Page 39 of Untamed Sinner

38

HENDRICKS

Istay in the basement secure room like a coward, telling myself I had work to do. Messages to sort through. Files to organize. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off the fact that Mandy's upstairs in my house.

It's a lie. I don't have work. I have avoidance.

By 2300, I can't pretend anymore. I kill the lights, lock the vault door, and head upstairs.

I hear her before I see her.

The sound is quiet—controlled even—but unmistakable. A soft exhale. The rhythm of movement that makes my entire body go rigid.

Frowning, I look down the hall and see a slice of light. Her door is open three inches, and I know it’s not an accident. Mandy doesn't make mistakes like that.

I should walk away, but I don't. Instead, I go to her doorway and look inside.

She's in the chair by the window, completely naked. Her breasts are raspberry-tipped, her nipples hard and red and biteable. Her legs are spread, one foot braced on the floor for leverage, her other leg flung over the padded arm. Her hand moves between her thighs with the same precision she uses to field-strip a weapon—efficient and focused. The mechanics are obvious—she knows exactly what she needs and how to get it. Beautiful in a way that makes my cock throb against my zipper.

She knows I'm here.

I can tell by the way her breathing changes—still controlled, but sharper now. Aware.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is steady. Not surprised or embarrassed. Just excited.

"Watching.” I lean against the doorframe. “Like you wanted me to.”

Her hand doesn't stop moving. "Maybe I just wanted some air."

"You wanted me to see you."

Her head falls back, her neck arched. "Maybe."

I cross my arms, trapping my hands against my sides. My shoulders are locked, tension radiating down my spine. Every muscle in my body is rigid with the effort of staying where I am. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to cross that threshold. I don't—not physically.

Verbally? That’s a different matter. "You know what this is, Amanda? You're fucking yourself and thinking about me doing it."

The use of her full name makes her breath hitch. I see it in the way her chest rises, the way her fingers slow for just a second before resuming their rhythm. "Maybe," she says again.

My jaw clenches so hard I feel it in my teeth. "Definitely."

Her teeth flash in the dim light. "You’re thinking about it too."

I am. I want to offer to take over, to have my tongue replace her fingers, but I control my breathing and rein it in. This won’t be about me, as much as she wants to bait me. "Tell me what you want."

Her eyes lock on mine. Dark. Hungry. "You."

My cock surges. "Doing what?"

"Coming in here, watching me, just like you are now." Her hand moves faster, and I can see the flush spreading across her chest, the way her thighs start to tremble. "Then you'd stop being so fucking controlled and touch me."

I let the silence stretch between us—let her feel the weight of what she's asking for. "Where would I touch you first?"

"My mouth," she says, her voice huskier now. "You'd kiss me until I couldn't breathe. Then you'd kneel between my legs and kiss my pussy until I scream."

Heat spreads through my chest and pools in my groin. My cock throbs against my zipper, thick and insistent. I have to force myself to stay still, to keep my voice level. "You want my mouth on you?"

"Yes."