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Fortier chuckles. “And the pleasure?”
Nick’s lips hover near my ear. “Mine.”
My knees nearly buckle.
“Is that what you wanted to discuss?” Nick drawls, finally pulling back enough to look at Fortier. “Or are we getting to the part where you tell me what Vallois is up to?”
The conversation shifts. I don’t move. I can’t. I play my part, my body flush against Nick’s, my wrists bound, my breath unsteady. And as I listen, I realize something terrifying.
I don’t know what’s more dangerous—the game we’re playing right now… or how much I never want it to end.
* * *
Nick’s fingers tighten around my nape, keeping me exactly where he wants me—pressed against him, my bound wrists resting against the small of my back. His body is a solid wall of heat, his scent wrapping around me like a dangerous lure. The room isn’t silent, but it might as well be. I barely hear Fortier’s response over the blood rushing in my ears.
I should be focusing on the mission. On gathering intel. On remembering that this is all for show.
Instead, all I can think about is the way Nick’s touch ignites something deep inside me, something I don’t know how to control.
“Convince me she belongs to you,” Fortier murmurs, a smirk evident in his tone.
A flicker of something dark passes through Nick’s expression. His hold on me tightens ever so slightly, a warning I don’t entirely understand until he speaks.
“You doubt me?” His voice is smooth, unshaken, but there’s an edge beneath the words.
Fortier lifts a shoulder. “Vallois never trusts a man who doesn’t know how to keep a woman in line.”
My stomach clenches.
Nick exhales slowly, his breath feathering over my cheek. “Then watch carefully.”
Before I can react, he spins me, pressing me against the padded bench behind us. My wrists are still bound, my breath catching as his hands bracket my hips, his broad frame caging me in.
I don’t get a chance to protest.
His lips find my throat, a slow, deliberate drag of heat and possession that has me sucking in a breath. His teeth scrape my pulse point, sending a shudder through me.
He’s playing a role.
We’re putting on a show.
I repeat the words in my mind, but my body doesn’t get the message.
Nick’s hands skim the slit of my dress, parting the fabric and exposing my thigh. His palm skates over my bare skin, moving higher, teasing, but never giving me what I suddenly, desperately need.
"This one has a smart mouth," he murmurs for Fortier's benefit, his voice a low, gravelly drawl. "But she knows who she belongs to."
With a deliberate slowness, he reaches into his pocket and produces a small, sleek ball gag I hadn’t realized he possessed. It's in my mouth and secured in place with deft fingers before I can even muster a thought. The combination of his words and the gag sends a jolt of heat coursing through me, a sensation both foreign and electrifying.
Nick shifts, his muscular thigh pressing firmly between mine, forcing them apart just enough to remind me of the fragility of my control. My breathing becomes ragged and uneven, and I can't suppress the way my body instinctively responds to him—to the raw dominance in his touch, the unspoken promise woven into the way he holds me immobile.
My pulse pounds like a relentless drumbeat in my chest.
Nick’s breath is hot against my skin as his lips trail up to my ear. "You want to keep playing with fire, sweetheart?" His voice is a deep, intimate rumble that only I can hear.
I don't answer. I can't.
His fingers tighten possessively at my waist, sending a thrilling shiver down my spine. "Then burn," he whispers, a challenge wrapped in seduction.