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“Y-you’re... m-m-m-aking me nerv-vous.”
I can’t even be an asshole with this chick. The line between hate and murder, that’s thin. The one between innocence and sin, thin. But the one between crazy and liking it? Surprisingly, also thin. “Are you trying to die tonight, Doc?”
She shakes her head again. The sweet scent increases with the intensity of her denial. “No. I don’t wantyouto kill me.”
That, she says clearly.
Easing up a bit, I lean a couple inches back to glance around the room, then put some distance between us because my dick is currently in a predicament.
A sensitive one.
There seems to be some kind of miscommunication between my upper half and bottom half, some kind of misinterpretation causing the blood flow to redirect itself to one organ and not supply my brain with oxygen.
Thinking is what I need to do right now, searching and finding so I can get the hell out of here before the Portuguese mob realizes I’m not dead. Fucking the stutter out of this chick isn’t an option.
“Let’s try this a different way.” I tuck the probe between the cushions and back the fuck up. This girl is a mind fuck in every sense of the word, along with a few other words that rattle my brain and contradict each other in one way or another.
Thief. Hero.
Sexy. Liar.
Gorgeous. Freak.
Strange.
Yes, mostly strange. That’s the one that defines her. And the fact that I like how her entire body serves as punctuation— curves like a question mark— what does that say of me?
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I bring my gaze back toward the shelf she clings to, still in the same exact position as I left her in. Terrified and turned on. The terrible T’s of a tease.
Tying her up while I scour through every spot, could take me days. And she looks like the type of girl who likes that. “What am I going to do with you, Doc—”
Her iceberg eyes find me, heavy and hooded. “Neve,” she whispers. “My name is Neve.”
Snow. “Not exactly the kind I was looking for.” But the possibilities of ripping her clothes off and conducting a full cavity search entices me.
“Don’t call me Doc.”
“You’re not in a position to make any kind of demand.”
Mostly because... I’m already thinking of a fewpositionsto put her in.
“When you call me Doc...” She releases her hands and twists her body to face me. The roundness of her eyes thins out at the edges, turning them into a horizontal tear-shape. “It reminds me of someone, reminds me that I’m a failure.”
I snort and rub my forehead, not because of the obvious, but because her disappointment in herself irks me. It doesn’t belong there. I don’t fucking want it there.
“Neve...” the words forming in my brain burn a hole in my throat. Saying them goes against my better judgement, but my life is on the line. Hell, hers too. My father doesn’t like to lose, and he most definitely doesn’t like to be made a fool.
“Yeah?” she says, still on her knees, the couch beneath her contorting at her weight. It’s a gust of lust she sends my way, not air. Not a fresh supply of reason. There’s a lot less of it since we came in here.
Within seconds, I’m at her backside, not caring that my dick speaks contrary to my drive. Her breaths are ragged, dragging along the bottom of her throat, almost in a light growl—like a puppy in a fight with a wolf. She has no idea what she’s asking for, who she’s asking for it with.
I’m not Mama Rosa’s son; I’m the heir to a massive black market. The river between the normal and the criminal.
“S-t-y-x.” Every enunciated letter takes an effort to hit the air; kick starting my mind. I like that she fears me, like that she’s aroused by that fear. Kind of twisted seems to be my favorite type of girl.
“Failing is the least of your worries right now, Neve.”
“I know,” she purrs.
