Page 14 of Chicago Sin

And just as I’m starting to think about inching toward the back door, he returns and spins me around. With my wrists bound behind my back, my double D’s thrust forward and spread. “All right, Flowers. What am I going to do with you?”

Maybe it’s self-preservation. Maybe it’s the crush. Or the way my ass still tingles where he slapped it, but I do the only thing I can think of, which is to lean forward and kiss his mouth.

His lips press against mine, stealing my breath away. His tongue slips inside, coaxing mine into a slow, dizzying dance. I moan into his mouth, my hips shifting against his mass, like some new north star.

Armando’s hands slide lower, over my hips and down my thighs. His fingers brush against the fabric of my clothes, and I shudder. He cups my ass in his hands, kneading and squeezing, sending fire into every nerve ending. This kiss…

Chapter Eight

Armando

I rear back from the kiss in surprise. It’s unexpected and juicy and Fahrenheit 451-level hot.

And just like defib paddles applied to my chest, a jolt of energy surges through me.

The lights come on. My body comes back to life.

It’s been almost five years since I’ve tasted a woman, and there’s suddenly so much lost time to make up for.

I’m on her in a second, kissing the fuck out of that lush mouth, sliding one hand up her shirt. I just killed a guy and hid the body in Flower’s freezer. That’s what I should be dealing with. But the moment she kissed me, color bled back into my world. I need to explore it like I need my next breath. She’s in a short skirt, and I’m suddenly way up it with my other hand, cupping her pussy.

The soft silky fabric of her panties is damp.

That’s all the information my brain needs to go full steam ahead. I’m an animal, incapable of pulling back. Raw instinct propels my actions more than any coherent thought.

I shove her shirt up and lower my head to feast on her nipple, her gasps filling my ears. “Tell me, Flowers.” I slide my fingers under the gusset of her panties to drag through her damp folds. “What got you so wet?” I screw one finger into her, and she gasps and goes up on her toes.

My body is on fire, my need so sharp I can taste it. I’m going to take her right here, until all the darkness inside of me has been driven out. Until I can breathe again.

Her head falls back as I thrust my finger deeper, stealing a moan from her parted lips. Whether she wants to or not, she grinds her hips, pushing down onto my hand. I’m buried so deep inside of her, I’m touching her core.

“Please,” she whispers.

Is she begging for me to continue, or for me to free her and walk out that door? The line between right and wrong is too blurred for me to know.

My heart pounds in my ears, and my cock feels like steel. Our mouths crash together in a desperate kiss, exploring, tasting, teasing. My free hand curls around her body as I tease her lips with my tongue. I feel her tremble beneath me as I press another finger into her pussy.

Her fervent whimpers drive me on until I’m so hard, so ready to devour every inch of her that I’m trembling like a weak man. My hand snakes up to cup the back of her neck as we breathe each other in. The heat from our bodies entwining is almost too much for me to take.

If she begged and pleaded for me to stop, there’d be no way I could.

I know she can’t be comfortable pressed up against the wall with her hands bound behind her back, but I can’t seem to dial back my attention.

Yes, there is a dead man in her cooler, and I have her here as my captive.

But the world around us seems to disappear, leaving only us two enclosed by sexual heat and frenzied desire. Nothing else matters except this moment when she is all mine.

And that’s what she is. Mine.

As adrenaline from my fight flows through my body, I can’t control the demon from coming out and claiming her fully.

I scissor my fingers, spreading her tight little hole, driving them inside harder and faster, pounding into her with an intensity that has her gasping for air as her body quivers beneath me. I don’t stop until I feel her muscles clenching around me as she cries out in pleasure.

“You like being tied up? Or was it your spanking?” I ask.

She stares at me with gold-flecked brown eyes. Her wild mane of curls tumble all around her head like a halo, falling over her right eye. She’s gorgeous—pure femininity embodied in a small, curvy, dark-skinned package. I haven’t been with a Black woman before, but after living with guys of every color in prison, the racism I grew up around has long since disappeared from my thoughts. But even more importantly, I've never been with a more beautiful woman. Breathtaking would be an understatement. A true goddess who can’t be matched by another.

“Or was it—” I frown, remembering the shit show I’m in. “Was it the violence—what you saw out there? What had you moaning out my name, Flowers? What has this pussy so wet? Does death turn you on?”