Page 101 of Lethal Torture

“She’s in a lot of pain,” Luke calls back, sliding one large finger inside me, his thumb pressed firmly against my clit. “I’ll probably just put her to bed with some painkillers and keep an eye on her.” One hand cups my breast, while the other holds me captive at my very center, my every nerve attuned to the slightest curl of his fingers.

“Of course,” Carrie says concernedly. “If you need anything, just let us know.”

Neither of us bothers answering that.

Luke spins me around, taking my mouth with skillful precision as he strokes me steadily toward the explosion that’s been threatening since the stairs of the plane. I tug at his belt buckle, desperate to feel the surging force of him. My skirt is rucked up around my waist. Luke undoes the last of my blouse buttons one-handed, and I shrug it off. He pulls the bra over my head, making a low noise in his throat as I free his straining cock.

Oh, fuck.

The darkness and urgency of the shipping container allowed no time to appreciate how goddamn perfect it is, thick as my wrist and tapering to a broad head, which is currently splayed against his veined navel.

Unable to think past tasting it, I drop to my knees, opening my mouth.

“No.” Luke’s hands catch my head just before I take what I want. He turns my face up to him, and the calculating look in his eyes makes me shiver. “Stand up,” he says, drawing me to my feet. He turns me in front of him so we’re facing the wide mirror over the vanity bench. He pulls out the pins holding my hair in place with slow, sure movements, releasing it so it runs through his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine in the mirror. His hands rise up, stroking my breasts until I’m writhing under them, but never touching my nipples, never giving me the direct touch I’m craving. My head drops back onto his shoulder, my legs parting, but he doesn’t touch me between them either, just teases my aching breasts until I’m moaning. He dips his fingers into my mouth, and I seize on them eagerly, lathing them with my tongue as if they were his cock. The lack of direct touch isdriving me insane. I’m so close to the edge that I could come just from imagining him inside me.

My eyes flutter closed.

“Look at me.” His order is low but direct, and when I open my eyes, he’s regarding me with the watchful stillness that has gotten under my skin from the moment I saw him standing in the royal box at the Quartier. He shakes his head slowly, a knowing curve to his mouth. “You’re not going to come until I tell you to.”

Oh, fuck.

His command hits me like sexual kryptonite, completely undoing a lifetime of physical control and turning me into a molten mess of need.

I moan softly around his fingers, my tongue lashing them hungrily, my whole body arching forward, begging for his touch. He probes my mouth gently, dipping his fingers into its crevices in an explicit demonstration of their skill until I’m sucking them desperately, my whole body rippling against him as I head toward the edge once more.

“Keep your eyes open, Zinaida.”

God.I didn’t even realize I’d closed them.

He withdraws his fingers from my mouth and trails them down my throat and toward my aching nipples, his eyes holding mine. I gasp as he splays his fingers on either side of my nipples, rolling them with slow, devastating precision. “Do you remember the first time you came for me, Zinaida?”

He draws his tongue up my neck, and I gasp.

“Do you remember?”

I nod, moaning under his touch.

“You wanted me to see your control.” He dips his fingers into my mouth again to wet them, and I cry out as he traces my nipples again. This time when he speaks, his lips are right on my ear. “But do you know what I really saw that day?”

Barely able to move, let alone speak, I shake my head.

“I saw this.” He reaches for my hand, his eyes holding mine in the mirror. Gently, he fans my fingers over the bench, one finger at a time. “You have a tell.” He lifts my fingers, and my breath hitches as he slips them into his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. “I saw you lose it, right at the end. Right before you came, Zinaida, I saw your fingers fan over the armrest of that chair.”

My whole body convulses at his low, quiet voice, his relentless stare.

“Do you remember?”

Oh, I remember, you bastard.I nod helplessly, utterly unable to speak.I remember that you beat me at my own game, and that it undid me completely.

“That’s why I took the contract, Zinaida. And it’s why I’ve stayed, even though you drive me fucking insane.” My laughter chokes in my throat as his tongue roams up my neck. “It’s why I just told Mak to tear the contract up.”

I freeze, my heart pounding. His eyes remain calmly on mine in the mirror.

“I’m not here because of a contract, Zinaida.” His hands splay over my belly, holding me, settling me. He puts his mouth to my ear. “I’m here because the woman behind the mask drives me fucking mad, and I’m done pretending I don’t want her.”

My entire body goes limp with relief and desire. I turn my face to his neck, touching my tongue to the tanned cords of muscle there. “Then don’t,” I whisper.

His mouth curls dangerously. “Oh, I think we both know we’re long past pretending.” He slides his hands back up to cover my breasts, and I moan. “Do you want my mouth on them, Zinaida?”