Page 98 of Executing Malice

His brown eyes darken with a feral hunger that echoes in the flaring of his nostrils, the tightening in his jaw. His entirebody tenses as if he’s one breath away from lunging at me and consuming me whole. His slow, steady inhale cuts through the distance and I swear he has swallowed all the air because I can’t breathe.

I can barely think. The best I can manage is standing paralyzed as he slings one long leg over his bike and pushes to his feet. My heart hammers with excitement and that primal panic of being cornered by a wolf as he stalks in my direction, his every stride a threat.

He must have seen it in my eyes, seen the spooked rabbit ready to bolt because his lips curl up on one side and he taunts, “I dare you to run.”

The words vibrate in my bones, course through my blood. I tremble and my mouth parts, but nothing comes out.

He’s on me in seconds, chest to chest. His heat is an ocean flooding my lungs until I’m drowning in him. I’m dizzy with it. Lost so deep that when his hand clamps around my jaw, tilting my head, I let him. I let him drag his thumb across my lower lip, press in until I open for him obediently.

“Fuck,” he hisses, breath hot against my cheek. “You have no idea how fucking badly I want to eat you. Sink my teeth into your flesh and consume every inch until you can never leave me again.”

My thighs clench at the cannibalistic image of being wholly consumed by him. Bitten so hard, I mark. I bleed.

“Then eat me,” I practically beg.

The snarl that rips from him is anything but human. His hand slides from my jaw to my throat. Possessive fingers curl around my throat. He squeezes just enough to make me weak.

“Oh, I plan on it. I’m going to hurt you so fucking bad, you’ll beg me to never stop.”

God, what is wrong with me?

I am throbbing with such violence, such unmatched desire, I’m ready to rip his pants open. I’m ready to climb his cock and let him prove it. I’m half crazed with the need to be claimed. To be brought to the very edge of agony before being released.

He must have seen the torment on my face because his grin is animalistic, smug with cruel arrogance that only makes the ache worse.

“Not here.” He presses his forehead to mine. His breath hot and ragged filling my mouth. “If I wasn’t such a jealous, possessive asshole, I would strip you naked right here and let everyone watch me claim you, but your body is mine and mine alone. Only I get to see the marks I leave on you. Only I get to see your pussy squirt.”

I whimper, nails digging into his shoulder. “Please...”

His hand tightens on my throat, silencing me with that ruthless control. “Please what, Leila? Use your words.”

My body shudders. So pathetic and wanton. Desperate on a level that is pure torture on its own.

“Don’t make me wait.”

His laugh is cruel. “Oh, you’re going to wait.” His lips brush mine with a slow, taunting sweep. His teeth follow when I sag into him, boneless and weak. They cut into my bottom fold until I taste blood and my cry is swept away with the flick of his tongue. “I want your cunt throbbing before I fuck you raw.”

With a final wicked smirk, he tears himself from me. My body lurches with the sudden loss. It thrums with the absence of his weight, his heat and violence. But it’s only long enough to seize my wrist with one hand and gather my forgotten belongings with the other. He doesn’t speak. It’s not necessary when he drags me across the street.

At the bike, my things are shoved into the side compartment with quick efficiency and he returns with the helmet from the other day. Our gazes meet as he frees one hand to cup the back of my skull and jerk me to him.

All the while, he stares, fixated on my eyes. On the parting of my lips. He’s so enraptured by every flicker of emotion I’munable to control.

Carefully, he draws the helmet down over my head, snaps the latch into place beneath my chin and flicks something along the side with his free hand.

“Mic,” he explains before I can ask.

With his finger still hooked in the strap, he tugs me to him and kisses me so softly my toes curl, but there is an almost demonic fire in his eyes, a sinister glint of twisted pleasure that sets my insides ablaze.

Without a word, he turns and slings his leg over the seat. He straps his own helmet into place, draws on his gloves before patting the spot just behind him.

“On,” he commands, voice echoing through the confines of my helmet.

As simple as he makes it sound, I hesitate. My gaze sweeps over the sprinkling of people moving along the sidewalks. None are close enough to see my crotch when I lift my leg and throw it over the smooth leather. I wiggle against Dante’s back. My hand jerks to my backside, tugging and adjusting the scrap of fabric barely covering the crack of my ass.

“You couldn’t bring something a little longer?” I grumble.

“I could have but didn’t.”