“Yeah, baby. The truth.” We’re cheek to cheek, and it reminds me of when she was gazing over my shoulder at my stupid fucking panda bear. “How many?”
Her breaths are coming in quick pants and I slow my movements, lazily dragging my hips back and forth, way too lost in the feel of the soft pressure of her pussy walls wrapped around me. But I don’t release her face. I keep her cheeks gripped between my fingers and force myself to focus on why I came here—even if I’m now balls deep in a murderer.
“How. Many?” I bare my teeth against the side of her head, the fingers of my other hand digging into the flesh of her ass. “How many, Stark?”
“I’m going to come,” she cries, arching her neck against my grip.Fuck.So am I, and that’s so fucking twisted.
Releasing her face, I push her forward and pull out even though I don’t want to, even though I know Ishouldwant to. The head of my dick tickles her entrance, and I just barely push inside before pulling out again.
“Tell me,” I demand. She glances over her shoulder at me, honey eyes sparkling, full lips spread in a smile. The whole look is somewhere between an annoyed glare and devious amusement. I move my fingers to her core, letting them disappear inside her slick center before pulling them out and rubbing circles against her slippery, sensitive clit. She moans at the touch,her face falling forward again as her hips buck against my fingers. “Tell me how many people you’ve killed and I’ll let you come.”
There’s a long pause. A heavy silence that falls around us, penetrated only by the sound of my fingers sliding against her clit and her desperate mews.
“Does it matter?” she wonders aloud, her voice breathy.
No.“Yes.”
And then it happens. A whisper. One syllable. “Ten.”
I slide my dick back inside her, gripping her hips in my hands and slamming against her ass until she’s screaming and her fingers are turning white from clawing at the countertop, crumpling the grey paper. Until my jaw is clenched so tight I can feel the muscle in my cheek straining.
It’s the confirmation that flows through me, grabbing hold of my orgasm and flying through every inch of my body as my come ribbons out of me and into her.
I’ve always been right.She’s dangerous.
Her pussy twitches around my cock as she comes, too, and I fist her hair in my hand, wrenching her neck backward and keeping my pace inside her until her moans quiet and her body starts to sag.
In a few swift movements, I release her, tuck myself back into my pants, and pull my handcuffs out, snapping one around her wrist and the other around the kitchen drawer handle in front of her.
I have her right where I’ve always wanted her.
Now I just need to figure out what to do with her.
28
Colin
Itake a few steps back, taking her in as she turns to me. Her hair is messy, the skin of her chest red and splotchy. But her eyes are glittering as she stares over at me. Her red lips are parted and her tongue traces a slow line across her bottom lip. Her hands are trembling, and I’m so fucking thankful for some hint that she’s actually human. That she feelssomething. I can’t tell if she’s nervous or terrified, but the confirmation that she’s not a robot who’s constantly faking every emotion pangs at something in my chest. Something I’m afraid to inspect too closely.
She eyes the silver cuff on her wrist, and then me.
“What did you think was going to happen?” My words are so bland, so absent of emotion, that they surprise even me. I lean my body back against the fridge, suddenly afraid I won’t be able to continue holding myself upright.
“You’re not perfect,” she says quietly, holding my stare with such ferocity it almost scares me.
“I don’tmurderpeople!” The words assault my throat on their way out like they’re punishing me for punishing her. My hands ball into painfully tight fists at my side. I want to turn around and grip the handle of this refrigerator and rip it from its cubby in the wall. The storm of anger in my chest threatens to explode out of me and paint itself all over the walls. I can feel the furious tapping of my pulse against the skin of my neck.
“No. Just stalk.” Her voice is light, taunting, and she nods toward the garage. My gaze follows the movement until it clicks what she’s talking about.The GPS trackers.I force myself to swallow, and she doesn’t continue until I face her again. “Spy.” A nod toward the camera in the leaves at the top of the cupboards. “Assault.”
“I never assaulted you, Chloe.” The laugh that sounds from her mouth is toxic. Too tight.
“I guess it depends on who you ask. Me?” The cuffs jingle when she attempts to use her chained hand to point at herself. “I wouldn’t say so. But your captain? He might.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you threatening me?”
“No!” The drawer snaps open when her wrist tugs at the handle. She closes her eyes, sucks a slow, deep breath through her nostrils, and then pushes it out her lips and finds my stare again. “I’m trying to get you to understand that…we’re the same.”
“Thesame?” I close the distance between us, forcing her body against the hard edge of the counter and meet her glare with mine. I can’t resist gripping her jaw in my hand again, tipping her head back and bringing her lips closer to mine.
