Page 46 of Ricochet

Lies. “Yeah? Then, why did you have the fucking blueprints tucked in your purse? Devil’s Night plans safe and sound, beside your goddamn lipstick and compact.”

Her chest rose and fell as I kept her captive against the wall, her stare deadpan. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.” I pressed harder, lips to her ear. “I fucking hate liars,” I whispered, inciting a shudder in her that brought a smile to my face. “Why did you have the chip?”

“I stole it.”

“You stole it.” I wanted to laugh at the stupidity of such a thought, but my voice lacked any ounce of humor or inflection. “I don’t think you did, Pistol Lips. I think he gave it to you. His little pet.”

“I fucking hate you.” Venom laced her words as she stared back at me, those golden eyes blazing with vehemence.

I licked my lips and glanced down at her pert breasts, and smiled. Squeezing her captured wrists with one hand, I reached up under her dress, only grazing the patch of lace that kept my finger from being inside of her, knowing everything she was too stubborn to admit.

Her lids turned heavy, as drunken eyes riveted on my lips.

“Tell me how much you hate me.”

“Don’t,” she warned, and I caught the scrape of her tongue across her teeth.

Grabbing a handful of hair, I tugged her head back until her neck stretched taut, and like a creature of night, I wanted to bite down into that supple flesh and rip her throat out. Dragging my tongue along her shoulder, I made my way to the base of her neck and bit her collarbone. She let out a gasp and I released her wrists. Lust blazed through my veins, when her fingers tangled in my hair and her leg curled around my hip, drawing me against her.

“You know what, Aubree? I fucking hate you, too, but goddamn … you taste so good.”

Hell was having her skin against mine and craving her so badly I wanted to crawl out of my own body.

I needed more. Needed to twist her around, tear away her panties, and slam into her with the wrath of a thousand nights of pain. She needed to feel my rage and madness, what kept me teetering on the edge for three long years.

Yanking the front of her dress popped both revoltingly beautiful tits from their confines, and when my tongue found her nipple, her nails dug into my scalp. I reached up into her dress, rubbed a finger across her wet pussy, then bunched up the thin fabric of her panties and tore them away.

“You’re a rotten bastard, Nick, but you … fuck!” She squirmed, as my finger curved higher, nailing the sweet spot.

Gripping tight to her ass, I pressed her against the front of my jeans, where my starving dick nearly blasted through the zipper to get to her.

With a quick spin, I had her facing away, cheek to wall, and without a word, she angled her ass high and smacked her palms flat on either side of her.

I dug my fingers into the soft, supple flesh of her hips, and buried my nose in her hair, inhaling the faint smell of her perfume.

Arched into me, ass grinding in a slow, hypnotic wave against my already-hardened dick, she released a seductive purr that hit my spine like a tuning fork. Her long brown hair spilled in fountains that would look beautiful caught in my fist.

She had no idea what she’d unleashed. No going back. I had one objective in mind, and I didn’t think she realized I was already halfway there.

Knotting my fingers in her hair, I tugged her head back and put my mouth to her ear. “What do you want, Aubree? You want me to pin you to this wall and fuck you senseless?”

“I’m already senseless if I’ve let you go this far.”

“An answer. Now. Do you want this?” I cinched her hair tighter. “Just know, if you choose to be fucked, there’s no going back.”

“Do it.”

“Do it? You wanted this all along, didn’t you? You wanted me damn near groveling for a piece of you, so you could dig your claws in like every other bastard you’ve manipulated, that it?” I licked the shell of her ear. “Guess what? I’m going to fuck you, Aubree. But this isn’t about you besting me in your little game. In the end, I still walk away.”

I lifted her dress and everything inside of me came to a screeching halt.

On the lower part of her back, just above her ass, a wide, angry scar spelled out one word. WHORE.

Through heaving breaths, I stared down at the ugliness that’d been branded on her for life. Repulsive, cruel branding, like fucking cattle. I’d almost hate-fucked a woman who’d clearly been a victim of hate herself, and my stomach sank at the thought. Because the reality stared back at me, in five sharply carved, maliciously-seared letters, completely crumbling the fantasy I’d conjured where Aubree Culling was as much a villain as her husband.

I brushed my thumb lightly across the raised flesh, and her body planked.