Page 163 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

Pieces fall away, leaving her black lace bra exposed to the dusty air and anyone who walks by.

Her hands move to cover herself. I catch her wrists, pin them to her sides. She could break free if she wanted—she's an assassin, trained to kill. But she doesn't. She lets me hold her exposed while footsteps pass outside.

A truck starts loading two units down. Voices, laughter, the clang of metal on metal. More witnesses, more chances to be seen. I press her forward until she's against Tommy's bike, the red plastic warm from sunlight.

"He'd laugh if he knew. 'Gravity's Optional' right?"

She turns her head slightly, meeting my eyes. Something wild there, something I've never seen before.

The loading continues outside, voices getting closer. Any second now, someone could walk by. Could see her pressed against the bike, my hands on her skin, the knife still in my grip.

Let them see. Let them know she's mine.

Her whole body changes against mine, like a switch flipping. The wild desperation fades, replaced by something calculated and dangerous. Before I can react, she spins in my arms and shoves me hard against the metal wall.

The corrugated ridges bite through my shirt as she pins me there, her hands flat against my chest. That predatory smile spreads across her lips.

"My turn."

Oh, fuck.

She drops to her knees on the concrete without breaking eye contact. The rough surface has to be tearing through her jeans, but she doesn't even flinch. Just reaches for my belt like she's dismantling a weapon.

"Mira, someone will—"

"Then you better stay quiet."

Her fingers work my belt buckle with practiced efficiency, the leather sliding free with a whisper. Button pops. Zipper tears down. She yanks my jeans and boxers down just enough to free my cock, already hard and straining.

This is insane. The door is wide open. People are twenty feet away.

The truck engine rumbles closer. Headlights sweep past the storage unit opening, throwing our shadows against the back wall.

She wraps her hand around the base of my cock and licks from balls to tip in one long stroke, tongue flat and wet againstthe sensitive underside. My head slams back against metal, a groan escaping before I can stop it.

"I said stay quiet."

She takes me in her mouth without warning, all the way to the base in one motion. Her throat contracts around my cock as she swallows, nose pressed against my pelvis. The wet heat is overwhelming, her tongue working the underside while she holds me deep.

My hands tangle in her dark hair, fighting between pulling her away from danger and holding her exactly where she is. She pulls back to breathe, saliva connecting her lips to my cock in obscene strings, then takes me deep again. Her teeth scrape just enough to make me hiss, one hand cupping my balls while the other grips my thigh for leverage.

"Fuck, Mira—"

The truck idles at the unit next to ours. Voices, definitely two people. Male, discussing what boxes go where. They're maybe fifteen feet away.

She pulls off with a wet pop, looking up at me with swollen lips and wild eyes. "Someone's watching."

I look. Two men standing by the truck, frozen, one with his phone out definitely recording.

"Let them watch."

She takes me deep again, bobbing her head in a brutal rhythm that has my knees threatening to buckle. The wet sounds of her mouth on my cock echo in the metal space, unmistakable to anyone listening.

I yank her up by her hair. Not gentle. Firm, controlled. She gasps, lipstick smeared, chin wet with saliva, eyes glazed with arousal.

I spin her around, bend her over Tommy's bike seat. My hands yank at her jeans roughly. The expensive denim catches on her hips and I pull harder, dragging them down to her thighsalong with her black lace panties. She's dripping wet, arousal coating her inner thighs, pussy glistening in the afternoon light.

The blade traces down her spine, sharp edge leaving a thin red line that doesn't break the skin but makes her whole body shudder.