Page 64 of Whistleblower

He shakes his head determinedly and lifts my chin with his finger so I’m staring at the icy fire in his eyes. “No, don’t be embarrassed, it’s not weird. Quite the opposite—so sexy. Just tell me what you like, specifically, and I’ll tell you if it’s on the table.”

“I like it when you pin me down, and I’d actually be okay with being tied up with something soft. Just my hands, and feet. I don’t want to be hogtied like a calf at a rodeo or anything.”

“Okay.”

“I like denial.”

“As in…?”

“I want you to make me wait. Tell me when I can come.”

“Fucking hell, Eden,” he groans in what I think is delight. I glance down and because he’s so damn big, I can literally see his cock twitch against his pants. “I can do that. Do you like dirty talk?”

“I like filthy talk.”

“You’re going to ruin me, woman. Anything else?”

“Anal is fine, but you have to be gentle. I’m not experienced.”

He shakes his head. “Rule number one, remember? I’d split you in half and it would hurt a lot.”

“We have a safe word. We can work up to it.”

“Why?”

The truth is that I’ve spent a lot of time, by myself, thinking about things I was too scared to try. I’ve had moments over the past months where I felt my life was in danger and all I could think about was how disciplined I’d been. I’m always so tidy, structured, and by the book. Where did it get me?

I promised myself, with the next man I trusted, I’d try everything. I’d be a different kind of person—brave, bold, and daring. I’d find a way to make what’s dangerous, pleasurable. Maybe that’ll help me conquer the fear that lives in me. But I’m not telling Linc that. I’m dripping for him at the moment and confessing that my default is more cowardly than the damn lion from The Wizard of Oz is not sexy.

“Have you done it before?” I ask, avoiding his question. He rolls his eyes but refuses to answer. It’s a gentlemanly move not to talk about the other women he’s been with, but I’m curious. What kind of girls does the assassin like? “Can you honestly say you didn’t like it?”

“Let’s not worry about that tonight. Maybe in time. Is there anything else you want?”

I show him a shy smile. “Sex aside, I still like dates, flowers, cuddling, good morning texts, and all that so-called girl stuff. Oh, and…um, I prefer exclusivity.”

Linc returns my smile. “I’m on board with most of that.”

My heart pounds audibly in my chest. It’s so loud, a normal man would hear it, but Linc with all his seemingly heightened senses must be able to hear my nerves clear as day. Shit. Cricket warned me. Is this too much too fast? Exclusivity might be asking too much from the man they call a ghost.

“Which part is the problem?” I bravely ask.

“Do you really need a good morning text if I’m right there lying next to you?”

There’s a tickle running up my arms, it swirls around my neck and drops to my chest, filling my heart with pressure. This feeling is a little different than lust. It’s far more dramatic. This is how it starts…the beginning of hope. It’s been so long, but the feeling is a flood of warmth and comfort, reminding me that my life is over as I knew it, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Here, there are new possibilities.

“Linc. Wreck me. Now.”

Stepping back, he pops the top button of his polo, giving him enough room around the neck to pull his shirt off. I can sit on my hands to control them, but there’s nothing I can do about the gawking. Linc’s chest and abs are inhuman, like a Grecian sculpture of a mythical creature. The cut grooves of his six-pack could trap my fingers, they are so deep…so tight. His torso is perfect, outside of the healed-over scars. The one just to the left of his belly button still shows the teeth of the staples that were used to close him up. It’s the kind of patchwork they do in emergencies to rapidly close a bullet wound. Looking at his body, I’m torn between lust and concern.

“I like that lipstick on you,” he says as he unbuckles his belt. I don’t know where he stashed it, but I’m just now noticing Linc’s holster and gun are missing. He continues to unbutton his pants and lets them droop just a little so I can see the waistband of his briefs and the hearty bulge they are trying to contain.

First, he turns on my shower, pulling the handle to the hottest setting. Then, he makes his way back over to me, but before I can put my hands on his beckoning hard-on, he grabs my wrists.

With his other hand, he collects the silver tube, and pops off the lid with his thumb. While dragging the lipstick across my top lip and then the bottom, he releases a sexy low grumble.

“Eden?”

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