Page 49 of Fire Fight

Instead, I lunge for the door.

Drake gets there first, slamming his hand onto it to prevent me leaving, his large body pressing into me from behind, enough to feel the hard contours of his bare chest against my back. His hot breath stirs my hair as he hooks the back of my collar, dragging it down until it the front pulls against my throat.

“How’s my writing doing?” The slow throb of his voice matches the pulsing heat in my veins as the cloth tightens. “Are you going to be a good girl and show me?”

I barely have time to shake my head before he withdraws a step, spinning me to face him. His giant hands press on my shoulders, making my legs buckle, and I collapse to my knees.

Steel fingers clamp onto my jaw, tilting my chin until my eyes are forced upwards over the taut musculature of his chest, his chiselled jawline, to meet his scorching gaze.

“That’s better.”

A tightness grows, low in my abdomen. The position of supplication turns Drake into a giant, towering above me.

Holding all the power.

My body and mind fight each other as adrenaline pumps hot blood into my most sensitive places.

He’s infuriating. Confusing. Tempting.

I tug his hand from my face, settling lower on my knees, mouth almost directly in front of his crotch and the power shifts.

Drake is entirely focused on me, holding his breath as he watches, waits. As the growing bulge of his erection strains against the skintight fabric of his swimming briefs, stretching the Lycra whisper thin.

My lips part, tongue licking slowly across them.

Then I savagely snap my teeth together, huffing a soft laugh as he flinches.

“Careful,” he warns, twisting my ponytail around his hand and tugging like a leash. “We still need to discuss the illegal drugs you brought into my house.”

He picks up the bottle again, and I hate that I can’t just turn up my nose and leave. That I’m at a point where they’ve become more of a necessity than an occasional helper.

I remind myself there’s not many left. Even if he lets me have them, in a fortnight—less—I’ll be in the same position.

But the rattle of the bottle turns me into Pavlov’s dog.

They’re worth more than just a good night’s sleep. They’ll wipe my racing thoughts away, so nothing hurts. The weaknessbreaks me more thoroughly than insomnia ever could, turning me hollow.

I should be better than this.

Stronger.

“I don’t trust you with the full bottle, but”—he balances a single tablet on his fingertip—“I’m happy to dispense one at a time.”

He shoves down his waistband, erection slapping back against his abdomen, then balances the pill on top.

“Here you go.” His voice is deep, ragged. “Suck it off me and we’ll call it even.”

I’ve never seen a hard cock before, not in real life.

One glance and I can’t look away, my eyes fixing to the shiny head where a drop of precum beads, right next to the tablet. I follow the twisting path of his fat veins, see the vibration as they pulse along the length of his shaft, my view cut off by the lowered waistband.

When I swallow, my throat is dry. My mouth is dry. My pulse flutters, racing until I’m lightheaded. I pluck at the skin of my throat, then cover it with my fingers, feeling exposed, though he’s the one with his body on display.

It will be easy.

I could suck the pill off his head, my tongue sweeping across to claim it.

It’s just the tip.

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