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She freezes. We both know anal is on the table. It was written into the contract and she agreed to at least try it.
“Sir,” she whimpers.
I lean over her and she spreads her ass and legs, pushing her sex up to me. Her ankles curl around my outer thighs and one foot hits against the gun in my thigh holster. Usually I carry on my hip, but today I had to remove my weapons to get into the bank where I had my meeting. I’d disassembled my holster and reassembled it to fit on my thigh afterwards.
“Why do you always carry that thing in the house?” she whispers.
I slap her across the ass again and flip her to face me. She bites her lip, muffling her yelp. Her pussy clenches, dripping onto the pool table. I know she’s dying to come so badly she’d do anything for me. My hand hesitates. Then I flip the holster open and take the handgun out. Her body freezes and she jerks her head, the hat falling to the side.
“Sir,” she whispers.
The high I get from sex like this is exploding in my brain like a drug. I drag the flat side of the barrel up her inner thigh and pause right before her delicate sex.
The cold metal lies in sharp contrast to her body. She’s all soft curves and pretty angles. Maybe that’s why the gun in my hand looks so good against her skin.
Hard against soft.
The unblemished against the scarred.
My mask is slipping. It’s fallen and shattered at her feet. Do those blue eyes see me for who I am?
The world slows and I have to make a choice.
Do I stand behind these walls, watching her from the inside? Or do I stop building walls between myself and the world? Do I let her in and show her the man I am?
In this moment, I want to lower my defenses more than anything. I’m tired. I’ve built so many walls my hands are bloody.
I lift my eyes to hers and I see deep inside them a single flame. Flickering, calling me to fall into her depths. To show her all the ugly rage, the hunger for vengeance, the spite, and my selfish obsession over the woman in my arms.
So I fall, because I’m tired of pretending I’m not broken. And I hope to God that this woman gives me grace—that when she sees me clearly, she won’t turn away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
KEIRA
He’s fucking psychotic.
My head spins. My breathing feels shallow. Maybe it’s from all the blood pooled between my legs. I can feel it throb in my clit and I’m so sensitive right where I need him most. I swear the emptiness is going to be the death of me.
Then he took his gun out and put it to my inner thigh.
Right below my sex. Right where I’ve dripped down my leg.
I should be afraid, but something else overpowers it. My senses are sharp, but my better judgment is dulled by lust. I need Sovereign in a way I’ve never needed anything before. I’d drop down on my knees and take that gun in the back of my throat if it means getting him inside me.
He withdraws. A cry of disappointment moves up my throat, but he cuts it off by flipping me on my back.
My stomach twists. At some point, he took off his coat, leaving him in just his button up. The front is soaked in sweat and open halfway. Revealing his upper chest, covered in dark hair and tattoos.
His bare forearms are so thick, so corded with muscle from hard labor. I want to drag my nails down them so hard he bleeds.I want to lick his blood and sweat off his skin just to taste what he’s made of.
Maybe that’s the only way to get close to him.
“This wasn’t in the contract,” I moan, unsure why I’m even speaking.
He leans in and his fingers wrap around my throat.
“We’re not playing anymore,” he says. “Mrs.Garrison.”
