Page 26

I settled back on the couch, trying to focus on some mindless game on my phone, but every tiny sound from the bedroom pulled my attention. At first, it was just the usual rustling of sheets, the soft thud of shoes hitting the floor. Then came a longer silence, followed by... Wait.

Was that...?

I tilted my head, straining to hear. A rhythmic sound, barely audible. The whisper of skin against skin. A soft, stifled groan that sent heat pooling in my stomach. Holy shit. Vincent was jerking off in there.

I grinned despite myself. So Dr. Perfect wasn't as composed as he pretended to be. The mental image of Vincent touching himself made my own cock twitch in response. What was he thinking about? Who was he picturing?

The question lodged in my mind like a splinter.

What if he was thinking about someone else?

Someone at the Acropolis? That fucking cowboy Judge with his ridiculous hat and those eyes that had undressed Vincent right in front of me?

My grin faded, replaced by a scowl. The thought of Vincent fantasizing about anyone else's hands on him made something dark and possessive unfurl in my chest.

Before I could think better of it, I was on my feet, moving silently toward the bedroom door. I had to know. Had to see his face, read the truth in his expression.

The door was already slightly ajar. I pushed it open just enough to see inside, careful not to make a sound. And there he was, sprawled on the bed, one hand moving steadily beneath the sheets, the other gripping the headboard. His eyes were closed, bottom lip caught between his teeth, face flushed.

He was beautiful. And he wasn't thinking about anyone else. I knew because of what whispered past his lips in a breathy moan.

"Luka..."

Every drop of blood in my body rushed south so fast my vision blurred at the edges. My cock throbbed painfully against my sweatpants, demanding attention. Holy shit. Vincent was touching himself while fantasizing about me.

I couldn't have stopped the smile spreading across my face if I'd tried. Without hesitation, I pushed the door open wider and leaned against the doorframe in my best "let me fuck you" pose.

"Need some help with that, gorgeous?" I drawled, my voice deliberately pitched low.

Vincent's eyes flew open, locking directly with mine. For one frozen moment, we just stared at each other, his hand still under the sheet, though now motionless.

"This is a boundary violation," he said. "Basic etiquette suggests knocking."

"Don't stop on my account," I said, pushing off from the doorframe and sauntering toward the bed. My own arousal was painfully obvious in my sweatpants, but I made no effort to hide it. Let him see exactly what he did to me. "I was enjoying the show."

"This isn't appropriate," Vincent stated, though he didn't yank the sheet up to his chin as expected. Instead, he remained still, observing my approach with the analytical gaze I'd come to recognize—part professional assessment, part barely contained desire.

I ignored him completely, instead easing myself onto the edge of the bed. The movement sent a twinge of pain through my healing wounds, but I barely noticed it through the haze of lust clouding my brain.

"You said my name," I pointed out, leaning closer. "Were you thinking about me, Vince? About my hands on you instead of your own?"

His pupils dilated further, but his clinical mask remained. "This is a bad idea.”

"I completely agree. You should never have to get yourself off when I'm right in the next room, more than willing to help."

Before he could respond, I swung a leg over his hips, straddling him through the sheet. The friction drew a hiss from both of us.

"What are you doing?" Vincent gasped, his hands flying to my hips.

"If you don't continue," I murmured, leaning down until our faces were inches apart, "I will."

I ground down slightly, feeling the unmistakable evidence that despite his protests, Vincent was still very much aroused.

A strangled half gasp, half moan escaped him as he bit down hard on his lower lip, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of control.

His pupils were blown wide, just a thin ring of brown visible around the black, and a flush had spread from his face down his neck to his chest.

"We shouldn't," he whispered, but his hands tightened on my hips, his body arching up into mine despite his words .

"Give me one good reason why not." I rolled my hips again and watched in fascination as his eyes fluttered shut momentarily.

Vincent swallowed hard. "You're injured."

"Not where it counts." I smirked, pressing more firmly against him.

"We haven't discussed boundaries."

"I'm an assassin, Vince. Boundaries are more like suggestions to me."

"This would complicate things."

"Things are already complicated."

For each protest, I had a counter delivered while slowly rocking against him through the sheet. I could feel him responding, his body betraying his desire even as his mind tried to maintain control.

His breath caught, eyes darkening as he stared up at me.

I watched the internal struggle play across his face.

The responsible therapist warred with the man who'd been touched only by violence for too long.

His analytical mind was visibly cataloging risks, weighing consequences, processing implications.

"Ok," he said quietly. "I trust you."

The declaration hit me harder than I expected, sending heat rushing through my body that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with something I wasn't ready to name.

I reached between us, palm pressing firmly against his erection through the thin sheet, feeling the heat and hardness beneath. Vincent's eyes fluttered shut as I began to stroke him, his hips bucking up into my hand.

"Feels good, doesn’t it?" I leaned down to brush my lips against his neck, just below his ear, where I could feel his pulse hammering.

His chin quivered, but he nodded. His breath hitched as I nipped at his earlobe, my hand never stopping its rhythmic movements .

"Tell me to stop and I will," I murmured against his skin. "Or tell me what you really want, Vince."

His resistance crumbled beneath my touch, his body's tension transforming from rigid restraint to liquid surrender. His hands slid up from my hips to my lower back, pulling me down against him.

"Don't stop," he breathed, the words barely audible. "Please, Luka. Don't stop."

Perfect Dr. Matthews begging. For me. The power rush hit better than any kill I'd ever made.

"That's it," I growled, my fingers curling into the edge of the sheet. "Show me your cock, beautiful. Let me see what you've been hiding under here."

Vincent hesitated only a second before helping me pull the sheet away. He was gloriously naked underneath, his cock hard and flushed against his stomach, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. The sight of him exposed, aroused, and all for me sent a fresh surge of heat through my veins.

"Look at you," I murmured appreciatively, running a single finger up the length of him, watching him twitch at the feather-light touch. "Fucking perfect."

Vincent's hands found the hem of my shirt, tugging upward. "Your turn."

I grinned, taking my time as I pulled my shirt over my head, giving him a show.

His eyes raked over my torso, taking in the scars, the muscles, the evidence of my dangerous life. "All of it."

“Pushy. I like it.” I stood just long enough to shove my sweats and boxers down and kick them away, my cock springing free, already rock hard .

Vincent's eyes widened at the up-close sight of the six metal barbells running in a vertical ladder up the underside of my shaft, from just beneath the head to the base.

He'd seen them before, that first night when I'd dropped my towel, but this was different.

This was close enough to touch, to taste.

"Were you thinking about these while you touched yourself?" I asked, stroking myself once, slowly, letting him get a good look at the metal gleaming against my skin.

He was staring unashamedly, and it was making me so fucking hard. There was nothing in the world like putting on a good show for someone who appreciated the view.

"Yes," he admitted, eyes still fixed on my cock as I continued to stroke it. "I've never... I've never seen anything like it."

"And you haven't felt anything like it either," I promised, settling back on top of him. I ground down deliberately, letting the metal bars roll against his length, creating a sensation unlike anything standard equipment could provide.

Vincent's reaction was immediate and intense. His head fell back, a strangled moan tearing from his throat, his hips jerking upward to increase the contact. "Oh, fuck."

I leaned down and nipped at his bottom lip. Not a kiss, not quite. I wouldn't force him to kiss me unless he wanted to. "Fuck, doc. Hearing you say dirty words is hot."

I established a slow rhythm, each roll of my hips letting my piercings drag along his shaft.

The metal heated against our skin, creating friction that made him gasp with each movement.

His fingers dug into my shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks as he stared down at our bodies moving together, his pupils blown wide, mouth parted, breathing ragged .

His hands roamed my back, my shoulders, finally settling on my ass, gripping hard enough to mark. I lifted my hand and spat loudly into my palm.

Vincent's eyebrow arched slightly, the professional in him about to object to my crude method, but then I wrapped my slick hand around both our cocks together.

His smooth skin slid against my pierced length, both pulsing with the same desperate rhythm.

His protest died on his lips, replaced by a strangled moan that vibrated through my bones.