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“Why not?”
“Because I just might.” He reaches down between us, tugs down my panties, rubs his fingers over my seam. “Take you as I want. Think I’m allowed to do whatever I desire.”
“You are.” I gulp as he parts my folds, presses a fingertip into me. “You should.”
“You call the shots, Pax. You pay.”
“I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want…” I clamp my mouth shut before I say more. Crap.
Don’t want him to do this because it’s his job. Want him to do it because he really wants me. And how screwed up is that? It is his job. How can he be anything else but an escort I am paying for sex?
He stills, his gaze searching. Whatever it is he sees on my face, it sends shadows flitting through his eyes. “Okay.”
That’s all.
But his finger breaches me, presses into me deeper, and I moan, pleasure zapping across my nerve endings. I clutch at his arms, his shoulders, my fingers digging into his solid muscles. He strokes me, in and out, in and out, until I can’t do anything but writhe, clenching around his finger, coming in great shudders that rock me to my soul.
God. Oh shit. I hiss out his name as I ride the aftershocks, and he’s still stroking, still fucking me with his finger.
His eyes look almost black in the half-light when he finally pulls it out of me, and his expression is so intense, it might have scared me if I wasn’t a boneless pool of satisfaction on the sofa.
“Riot.” Have to stop and draw more air to speak, my heart racing. “You.”
His lips quirk, and some of the previous intensity fades from his gaze. “Me what?”
“I want you.”
He smiles, dips his head, dark hair falling in his eyes. Says nothing.
I sit up slowly. My panties are still on, as is my bra. I tug down the straps and reach behind me to unclasp it. One final pull and it’s off, letting my breasts bare.
“Hot damn, Pax…” He’s staring at my breasts like he can’t get enough. His hands cover them, toying with my nipples, and how can I want more when I’m still feeling the orgasm he just gave me? “Take off your pretty panties.”
I freeze for a second. He’s still holding my breasts, teasing them, building my arousal. He lowers his face to them, licks and suckles, and the pressure rises between my legs.
Can’t believe how I need to feel him inside of me. I push down my panties, wiggling out of them, and I’m naked, while he’s still in his pants and biker boots.
He likes that fact, apparently, as he draws back, his hands still kneading my breasts, his hot gaze raking over me.
“Goddamn pretty,” he whispers. “Can’t believe you’re here. I missed touching you. Holding you. I just can’t…”
His face twists again, and this time he looks away and rocks back on his heels.
Hiding from me.
What’s going on? The unease from earlier on returns full-force.
“Riot. What happened? Please tell me.”
“I told you, nothing happened.”
“You’re lying.”
The accusation hangs between us like a storm cloud, dark and heavy.
He makes a small noise in the back of his throat and turns to sit on the sofa, swinging his legs off. He props his elbows on his knees and buries his hands in his hair.
He looks...lost. Battered. Exhausted. Worry tightens my chest.
