Page 90 of From Hell

Taking a breath, I undo and drop Jaxon’s jacket to the floor. He stalls when he sees me.

Damn everything to hell. You only live once.

I let a small smile grace my lips and turn, allowing him a full view of me without a strip of clothing, and then stride into the house to find hot water and clean clothes.

33

LAINE

Citrus clings to the air as I step into the glossy black subway-tiled bathroom. Billowing steam soothes all my aches except the one between my legs as soon as I switch on the rainforest downpour in Jaxon’s bathroom shower. I place my head under the water and close my eyes, letting the scalding spray soothe away my sins.

Jaxon is like me, only better. He kills better. He cleans better. He has connections. He even makes me feel safe…

This partnership makes sense.

So why is there a nagging feeling, digging under my skin, like I’ve forgotten something vitally important?

The door to the bathroom swings open. I bring my head up to see who it is, even though I know it’s Jaxon. I didn’t lock it, and it didn’t take him long to follow me in here. He stalks up, a shadow in the glass until he pulls open the steamy glass door of the double shower, stormy gray eyes taking in every inch of me.

He steps inside fully clothed. Hot water soaks through his shirt, making it cling to his body.

“Why are you fully dressed?” I echo my words from earlier, looking up at his imposing form, blinking away the water running into my eyes. Then my gaze travels down to his trousers, patches of water blooming over the expensive material. At least he took his shoes off.

“Because I couldn’t wait any longer to devour you.”

He pulls me to him, enveloping my soaking body, lips sliding across my skin like silk, brushing the pounding pulse at my neck until they find my mouth. And then he’s consuming me.

Time stops. Water rushes. Electricity sparks in the base of my stomach. The air is thick with lust and moisture as his taste wraps around me, sinking into my bones.

It smothers me until I can only breathe him.

Wet tiles wake me up, only enough to comprehend that he’s holding me hostage, against them, grinding me into the wall. I break the kiss, dragging air into my lungs. It’s unsettling being the only one naked, like being truly seen, warts and all, while the other person still hasn’t shed their mask.

“Your suit will get ruined.”

“Fuck my suit,” he drawls, biting my neck, making me arch into him.

“Take it off.” I want to see behind the mask. If we’re in this together, we need to be equal—no half-measures.

And I need to feel him on me. Skin to skin. His darkness devouring mine.

“You make a lot of demands. None of which you have any leverage for.” His hands clamp down between my legs, pushing me harder into the tiles. He groans when he feels the slickness in my folds. With every stroke, ecstasy spins me into oblivion. I want to fall into it, be swept away by the darkness.

This is wrong. He’s a killer.

But so am I.

Something hard bangs my hip. It’s not his dick since something else really is in his pocket. Water hammers down on us both as I reach a hand down inside the taut wet material, grazing the length of his rock-hard cock, to close my fingers around the hilt.

I draw it out.

It’s the thin surgical amputation knife he slit Christian’s throat with. No longer bloody. He must have cleaned it. Calming my upside-down heart and the world around it, I travel the tip of the blade over his belt, up his toned chest visible through the wet cotton, to the pulse at his neck.

“This leverage enough for you?”

Jaxon chuckles. “Baring your teeth for me, little fox?”

“More than that,” I hiss, and pop a button off his shirt. When he gives me a dark look, I tilt my head. “You said fuck your suit.” I pop off another one.