Page 28 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

I hook a leg around his hip, not to try rolling him again but to spread my legs wider so he can grind even harder against me. “Don’t tell me you filed a grievance with the union.”

He laughs, but it turns into a whispered curse as he frees my hands so he can palm my breasts.

“No cutting up this bodysuit,” I warn him shakily, and his head falls into the crook of my neck with a laughing groan. My fingers itch to pull the mask free so I can see his face and dig my fingers into his hair. Would he pull mine off too? Or would that be the thing that snaps his control in the way I don’t want?

Mom would’ve already pulled his mask off, and I suppose the fact that I haven’t is why I’m still alive and she’s dead.

“Can you do it safely?” he asks.

I snap back to the man grinding between my legs. “Can I come without getting you pregnant? Yeah, I think so.”

He laughs at my dumb little joke, and why have I done more laughing with this stranger in the dark than I have with anyone in my life other than Fi?

“I’m asking”—his hips are a machine, keeping up the friction that’s turning us both desperate—“if you can kill Navarro without getting hurt yourself?”

“Oh, is this where you want my résumé?” No idea how I have the presence of mind to swap quips when his incredible dick’s making a strong case for knighthood. “Are you asking how many bigger guys I’ve taken out? Because I’m not going to tell you that. That’s a third-orgasm conversation.”

“Three, huh?” He tilts his head. “I’d better get to work.”

But instead of resuming his panty-melting thrusts, he freezes, hovering above me so our bodies are almost but not quite touching. Whereas I’m a sweaty, trembling mess on the brink of coming, he’s holding a rock-solid plank position that maintains the tiny bit of distance between our bodies with zero muscle strain, zero shakiness in his arms, and zero visible effort.

“My god, Gomez,” I mutter. “What are you, Superman?”

He barks a laugh then does the last thing I expect: He dips his head and presses his lips to mine through both of our masks. It leaves me shocked and turned on and… and charmed, dammit. So much so that I let go of my hatred for this woman in his life who’s on a pedestal he built for her but will never know the eye-crossing, toe-curling, risk-seeking pleasure of fully clothed outercourse during a murder outing with this man.

I tilt my hips up and brush against his cock, which pulses at the connection. “Yes, I can handle him.” I shudder as he obeys my silent command and drops out of plank position to return his attention where I need it. “I’ll make it look like an accident. Tonight was about f-figuring out how to… to… oh my god, Gomez.”

His pace has increased, and I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him to go faster, faster. I don’t care which of us comes first; I just know his big body fits mine so perfectly that I’m not going to last much longer. Hopefully, neither will he.

“Yes. God,” he growls. “Squeeze me with those strong fucking thighs, Morticia.”

“This is why I never skip leg day,” I tell him as I do.

It’s actually to compensate for my unreliable shoulder, but he doesn’t need to know that, and the joke makes him laugh. Then I lock my legs tighter, and he groans in my ear, and it’s not a joke at all anymore.

Yet again, we’re risking getting caught or leaving our DNA at a crime scene, but I’m twisted enough that the danger stokes the fire in my blood, and I have to bite back the scream that threatens to tear from my throat as my orgasm burns through me.

Moments later, Gomez drops his head to my neck again and jerks his hips, coming with a shout that he buries against my skin as he coats the inside of his pants.

He’s still breathing hard when he mumbles into my ear, “Okay, but if I see a news report saying a woman was found dead at this address, I’m going to be so pissed.”

“At me?” I ask once my breathing’s steady enough. “I won’t care. I’ll be dead.”

“No.” He burrows even closer into me. “At myself. For letting you do this.”

Well. That’s enough of that. I use the leg that’s hooked around his ass and his boneless, blissed-out state to flip us over so I’m straddling him. And oh, look at that, my knife’s in my hand, the blade out and pressed under his chin.

“You’re not letting me do anything.” I’m pure ice as I stare down at him, my hand steady as I take care not to draw blood. “I did just fine before you, and I’ll do just fine when we stop doing… whatever this is. You’re not my boyfriend, you’re not my father, and I don’t need your permission. Got it?”

My knife moves with the bob of his throat as he swallows. “Got it,” he says hoarsely. And then I feel his cock twitch under my ass.

“Seriously?” I forget to modulate my voice and come out sounding a little too like myself. Dropping my pitch again, I say, “That gets you going again?”

“What can I say? I like a woman who takes charge.” Even though his face is almost entirely covered by a mask, I can picture the expression underneath: unrepentant, smirky, adorable.

Adorable? Fuck, I’ve got to get out of here.

I dismount, tuck away my blade, and offer him my hand. He doesn’t move for a long beat, his chest rising and falling as he composes himself. Then he reaches out and lets me help haul him up.