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“Guys.” She corrected. “It was two of them, and they are both serving time in prison.”
“Ah, so justice was served.”
The dark curls drifted away before he could capture them, as she faced him. “Was it justice? Justice is not always prison. Sometimes the streets have better ways of getting rid of scum.”
She was perfect for him. Only she didn’t know it. Most of the time, she was a friendly, outgoing college student. Then she’d say or do something, like whipping a dagger from a lipstick tube and slicing a man’s throat, and he knew. Just knew that in a battle, she was the one he’d want on his side. A street fighter.
His brows pulled together. “How did you get the knife on board the plane?” Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, sliding closer to the edge of the bed. “Who had it custom-made for you? Who taught you how to slit a throat with it? Who are you?”
“You know who I am. I’m Jessalyn Hernandez.”
His nostrils flared, and her eyes widened when he gripped her chin and jerked her head up. “Jessalyn Ismailov. Say it.”
She snatched her head out of his grasp, her eyes shooting daggers, which he ignored. “Fine, Ismailov. Satisfied.”
“Not yet. Who did you call on the phone?”
Her harsh intake of breath pierced the hope, building in his heart. Secrets, so many secrets. “I can’t tell you. Why can’t you trust me?”
“You sneak through my home, rifle through my things, and make a secret phone call in the middle of the night, and you wonder why I don’t trust you.”
“Tonight, you asked me to trust you, and I did. And I have no more reason to trust than you do. Especially when just hours earlier you’d threatened to tie me to your bed and keep me as, and I quote here; ‘your cock slave’.”
“Would that be so bad?”
She sat up. Pounding her fists against the mattress before kicking her feet off the bed and sliding to the edge. “We’re done here.”
His eyes widened. She wasn’t serious. Couldn’t be. “Do you imagine you run things in this bedroom? You are not done until I say you’re done.”
He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back to the center. Pushing her down and leaning over her.
“I will fight you this time.” Her eyes glared at him, but they were already lit with golden desire.
“Will you? I am curious to see this. Go ahead and fight as much as you want. While I eat my dessert. I’ve worked up my appetite again.”
He swung her legs wide and lowered his shoulders between them. Kissing the top of her mound. Glorying in the soft curls shielding her desire, before meeting her eyes.
“Please don’t hold back.” He arched his eyebrow and grinned. “The fighting, that is…”
She balled her fists and wrapped her legs around his shoulders. Arching her back when he started gnawing on the lips protecting her pussy. Squeezing her butt cheeks and lifting herself higher. Commanding him to suck the nectar, once again dripping from her honeypot.
She didn’t lift a pinky finger in her fight. Instead, she waved her white flag and surrendered. Again… and again.
* * *
Eat dove, you need your strength.” He took the pita bread, dipped it in the warm lebna, and brought it to her lips. She’d just tried the breakfast delicacy from his homeland and declared she loved it. He’d only shared his cooking skills with family and his men before. But his dick approved every time she took a bite from his hands and licked her lips over another morsel.
“Stop Sanyet, you’re stuffing me.”
“Did I not tell you that men love curves? Plus, I want you to keep up your strength.”
“So you can drain it.”
“Of course.”
“Well, if I’m too stuffed, I’ll have to go to bed…”
“That is the plan.”
