Our groins are aligned so well, I can feel how much she wants me. The knowledge tightens the front of my jeans to the point its painful, and it slicks my skin with sweat.
“Your taste is fading from my mouth, and I’ll be fucked if I can wait another two days to replenish it.” Her soundless moan… Fuck. Me. Hotter than sin. “Just a quick nibble. A little sample.” My lips crack when they arch into a grin to hide my lie. “I’ll even keep my tongue in my mouth.”
“I’m your attorney, Nikolai. Our interactions are crossing a very clear line we’re not supposed to cross,” Justine throws out, using her one and only excuse not to surrender to the electricity firing between us.
“You witnessed me stabbing a man without calling the authorities. The line has already been crossed.”
“Who said I didn’t call the police? I could have been doing that while you were seeking release in the shower.” She sounds more disappointed she missed the show than me holding her hostage in the pantry.
The heat on her cheeks double when I track my fingers down the vibrant red hue highlighting the column of her neck. “Do you know your neck flushes every time you lie?” I lock my eyes with hers. “Coincidently, it always happens when you deny my advances.”
“Who said it's a lie? Maybe I’m embarrassed at your pathetic attempts of schmoozing.”
I love a good fight as much as the next mobster, but there are some battles not even the most skilled killer wants to participate in.
This is mine.
“Is that what you want,Ahren? You want to be wined and dined? You want me to treat you like a princess?”
I sigh like a soft cock when Justine shakes her head.
Out of time, and perhaps a bit of patience, I ask, “Then what do you need,Ahren? Tell me what it’ll take to get another taste of you, and I’ll do it.” When her expression goes blank, I grind out, “Don’t play stupid. I know you want this as much as I do. I can feel it in my bones. Smell it in the air. Taste it on my lips.” I lick my lips, praying for a smidge of her mouth on mine, hopeful it will stop me reacting negatively to the desperation in my voice. I hate feeling weak. “I won’t stop until I have you beneath me, so tell me what you need so I can achieve that.”
All my annoyances vanish when Justine snickers. “A less dangerous job title.”
She’s lying—again—but before I can call her out on it, she slips under my arm and hot-foots it into the kitchen. I groan like I’m dying… because I am. Her hand hasn’t even been wrapped around my cock, yet it feels like she’s strangling it every time she denies my advances.
After weakening the sting hitting my crotch with a quick adjustment, I take off after Justine. I don’t have to travel far to find her. She’s removing the brunch the Popov housemaids prepared out of the oven while pretending the dampness of her panties isn’t the strongest aroma in the room.
When she spots me loitering at the side, she says, “During breakfast, I’d like to ask you some questions.”
“What type of questions?” I hate being interrogated, but if it keeps her in the same room as me, I can push aside my neurosis for an hour or two.
A breathless moan ripples Justine’s lips when I bob down to remove the dish from her hands. My soundless cross of the room isn’t to blame for her airy reply. It was from my pinkie finger seeking confirmation on the dampness between her legs.
As suspected, she’s wet for me.
While making my way to the dining nook, my strides as cocky as the wink I hit Justine with, she endeavors to cool the out-of-control fire roaring through her stomach from my meekest touch. I’m tempted to tell her not to bother, I have every intention to make her combust as often as possible once we’re away from prying eyes, but since I’m aware we’re being watched like a circus act, I keep my mouth shut.
I’m always cautious when hell is silent, because not only is Satan out seeking new recruits, he’s walking amongst the living.
My thoughts shift from one injustice to another when Justine says, “Some are pertaining to your case... Others are more personal.”
After gathering a set of plates and forks from the kitchen cabinet, she joins me at the dining nook. I fight a smile when she runs her thumb over the sharp prongs of the fork. A normal woman wouldn’t do that. They don’t test standard household equipment for their killing capabilities. Only someone with a little bit of black in their heart would do that.
When she dumps her fork onto the table, her question unanswered, I mutter, “Twenty-six seconds.”
She murmurs like she didn’t hear me. It is all an act. I spoke around a strip of bacon in my mouth, but I didn’t stumble my words. She just wants me to spell out what life will be like when she’s mine.
Once she’s seated across from me, I lower my eyes to her fork. “Twenty-six seconds. That’s how quickly I can kill a man with a fork.” I lift mine from the table, point it at my windpipe, then twist it. “If the strike doesn’t kill him, he’ll soon choke on his own blood.”
When Justine pushes her plate away from her, acting sickened, I laugh. Her face is as pure as an angel, but there are devilish thoughts in her eyes.
“No remorse at all?”
I shake my head. “No. The men I punish are villainous, vile men who deserve to die.”
“Kill, Nikolai. It’s not punishment when they’re dead,” Justine fights back.
