Page 16 of Chicago Sin

I reach down to caress her breasts, kneading and massaging them as I continue to drive relentlessly into her. Her moans become more intense as I reach around to stroke and tease her clit. I feel her tightening around me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. As she shudders and cries out in pleasure, I thrust as deep as I can.

And then I lose all control. I fuck her fast and hard. Fireworks dance before my eyes. My body explodes into pleasure. Heat spikes at the base of my spine. My blood sizzles.

I’ve been dead for years. Who knew all I needed was a good fuck to come back to life? And it is the best of fucks.

Nothing compares. Every stroke I take inside her makes me jerk with pleasure. I’m riding her too hard, but I can’t dial it back. My loins slap against her ass. Her bound wrists bounce on her lower back.

“My hips,” she gasps. “It hurts.”

Oh shit. I’m banging them against the hard wooden workbench.

I wrap my arm around the front of her to provide padding, and then keep slamming the hell out of her. I don’t give a shit that I’m bruising my arm. In fact, I sort of relish the sensation. Pleasure and pain mingle together into a symphony of sensory feedback. Her scent gets up in my nostrils, along with the smell of roses and lilies and whatever other flowers she has in the place.

She gasps as I drive hard and deeper, feeling the pressure inside her building to an unbearable degree. Her hips begin to quiver in response, begging for more. I reach down and slide one hand between us, my fingers finding her clit and rubbing in circles. She moans as she arches her back and grinds against me, her body shaking and writhing. My thrusts become faster and more powerful as I drive toward the edge.

I’m too far gone to wait for her to come, definitely too lost to figure out how to make her orgasm. I mutter a curse and shove deep, pulling her head and torso back up against the front of me as I finish.

I bite her ear, flick it with my tongue. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” I murmur against the soft skin of her jaw.

She whimpers slightly, and a pang of regret wavers through me.

Funny.

I just ended a guy on her floor and felt nothing. I was the Terminator doing a job. Now I suddenly have a conscience. And I should be sorry. I just fucked a girl I trussed like a chicken and took as my prisoner. And her asking if I had a condom probably did not constitute consent. It was a plea for some measure of safety.

Fuck. What kind of stronzo am I?

Chapter Nine

Hannah

Oh my gawd.

I’m dizzy, my body buzzes. I’d forgotten to be afraid while we were having sex, but now, awareness creeps back. I’m pinned against my workbench with my panties down and my wrists tied behind my back, a semi-stranger’s cock still stretching me.

What in the hell am I doing?

It may not seem like it now, but I’m usually cautious about who I have sex with.

I don’t know how I lost my head like that. It was just so hot. So animalistic. Feral. That teenage crush on Armando made it feel so necessary. I didn’t come, but I was so close.

Now I’m tingling and hot and needy as hell. Which doesn’t help the tolling bells for foreboding.

I could be in real trouble here. Life or death stuff.

I’m sorry I hurt you.

I cling to that one piece of evidence that this man is not a psychopath. That he didn’t just rape me. That I’m going to walk out of here alive.

A knock pounds on my back door, and Armando pulls out of me with a curse. He yanks my panties up and drops the condom in the wastebasket.

The taut urgency returns to his movements as he spins me around, his gaze darting around the premises. I stiffen when he pulls a roll of duct tape from my shelf and rips off a small piece.

“No—”

He slaps it over my mouth.

I scream behind the tape, terror suddenly ripping through me.