Page 21 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

Kiera

F uck!

Whoever just ruined my amazing climax is about to learn a hard life lesson.

Too bad they won’t live long enough to use it.

Without a word to my sexy, dirty minded agent, who’s asking unimportant questions I don’t have time for; I move away from the window and extinguish the light.

Taking a knife off my dresser, the weight of the hilt focusing my thoughts and senses, I hunt my next victim, my mind returning to the uneasy feeling I had earlier.

Who the hell has the skills and balls to break into my home? The audacity to spy on my private moments? Whoever the asshole is won’t be keeping those balls long.

Moonlight filters through the hall curtains, casting eerie shadows.

I move silently, my senses heightened, every creak of the floorboards beneath my feet sending a shiver down my spine in anticipation of scaring the shit out of someone.

It’s probably just Fi—and making him scream will be fun.

Even so, the training that has kept me alive for so long won’t allow me to ignore the sound, so my hand grips the cold steel hilt of my knife, ready for anything.

I check each room meticulously, scanning every corner, every hiding spot. The house is too quiet, the kind of quiet that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. There’s a presence… someone, or something, lurking in the darkness.

Fi is never this quiet. He enjoys being noticed too much to lurk.

I reach the living room, my heart pounding, still on edge from my unfinished release. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever comes next. Suddenly, the silence is broken by the slap of heeled dress shoes against the concrete walk, hard and fast, approaching the front door.

Hello, Agent Wilder. Shall we repeat the interrogation?

I press myself against the wall, my knife at the ready. The door handle turns, and I brace myself.

The hard thunk of a foot against wood and the door flies open, hitting the wall so hard it closes again.

A hand reaches around the edge, thick fingers gripping it, knuckles white, and shoves it back, using the same sexy hand to keep it open.

What I’m considering is dangerous, in all the delicious ways, but it also exposes me in ways I’m not comfortable with.

But agent Wilder stands in the door frame, the glow of the moon backlighting his broad frame.

A chilly breeze follows him, enveloping me in his rich, seductive sandalwood scent.

A black henley does nothing to hide his generous biceps, solid chest or sleeves pushed up, exposing thick forearms covered in tattoos.

Tight jeans encase his powerful thighs. His chest heaves, nostrils flaring, top lip curled in a sneer even as he bares his teeth.

Danger stands in front of me. I always run toward danger.

Bennie’s gaze flicks over me from head to toe, as if searching for any injuries. I stand there, my knife held out before me, my heart racing with a desire that makes me want to bleed someone out, even if it’s not the asshole who fucked up my climax.

Once he’s satisfied with whatever he finds, he takes his time, eyes first resting on my tits as they tremble because of the fierce grip I have on my knife. Slowly, so damn slowly, he moves on to my red panties, his pupils blown with desire.

I’m torn between letting myself go in this moment, giving over control to someone else, and having what I’m positive will be a wild ride. Pun intended. Or play the game and take charge of this moment to use as blackmail.

Sometimes, when the situation warrants, I fuck around with my marks but never let them penetrate.

I haven’t had a man inside me in eight years.

I’ve had my innocence stolen from me over and over since I was eleven.

I’ve only ever willingly given myself to one person, and he left me, too. But I’ll never see Blade again.

A growl rumbles through Wild’s chest. Eyes narrowed, he kicks the door shut, then his long strides devour the space between us.

“You’re not getting away this time.”

Grabbing me by the throat, he walks me back into the wall, pinning my body with his larger one. His growl becoming a satisfied purr.

His mouth smashes against mine, my head cracks back against the wall as he invades.

Forcing his tongue past my lips, he tangles it with mine.

Licking my teeth, the roof of my mouth, literally taking my breath away, sucking it into his own lungs.

The kiss goes on until black spots float in the air before me.

I rip his shirt open. Buttons clink across the floor with small, sharp tapping sounds as they bounce and settle.

Then instinct takes over and I use all my strength to shove him away from me, but only manage to push his muscular chest back a few inches.

I slash my knife across a well-defined peck, deep enough that blood wells up and pours down his chest. He stands there, stunned for a moment.

The blood sliding down his tattooed chest mesmerizes me.

Using my distraction, he grabs the back of my head and presses my mouth to the wound.

As if we’ve played this way since the beginning of time; I taste him, lapping my tongue over his nipple.

It crests and I rub my face across his chest as far as his grip allows me.

“Good girl. My beautiful little, Heathen.”

The coppery taste of his blood sends fire skittering down my spine.

I lick and bite his thick muscles, leaving behind my mark.

Each bite becomes more. More skin, more bruising, more desire, more need.

I whimper when his hand slides between us and he rolls my nipple between deft fingers.

Pulling hard, sending a sharp pain through me, he releases one then grabs the other, pinching, flicking it, scratching the swollen nub with a short nail.

I climb him, desperate to get to his neck.

My legs wrap around his waist and I plaster myself against him, trapping his hand between his chest and mine.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard.

I arch forward to sink my teeth into the corded muscle of his neck, reveling in the sound of pleasure that rolls from his chest into mine.

“Harder, bite harder.”

Tearing at the soft flesh there, I groan as he pinches my nipple hard one more time before sliding his hand into my panties.

His thick fingers drive into my soaking pussy.

He slams home, twisting his hand, flicking against my g-spot, tearing a desperate squealing plea for more from me.

Understanding my burning need is as intense as his; a third finger stretches me achingly wide as he pounds them into me mercilessly.

Tingles spread through me, a climax building.

As if he knows every signal of my body already, the bastard leaves my pussy empty and me dangling on the edge yet again.

He grasps my hips, pulling me more firmly in his arms, under his complete control.

In one smooth, shocking movement, his thick cock stretches my tight entrance as he slams balls deep inside me.

When did he take his dick out?

His punishing rhythm wipes any more thoughts from my mind as I scream in pleasure and pain.

“More Bennie, hard?—”

His large hand presses over my mouth, fingers gripping my jaw, squeezing it until I wonder if it will break at any second.

“Shut the fuck up. Shut your damn mouth,” he grounds out, punctuating each word with a hard thrust, pounding me into the wall. “Wild, my damn name is Wild. Now fucking scream it, then beg me for your climax.”

Butterflies flit around in my stomach as we stare into one another’s eyes—an unimaginable bond forming. Shockingly, I capitulate to his demands.

“Wild, please, give me more. I need more.”

He possesses me, owns me as time stretches out and I’m not even mad about it.

My desperation for release flooding through me.

I thrash my head, right on the brink of a devastating climax.

The kind only a hard, thick cock can provide.

I’m never this reckless. I can’t afford to be.

But I’m giving myself over to a fucking FBI agent who wants to put me in prison, because I’ve been needing this for eight endless years.

To feel wanted. The thought of killing him before he takes me down or leaves me triggers my climax.

I don’t get the chance to see fireworks or any romantic shit, as a loud explosion tears across the silent night.

And once again, my release stutters to an agonizing halt.