Page 29 of Chicago Sin

He gives me that heavy-lidded look that makes my panties damp. He makes a sound in his throat and then says, “I might tie you to that bed.”

And? I desperately want him to go on.

Chapter Thirteen

Hannah

My nipples are tight beads. My pussy’s wet and slick. I’m hungry for a re-do, so I can come. I also realize how insane this is. Me, seducing my captor. Or was he seducing me?

What in the hell are we doing?

We step inside my apartment, and he closes the door behind us.

“I’d spread your legs wide and lick that pussy until you screamed.” His voice is rough and raw.

I remember again how much passion he brought to our hookup back at the shop. How he’s fresh out of prison, and I’m the first woman he’s been with.

“W-what do I have to do”—I swallow—“to get that treatment?”

Armando grabs me by the hair and claims my mouth as he walks me backward until my knees hit the bed. I fall back onto it, and he follows, climbing over me, lips twisting over mine.

I would’ve said the kiss we shared back at my shop was the best of my life, but this one might be even better. It doesn’t carry as much desperation, but now I get some finesse. Like a violent kiss followed by a quick nip. A trail of kisses that run down the side of my throat.

“Now you’re in trouble,” he murmurs as he pins my wrists above my head. “Big trouble.”

I writhe beneath him, lust blasting through me. I swear I’ve never had this kind of reaction to a guy before. I’ve been excited, especially if I’ve had a drink or two, but the way my body reacts to Armando now is off the charts.

Our first hook up was a lightning strike. This time, he goes slow. He bites through the layers of my crop top and the camisole beneath it to scrape his teeth over my nipple. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in tighter. I twist my hips, trying to find satisfaction rubbing against him. He reaches down and pulls something out of his pocket. I think it’s going to be a condom, but it’s the roll of floral tape.

Like he planned on tying me up again.

And that thought should scare me way more than it does. But with the way his mouth is on mine, I can only interpret his actions one way: the tape is for sexy times.

He winds it around my wrists—not nearly so tightly as he did back at the shop—and pushes my wrists back over my head. He leans up on one hand, gazing down at me. His pupils are blown, eyes full of dark intent, but his face is expressionless. Like he’s forgotten how to smile.

He traces his thumb lightly down the inside of my arm. I squirm when it covers the most ticklish part.

“You didn’t answer me before.”

He sounds so gruff. So serious. If it weren’t for the light touch, I would think he was pissed.

“About what?”

“What part turned you on—being tied up or spanked? Or the other thing?”

The other thing. I guess that’s him grappling with a guy in a fight to the death.

It definitely shouldn’t have turned me on. Except I always had a thing for those Jason Bourne movies, and Armando looked every inch as badass as Matt Damon. Or Chris Hemsworth in that Netflix movie Extraction. So yeah, up until the actual death part, it tweaked the most primitive part of my brain. The part that seeks to reproduce with the fiercest warrior in the land.

“All of it,” I murmur.

He stares a moment longer, without saying anything. Like he’s trying to read into the depths of my soul. Then he asks, “You like it rough?”

My face grows warm. I’d be a fool to admit such a thing with a guy I can’t trust. Besides, I don’t know if it’s true. Before today, I hadn’t tried it.

“I liked it rough with you.” That’s the truth—and all I know, really.

Something shutters behind his eyes, and he reaches for my wrists, pulling my arms long over my head and attaching them to the bedpost.