Page 203 of The ARC Unit: Breach

My stomach turned.

He opened and flipped the knife once in his hand, the steel catching the low light.

“Up.”

I hoisted myself onto the desk, the cool wood gripping the backs of my thighs through the cargo pants. He stepped between my legs, and I tilted my head back, remembering to keep his eyes.

“I’ve wanted to cut these off you since the first time you mouthed off.”

He tapped the flat of the blade against my hip.

“Hold still.”

I did not breathe as he positioned the tip of the knife at the hem of my shirt. A single sharp tug and the fabric split from my stomach to my collar with a sound like tearing paper. My shirt fell open, exposing the plain black bra beneath.

“Beautiful.” He ran his knuckles over the exposed line of my sternum.

The knife was laid aside long enough for him to work on my boots. He knelt, his hands cupping the heel of one boot while he pulled it free, then the other. My socks came next, wadded and dropped to the floor without ceremony. His fingers brushed the bare arch of my foot and I flinched.

Wolf got back on his feet and unsnapped my pants.

“Good?”

“Good,” I nodded.

He drew them down slowly, lifting my hips when he needed to, peeling the fabric over my thighs, my knees, my calves. Every inch of bare skin he exposed seemed to interest him more than the last.

“Do you know why I stayed on that fucking floor all night?”

I shook my head.

“Because you were in my bed wearing my shirt with nothing underneath it, Mercer. I’d already stood two feet away from you in that shower with one shitty curtain between us. Then you climbed into my bed half naked, and expected me to sleep beside you like I wasn’t thinking about exactly what was under that shirt.”

My breath caught.

His eyes stayed on mine.

“So I stayed on the floor.”

The pants slid off my ankles and joined the rest of my clothes. Now I lay before him in only the plain black bra and a pair of cotton panties already damp against the desk.

Neither of us had showered after Offenburg, and with warehouse dust still clinging to his gear and the mission still on my skin, being spread across his scarred office desk felt more primal than anything a clean bed could have offered.

He picked up the knife again. The blade touched my hip bone with the flat side first.

“You ever had a knife against your skin like this?”

“N-no.”

“Then don’t move.”

He dragged the flat of the blade across my lower belly, over the band of my underwear. The sensation was a thin line of cold that made my muscles jump beneath it. Then he turned the knife and hooked the tip beneath the cotton. A precise twist and the fabric tore at the seam, falling open to expose the wetness between my thighs.

“Fuck. You’re soaked already.”

I flushed.

“Don’t be shy now.” The blade moved higher, leaving a trail of goosebumps over my ribs. “Not after you just crawled across this floor and put my cock in your mouth.”