“Good. Now be quiet. I need to make you come.”
My pulse surges. “We’ll be late for work.”
“I’ll write you a note for your boss. Oh, wait.” He smiles. “I am your boss. Your tardiness is excused, Ms. Sanders.”
Without waiting for a reply, he cups my breasts and pushes them together, then starts to lavish my hard nipples with his tongue.
I squirm underneath him and try my best to be quiet as he chuckles, amused by my restlessness, his mouth full of my flesh.
Against my skin, he whispers, “I wonder how wet your pussy is?”
“Very.”
“Already?”
“Yes. She’s a shameless hussy where you’re concerned.”
“Show me.”
I slide my hand between my legs, dip my fingers inside myself, then lift my hand to his mouth. Looking into my eyes, he sucks on my fingertips.
“Delicious. Get that hand back between your legs.”
Closing his eyes, he turns his attention back to my breasts as I touch myself again. I glide my fingertips over my sensitive clit and whimper. When he tests my nipple with his teeth again, I moan.
It seems to snap some self-control he’s been exercising. With a growl, he moves down my body, knocks my hand away, spreads my thighs, puts his face between my legs, and licks my exposed pussy with a flat tongue. Then he flicks the tip of it back and forth over my clit until I’m moaning loudly and pulling at his hair.
“Don’t come yet. Save it for my cock.”
He slides two fingers inside me and goes back to licking my clit.
Breathless, my skin burning, I rock my hips against his face and watch his tongue move. He reaches up and pinches one of my nipples, sending a pulse of pleasure spreading outward until it connects with the pleasure already pulsing between my legs.
I tip my head back against the pillow and close my eyes, abandoning any thought of trying to figure out what’s going on with him because he’s making me feel too good to care.
When I’m moaning loudly and bucking my hips helplessly against his face, seconds from orgasm, he withdraws his fingers from inside me.
“My sweet, greedy girl,” he says, his voice rough. “Open your eyes.”
As soon as I do, I get even more turned on. His mouth and chin glisten with my wetness. He licks his lips, and that simple gesture is so sexy, it makes my heart flutter.
Eyes hot, he straightens, rising to his knees. He takes his erection in his hand and strokes it as he looks me over, his heated gaze caressing my entire body.
He stares at me so long, I start to get self-conscious.
“What?”
“I just like looking at perfection. Spread your legs wider.”
I do, loving how it makes the vein in his neck jump. Staring down at my pussy, he slides his finger over the slit on the head of his cock, spreading the gleaming drop of precum all around.
His shaft is stiff and veined. I can’t wait for him to shove it inside me.
“That look will get you fucked hard, pretty girl.”
“Hopefully soon,” I whisper, my pulse flying.
“And that mouth will get you spanked.”
“I can think of a better use for it.” I bite my lower lip and flutter my lashes coyly.
Smiling, he crooks a finger. I sit up and scooch closer to him, taking his hard cock in my hand. He threads a hand into my hair as I close my lips around the crown of his cock and start sucking.
When I take him as far as I can until I gag, he tightens his fingers in my hair and releases a gravelly chuckle.
“I see someone’s looking for a promotion.”
I suck, lick, and stroke his cock until he’s panting and his hands are shaking. When he moans, I know he’s close.
He pulls my head back and stares down at me for a long moment, his chest rising and falling, his eyes unblinking and intense. His voice comes out in a rasp.
“What do I do with you?”
I know what he means. He’s still fighting with himself, and with every second that passes, he’s losing the fight.
So I gaze up into his tortured eyes and say softly, “Keep me. Love me. Make me yours.”
His lids flutter closed. For a long moment, I’m not sure what he’ll do. I sit watching him with my heart in my throat and my stomach in knots, wondering if I’ve pushed him too far.
But then he falls on me, crushing his mouth to mine and pushing me flat against the mattress, and the elation that burns through me is so bright and blistering, it’s like being burned alive.
With one powerful thrust, he shoves into me.
I cry out and shudder. He lifts to his elbows and tangles his fingers in my hair.
“Be careful what you wish for, baby. And if I ever say I love you, be afraid. Because my love isn’t soft. It isn’t pretty. It’s the monster hiding under your bed in the dark.”
Then he fucks me hard and deep, staring into my eyes as I moan and beg him for more.
When I orgasm, it’s with my fingernails sunk into the muscles of his back and his name on my lips, chanted over and over like a prayer.
Cole
I drop Shay at her apartment so she can change into work clothes, giving her a lingering kiss at the door. Then I head to the office feeling lighter than I have in years.
And more conflicted.
I know I’m not a good partner. I’m moody, secretive, and unpredictable. I’ve been told I’m generous, I’ve been told I’m a good lover, but I’ve never been told I’m kind.
Because I’m not. Kindness is a weakness for men in my line of work.
But that’s exactly what a woman like Shay needs. Along with all the other things I can’t provide her: stability, openness, patience. The list is long.
And what if she wants children?
I can see it now, an adorable mini version of Shay in middle school with a mouth like her mother’s when someone asks what her daddy does for work.
“Oh, he does stuff with money during the day. But at nighttime, he goes out and kills people! So don’t make me mad or I’ll tell him you pushed me off the monkey bars. Your body will never be found.”
Leading a double life is only workable when nobody else knows what you’re up. Add a wife into that mix, add kids…
Disaster.
The only viable option is to give one or the other up. Which I’ve been fine with so far. I’ve shaped my life around solitude and secrecy, but Shay makes me want all kinds of things I’ve never wanted before.
She makes me want to be better.
Which is problematic, considering I already know this is the best I’ll ever get.
I’m under no misconceptions that I’m salvageable. I’m rotten to the core. Nobody does what I do and finds redemption, no matter how much I believe that ridding the world of fiends like Dylan and Theresa’s husband is for the greater good.
So why the fuck would I think that Shay and I could make it work?
That bastard hope is playing mind games with me, that’s why.
So is that stupid goddamn book she loves so much. Nobody but an incurable romantic would think going through hell for half a century waiting for your one true love’s husband to die so you can be together is anything but a horror story.
Love in the Time of Cholera my ass. It should be called Idiots Mistaking Insanity for Romance.
I think I’ll burn my copy.
Fate decides this is a good teachable moment for me and sends me a ghost from my past in the form of a phone call.
I look at the number on the touch screen of my dashboard and tense. I hesitate before answering, because I already know this will be tough.
“Hello, Kiyoko.”
“I know we said we’d only communicate through Axel from now on, but I needed to talk to you.”
Her voice is soft and melodic. An image of her face flashes into my mind’s eye. Black hair and pale skin, bow-shaped lips and high cheekbones.
Dark, haunted eyes.
“What’s the matter?”
She exhales. “I miss you.”
I hate how sad she sounds. We haven’t seen each other in months, and our relationship was strained for a long time before that, but it doesn’t mean I want her to be unhappy.