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FELIX
GETTING SERIOUS… AND ALL THAT SHIT
She wears a dress made for her body. Not a gown, the fancy kind I get off on dressing her in, and not something she’d wear to the boardroom to discuss boring business shit with small-dicked colleagues.
No. It’s a date night dress. Plunging neckline, and thigh-length skater-girl skirt. She has a thing for halter outfits, which is fine by me, because they push up her succulent tits, reveal a delicious amount of her back, and tease glimpses of her sides.
It’s the side-breast sneak-peek that makes my hands itch. The sweet taunting that makes me want to pull her into my lap and mess up the lipstick she so carefully applied.
“You look beautiful.” I take her hand and bring it closer to press a kiss to the top. Slowly, seductively, she peers across and allows a small smile to grace her lips. “You always look beautiful. It’s unfair, really, that I should decide to keep you for myself.”
“Unfair to who?” She laces her fingers with mine, but she brings her eyes back to the front. Car rides and her stomach are not friends. “Me or you?”
“To every other man on the planet.” I play with her fingers, elongating them and finding the one she pricked before leaving her apartment.Does it hurt to stab yourself multiple times daily? Do you hate it?“Andany woman who likes women,” I amend. “They miss out, too.” I pull her finger between my lips and suckle on her most recent wound. “It’s not good for your health to sneak out at three in the morning, Christabelle. It makes your eyes horribly tired. It’s not safe.”
“Not safe because your men will shoot me in the back?”
She’s feeling sassy. Argumentative. But hell, that attitude is what brought me to her in the first place.
“Because,” I counter, “that means you’re living on, what, three hours of sleep today? Four at a stretch.” I kiss her wrist and lower our hands. “It’s not enough to keep you functioning.”
“Yeah, well… I’m a busy lady.” She glances out the car window as we approach my home—a destination I’m not sure she expected. “Dinner is at your place?”
“Dinner is always at my home.”
I study her long lines. Her slender neck and delicate shoulders. She has no ink on her body. No piercings but for the standard one in each ear. She needs no adornments, and even her makeup is forever understated.
When you’re as beautiful as Christabelle Cannon, you are your own glitter and shine.
“It’s always better to eat at the house,” I explain. “No queues. No random idiots. No traffic. No rules that say I can’t eat your cunt along with my dinner.”
Pursing her lips, she pulls her eyes from the view and around to stop on mine. “That would probably mess with my natural pH levels and land me with a UTI.” She flashes a playful smirk. “Please eat your meals separately, Mr. Malone.”
I cough out a gentle laugh and drag her closer, tucking her under my arm and nibbling on the shell of her ear. “You’ll always be my first and last course. And my dessert afterward.”
I keep an eye on our surroundings as my driver brings us to the gates guarding my home, then as we pass through them, and soldiers stand at attention.
The best part about commanding an army is the fact they were once trained by the U.S. government. Some go to war and stay there. Otherscome back and enter the private sector. And some remain property of the country, yet guard my gates anyway.
“What did you eat today?” I kiss the side of her neck. I taste and bite… and grin when she rubs her thighs together because she can’t help the way her body responds to my attention. “Protein?”
“I had an egg burrito for breakfast.” Purring, she stretches her neck for me to continue nibbling. “And a smoothie for lunch.”
“Smoothies aren’t food, Darling. They’re a drink.”
“It was full of protein and green vegetables.”
My lips curl higher. “Are you hungry now?”
“Starving.” She turns, stealing her flesh from my tongue, but rewarding me with her eyes as we come to a stop in front of the house. “I want to talk to you about something tonight, okay? Later,” she casts a look to the soldiers who wait on my front steps, then to my driver, who slides out of the car and wanders around to get our door. “When it’s just the two of us.”
“Did you kill someone?” I stare into her dazzling silver eyes, smiling when they roll in exasperation.
“Do you need someone killed?” I ask instead, humoring myself when she flattens her lips. “You’re a journalist, so I can’t tell you I have a certain skillset that may please you. But…” I hold her chin in my fingers when the driver opens her door and she attempts to turn to exit. “I have a certain skillset that far exceeds my cock. So, ya know, if you needed something done…”
“I’ll keep you in mind.” She pushes toward me and presses her lips to mine. Then she spins away and climbs out of the car ahead of me. “What’s for dinner, anyway?”
“Lix!” Cato dashes out of the house and down the steps, two and three at a time. He’s like a fucking puppy, bounding around the car and coming to a stop in front of a visibly uncomfortable Christabelle. “I’m starving, man. And you’re late.” Then he looks to Christabelle, takes her hand in his, and gives her his sex eyes, like he’s a grown-ass man. “You look much better, Ms. Cannon. Insulin and water do good things for your complexion.”
