Page 39 of Assistant to the Assassin

I fake confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I pay you handsomely, I give you the best insurance, I treat you like my equal—why would you betray me?”

I drop the innocent act and shrug, trying to seem regretful. “I was given an offer I just couldn’t pass up. I was cornered by a fed and he said the only way to avoid jail was to help take you down.”

Henry, as if by magic, brings his hands forward, clutching on to handcuffs. He grabs my arm and yanks me up, forcing me to turn my back to him. He places my arms behind me and cuffs them, whispering into my ear as he tightens them, “I’ve imagined you bound many times, but I’m afraid this won’t be enjoyable.”

My heart flutters and I have to fight off a grin as he pulls me out of the office and drags me into the kitchen. I’m forced into a chair, with my arms around the back, facing Henry as he inspects kitchen knives from the knife block.

“What did you tell them?” he asks calmly.

I give him a defiant look. “You can go ahead and torture me, but it won’t work. I deal with stabs and cuts from sharp objects every day. Those knives don’t scare me.”

He sets down the knife he was inspecting, turning his gaze back on me. “I can always find far more painful methods of getting you to talk.”

I make a raspberry sound with my mouth. “You don’t scare me either, Henry.”

He quickly closes the distance between us, slamming his hands on the arms of the chair and dragging it towards the middle of the kitchen. He looms over me, his face right in front of mine. “It isn’t smart for you to antagonize me.”

God his lips are so close. “But antagonizing you is so much fun.”

Without taking his eyes off me, he wraps his fingers around my neck. He doesn’t squeeze, merely rests them against my skin. “I could kill you without moving an inch. Just tighten my grip, apply pressure.”

He emphasizes his point by gently squeezing, with his thumb brushing the hollow of my throat.

“I have killed dozens, maybe even hundreds of people,” he whispers, his fingers tracing the lines and grooves of my collarbone. “I know how to make someone’s death painless or agonizing, fast or slow. It’s an art I’ve perfected. You knew this, yet you betrayed me anyways. Why?”

One step away from panting, I force myself to stay in character. “If you’re going to torture me, just get on with it. What will it be? Your hands? Knives?”

Henry’s mouth curves in a devilish grin as he kneels down in front of my chair. “I have a far more effective way of torturing you, B.”

He pulls on my thighs until I’m slightly slouched in my seat, then he peels up my dress, giving a satisfied hum. “Do you always work at the office with no panties on?”

I try to act nonchalant, keep playing the game, but it’s nearly impossible with Henry gently brushing the skin of my thigh, with his hungry gaze placed solely on my pussy, which aches more with every passing second.

This truly is torture.

“Maybe I like feeling breezy down there.”

He chuckles, pulling my thighs farther apart and placing my calves over the armrests of the chair I’m cuffed to. He’s made me immobile, unable to stop him from whatever he chooses to do. It’s like he said: he could kill me without breaking a sweat, but the hands that are permanently stained with blood are touching me with a delicacy that has me quaking. There’s something intoxicating about being the one person on the planet that such a dangerous man cherishes.

“Already wet for me,” he croons. “Did that pissant ever go down on you?”

He means the guy I dated. I shake my head. “No. I’ve never been eaten out before.”

He gives a disapproving growl, then, without warning, he leans down and kisses my labia, starting at the bottom and making his way to the top, only using his tongue once he reaches my clit. I let out a hearty moan, and in answer, H sucks my clit into his mouth and grazes his teeth over the hood, clutching on to my thighs with both of his hands.

Looking down to see just the top of his head and his scarred, rough hands holding me down while he eats me out? It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

He starts alternating between lavishing my clit with his tongue and sucking it into his mouth, and within only a couple minutes, I’m already reeling towards an orgasm. When I use my vibrator, it usually takes at least fifteen to twenty minutes, but Henry has managed to get me there three times as fast.

But just when I feel myself cresting, Henry stops.

I let out a whine, and Henry bites my thigh to silence me.

“You don’t get to come until you yield,” he tells me.

“Yield?”

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