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When he pushed her legs apart, a dry ache blossomed in the back of her throat. The first touch of his tongue made her reach desperately for her wine and take such a deep drink that her cheeks flushed and her head spun.
It had been a while. She wouldn’t let herself think about why, or about how much it hurt being treated like a filthy inconvenience, just as she couldn’t let herself look at the dark head between her legs. But when he kissed her, lightly grazing her labia with his teeth, her clit throbbed so intensely that everything went white-hot.
“Just like I remember,” he breathed.
A sob left her throat. “Pleasedon’t say that.”
He looked at her, face unreadable. Then he shifted, and his tongue swirled over her clit, making her jump. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her down and keeping he prone as he tongued her with a casual indolence that bordered on cruel. No, this didn’t hurt, not like his fingers had, but the pleasure swelling through her had the same capacity to wound.
(Maybe you get off on seeing other people bleed)
She jumped when her phone rang, blaring loud music. Rafe’s hand tightened on her thighs. Only one now. She tried not to think about what the other one was doing.
“Pick it up,” he said, breath tickling. “It might be important.”
“While you’re—no! Absolutely not.”
“Pick it up,” he said. “Or I might find myself feeling considerably less discreet the next time we’re out in public.”
The sound that came out of her mouth didn’t sound nearly as angry as she wanted. He sounded just unhinged enough to do exactly what he was threatening, and her hand shook as she grabbed for the phone, missing it on the first try. “H-hello?”
She wanted to curl up with shame at the way her voice sounded, but the man on the other end seemed completely unbothered. “Hello. I’m looking for Mr. Nicastro. Is he there?”
Rafe?His lips closed over her clit and her thighs quivered. And then she realized— “Oh. I’m sorry,” she choked out, “but he . . . recently passed. I’m his widow.”
Rafe growled when her fingers twisted in his thick hair. The sound vibrated through her in a shower of sparks like someone strumming a livewire.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, ma’am. This is A to Z PO Boxes. Your husband received some packages before his, uh, death. We were trying to contact him since he hadn’t picked them up.”
“I didn’t even know he had a PO box,” Donni said faintly.
“Yes, he signed up for it fairly recently. About three months ago.”
“Oh.” Donni gripped the phone tighter. “Oh god.”
“With all due respect ma’am, you sound rather upset. I hate to trouble you. We’ll be more than happy to hold onto the packages for a little while until you feel up to getting them.”
Donni closed her eyes. “N-no. That’s okay. I’ll swing by today.”
“It’s up to you, Mrs. Nicastro. I’ll make sure my employees know you’ll be coming.”
“Oh, you will be,” Rafe muttered, and when she gave his hair another vicious yank, he tongued her so vigorously that she had to hold the phone away from her mouth.
“Thank you for . . . being so understanding.” She hung up before the moan that had been building up in her throat could escape. “You fuckingcreep.”
Rafe bore down on her then, a full assault of lips and tongue. The phone fell from her fingers as she came, a splintering cry tearing from her throat. He laughed, before rising to his knees and kissing his way back up her body and covering her mouth with his.
“My beautiful muse,” he said, impressing the words against her lips. “My raven. My sultry siren of the night. You can try to play me all you want, but I’ll make you fold every time.”
“You’re crazy.”
He nipped her gently. “Only with wanting you.”
Donni yanked her clothes back into place as she turned her head to the side, breaking contact between them. She grabbed her bra off the floor and stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “I’m going to the package delivery place. Alone.”
“Suit yourself.” He leaned back against the desk. “Just remember, the killer’s still out there.”
“Maybe you’re the killer,” she said, before she could stop herself.
