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“Because I took it. How do I know which name is real?”
“I gave you cash, Mack. And I can pay whatever it costs. Or hell, keep the damn car and point me to the nearest bus station.”
He stares at me and laughs, shaking his head. “You’re going to get on a bus?” Mack comes in close. “None of this is the point.”
Our mouths are so close, and even through the anger, I want him. “What is?”
“I was going to play it cool because playing hardball doesn’t work. But cool isn’t fuckin’ happening either.” He takes a step closer, and our bodies brush, a pure shot of adrenaline races through me. “Talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Bullshit,” he says, taking my face in one big hand. His touch is firm but gentle, and I’m more turned on than I ever should be.
I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to talk, but there’s so much energy in me, energy that flares when he’s around and I push into him. When he doesn’t let me go, I pull his face to mine, and I kiss him.
He doesn’t resist. At all. Instead, he kisses me back, hard and deep. It’s a fight of a kiss, a rolling, punching, erotic kiss, one that holds all my anger, fear, the worry that only this man can make me whole, and the fact I’m lying to him, even if it’s by omission.
My thoughts start to fragment as that angry kiss boils into pure fire and need. He lets go of my face to rip at my clothes, and I do the same to him.
But he pushes my hands away. Instead, he undoes my jeans and shoves his hand in, his fingers sliding over the slickness there. He rubs the folds of my lips, then plunges two fingers into me, slamming me against the wall as he finger fucks me hard and fast, knowing exactly what he’s doing.
I’m a maelstrom of need, pleasure, and frustration. He’s holding me near the edge of release, a taunt. Then he brings me right up, his thumb a rough whisper over my clit, making me cry out in need.
He slows right down now, denying me that orgasm, and I hate him. I push at him, but he doesn’t let me go as he starts to kiss and lick my throat, driving me crazy all over again. My glasses steam, and I shut my eyes, hands on him because I can’t do anything but hold on, can’t do anything but let him touch, tease, provoke, and deny.
He’s the type who’ll do anything, and if he finds out what I saw, what happened, even though it’s not much, he’ll risk himself for me. I know it. This isn’t about love or something like that. He’s not going to fall for someone like me, but he likes me, he cares, and that’s enough.
Oh God, if he doesn’t let me come, I’m going to go mad.
“You like this, Princess?” He pushes his fingers in slowly.
I moan. Thrusting my hips at him as best I can with his hand in my jeans and panties, fingers inside me. I’m trapped in more ways than one. “Yes.”
“And this?” He curls his fingers, rubbing and pressing on the little pleasure center in me that blooms with delightful pressure and urges I need fulfilled. He pulls those fingers down, almost out, only to slowly thrust back up.
Over and over, he does this. A maddening attack, exquisite torture, and my legs are completely boneless.
“Yesss.”
“Well, sweet Sidney James Novak Thompson, here’s the deal. Talk, and you get off. Refuse, and you’re down an orgasm, and we’re done.”
I swallow. I-I can’t. If there’s even the tiniest chance of danger, I can’t do that to him, his family, to London.
“It’s done.” My voice is scratchy and thick.
“Okay.”
Mack pulls out his hand, and the loss is a physical hurt. Like being punched. Not that he did it rough or aimed to cause pain. No, this is the kind of psychological pain that feels physical.
He starts to step away, and my legs crumple.
Only through sheer will I manage to straighten.
I grab him. “Mack, please. I didn’t mean that. I just . . . I just don’t want you to put yourself in danger, if there is any.”
His expression is stony.
“I used Vic’s last name when I booked the room.” I look down at the floor for a moment and then back at him. “But that’s not what you meant, is it?”
