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This is pure Jac. The bombastic nature, the best of the best. The fact she’s beautiful.
Jac would hire MG Rossi.
There’d be no one else for him.
The fact she just walked in here? And is fucking drop dead gorgeous with the world’s finest, sweetest tasting cunt?
If I didn’t fucking hate that piece of shit Jac Miller, I’d buy a hat just so I could take it off to him.
She’s gorgeous and perfect and dangerous.
She’s also naked in my study where…well, I know what the fuck she was up to, and now I know why she’s been following me.
Pity. Because I didn’t lie to her about the magnetic pull between us.
I want her with a desperation I haven’t felt in years. Maybe never.
To make matters even more complicated, I think I want her more now I’ve sampled her.
I get up, pull her hair to hold her against the wall, and then I kiss her again.
Last time it was all about the seduction.
This time it’s about the claiming.
I kiss her hard and deep, bordering on violent. She moans into my mouth and kisses me back, her tongue seeking mine. It’s a fucking glorious battle, a prelude to sex, because I know, then and there, I’m going to have her.
She’s magic, her mouth, tongue, her taste. She makes a man want to devour, to beg, to coax her secrets out. She’s the heat of passion and the sin of sex and whiskey. She’s the sweetness of a woman and her own particular, compelling, taste.
Each kiss makes me want more.
I want to fuck her against the wall, on the floor, from behind. I want to handcuff her and make her worship my cock.
Mark her as mine.
Break her apart.
Claim her soul.
She’s pure desire and the kiss devolves down into itself. Tongues, lips, teeth, wet heat, and sighs.
“Fuck,” I say, breaking the kiss.
My breath heaves and so does hers. I’ve got one hand in her hair and the other back between her thighs, and she’s rocking on my fingers. I didn’t…shit. I didn’t even notice my hand wanted another taste of her other heaven.
“Is—Is this your interrogation technique?” The whisper of her voice holds a thick and heavy haze.
Her mouth is not even an inch from mine, her breath warm and sweet. “It depends on the suspect. Whether or not it’s you.”
She still rocks on my hand, and I know I should pull it free. But don’t do a thing. Magdalena feels too fucking amazing.
“What are we going to do now?” she asks.
“Fuck.”
She looks at me, still rocking. “You’re sure of yourself.”
“You’re the one getting off on my fucking hand,” I say.
