This is either the best or the stupidest plan I’ve had in a long, long time. Judging by the hitch in her breathing, I’m going with best.

“That’s… that’s…” The hand not gripping her blade lands on my thigh and squeezes. “We can’t do that.”

“We can do anything we want,” I say. “I certainly have, and it sounds like you have too.”

She’s silent for a beat before saying, “We can’t do that here.”

Somehow, my cock gets even harder. She’s not saying no. She’s also being smart.