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“Do you happen to have a knife on you?” I ask huskily, and I’m not sure what he likes more—the question or my voice.
“I have half a dozen knives on me.”
Excitement ripples down my back. He could do anything with or to me right now. Probably even kill me, since he’s a Heathen King and nothing can touch him, the justice system least of all. With his training and background, I don’t think even Special Forces troops could take him down even if he didn’t have them all in his pocket already. I’m alone with a deadly warlord, and I can’t help but poke him like an exotic predator at the zoo.
“Take one out and cut the shirt off of you,” I order. “I want to see you naked under that leather jacket, and I want you to be dangerous while doing it.”
Keeping that dashing smirk on, he leans forward just enough to reach behind himself, his chest pushing into my knee. A metallic, hair-raising sound cuts the air, causing the skin to pebble all over my arms. His nostrils flare, as if he can smell my fear. Slowly, he brings forward a curved knife with a sharp blade and a leather hilt, which he holds out in front of me like a samurai. He’s allowing me a good look at it, and causing a lump to form in my throat.
He keeps those killer eyes on mine as he slowly reaches under his shirt until the tip of the blade peeks out at his neckline. I pull my knee back to give him some room. Then he sends the blade tearing through the fabric in one expert go.
I can barely hold back a gasp when the sides of his shirt crumple behind the lapels of his leather jacket, and that body is suddenly bared to me.
This man is just mouthwatering, his body forged in the cauldrons of hell, molded into temptation incarnate. No woman in her right mind could resist the pull of wanting to run her fingers over those athletic muscles, his skin like honey poured over rock. The urge to run my tongue along the defined contours of his pecs and his washboard abs is overwhelming. Instead, I run the pointing stick along his body, watching it go down the line between his pecs, then down his abdomen and then back again.
“What do you have, like six percent body fat?” I feel stupid a second after I’ve said it, and Micah doesn’t make it any easier when he lets loose velvety laughter.
“I didn’t think you were the kind of woman to care about such trivial matters, Ms. Brannan. Aren’t you wiser than this?”
“A woman who doesn’t marvel at your body isn’t wise,” I say calmly. “She’s just masquerading her hormonal dysfunction as virtue.”
He hisses as if my words turn him on, his chest pushing into my stick like he would against a gun.
“Yours is the only virtue I’m interested in,” he says, not in the least intimidated by the fact that I’m catching this on camera. “Do whatever you want with me, Professor.” His eyes darken with sin. “What you really want.”
My eyes slide shamelessly up and down his body until they rest on the large outline of his cock inside his pants. His bandaged fist rests loosely around it while his knife still hangs from his other hand, his chest exposed to me. He’s sitting in that chair with my high heel too close to his balls, daring me to have my way with him.
I let the stick drop, the slap against the floor resounding in the empty amphitheater-shaped room. Micah doesn’t so much as flinch, and he doesn’t break eye contact. He only lowers his gaze when I slowly trace my hand up my thigh toward my panties, hooking my fingers into them and slowly tugging them to the side.
His gaze heats up at the sight of my glistening, craving pussy. His tongue flicks out to lick those irresistible lips, his eyes locked on the triangle of hair that only enhances the perverted feel of the moment when my fingers trickle through it to part my lips for him, just the way he likes.
His attention on me with that knife in his hand is an aphrodisiac like no other. I remember having it at my throat the other night. The heat between us takes over my head, and I reach for his hair, threading my fingers through it. It’s soft and silky like I imagine his skin must be. I suppose I could go down and lick a trail down his body to the hair leading down into his waistband, then back up his abs and pecs to his neck, but I’d end up trying to kiss him. That’s when he’d probably draw away and push my head down, and I’d end up with his dick in my mouth, sucking him off and giving in to his dominance. Everything in him promises that he’s going to finish this on top anyway, so all I have is this moment to make him crazy with lust by the time we inevitably get there.
He leans forward, lust shadowing his features in a mesmerizing way. It takes all of my willpower to release his hair and brace my weight on my back leg—morning running workouts be blessed—-and plant my other high heel against his chest, pushing him back. His eyes flash up to mine.
“I’m going to need your hand here first, big boy,” I say huskily, calibrating my voice to match the look in his eyes. “Pleasure me with your fingers, and earn the right to finish me off with your mouth.”
I return my fingers to the lips of my pussy as I say that, watching him breathe faster. He raises his hand and tentatively strokes his fingers through my slit, slowly and softly, so at odds with his brutally good looks. I sigh at the touch, my hips rolling forward to meet him. It’s not lost on me how his other hand tightens around the hilt of his dagger, and I understand that he’s using it to anchor his lust before it clouds his head, too. My walls swell and pulse with the need to feel that big pierced dick inside me, but that’s not the plan for him today. The plan is to punish him for doing this to me for as long as I can.
But while I have every intention of giving him blue balls, I’m also determined to come all over his handsome face that has so many women drooling. So, when he sinks two fingers inside me without warning, I know he’s at the edge of control. I rock my hips harder, watching that sensual upper lip curl over his teeth in a hiss, his erect cock ready to tear through the fabric of his pants.
“How badly do you want a taste?” I tease, my skin heating up, sweat trickling down my spine.
His tongue flicks over his teeth, making him resemble a predator ready to tear into his prey, merely playing with it first. My fingers tangle in his hair as I angle the camera in such a way that it captures the look on his face, while the activity of his hand between my legs is merely hinted at.
“Come on, Professor, take advantage of me. We both know you want to.”
And there goes the last thread of control I was holding on to. My fingers curl in his hair while I angle the camera so it catches the moment when I move my foot from his chest to the side of his chair next to his thigh, so that I have access to his mouth. He leans in to meet me as I bring my pussy to his lips and, for a moment, his eyelids fall over his irises, giving him the enraptured look of a man tasting sugar after a long time of abstinence—or for the first time ever. The way his tongue strokes along my slit isn’t the way of an expert, but that of a man craving a mouthful. No woman in the world would resist the instinct-driven quality of it, the want.
I let out a moan, throwing my head back only for a moment before I return to watch him do that thing with his tongue again and again, the strokes intensifying. He only stops for a moment to look up at me with straightforward provocation.
“Fuck, woman, if I knew you tasted this good I would have done this right there against your apartment door. Or when I first watched you prance down the hallway a year ago. I sure fucking thought about it.”
I gasp, and he resumes licking me until he feasts like I’m his birthday cake.
A year.
He’s wanted me for a year?
