Page 48 of Cat and Mouse

"Yeah, right." His grip tightens, just a bit, and then he releases me, taking a step back. His arms are tense, the muscles corded beneath his suit jacket. He's wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, the kind that clings to every inch of his powerful frame. His jaw is tight, ticking, and fuck, he looks good, even angry as hell.

"I swear," I say, trying to steady my voice, "I'm just here on assignment. It's about Miguel."

His brows furrow. "Dead Miguel? What do you want with him?"

"I want to know who he was working for."

He scoffs, his lips curling into a sarcastic smile. "Jose Herrera," he says, almost nonchalantly, like it's common knowledge. Then he steps closer again, eyes narrowing. "Now, what did you and Rossiani discuss?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

His gaze sharpens. "You sleeping with him?"

"Ew." The word flies out before I can stop it, and he actually chuckles. That deep, rich laugh sends a shiver down my spine—no, not a shiver. Something else. Something darker.

"What?" His voice is low, amused.

"You've got a nice laugh," I mutter, surprised by my own words.

He stares at me, and for a moment, we both just stand there, stunned by the shift in the air between us.

"Elizabeth," he groans, his voice rough and thick, and then he's on me. His mouth crashes into mine, and I'm too shocked to resist at first. His lips are demanding, his hands sliding up my body, and God, it feels like fire.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I whisper against his mouth, even as my fingers curl into his shirt.

"I don't care." His voice is hoarse, filled with something desperate as his hands roam over me, squeezing, exploring. He's rough, impatient, and it's driving me insane. He pinches mynipples through the thin fabric of my dress, and I gasp, my body arching into him.

Before I can protest, he pulls my dress up, the fabric sliding up my thighs until he finds the gun strapped there. He yanks it off, tossing it onto the table with a loud clatter.

"I think I like you, Elizabeth," he says, his voice gravelly, eyes glinting with something dark. The words surprise me, throwing me off guard, but I don't even have time to process them before he spins me around, one hand gripping my waist, the other fisting the hem of my dress.

"Leo—" I gasp as he grinds against me, his cock hard and insistent through his pants.

He presses his body into mine, his other hand sliding down between my legs, cupping me through the already soaked black thong I'm wearing.

"So wet for me, detective," he growls in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

I bite my lip, trying not to moan, but the sound escapes me anyway. Damn him.

His fingers push aside the fabric, sliding against my slick heat, and I feel like I'm losing control. Every nerve in my body is on fire, my mind spinning as he rubs slow, agonizing circles against my clit.

I should stop this. I need to stop this.

But I can't.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Elizabeth," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as his fingers slipinside me. I choke on a gasp, my hips bucking against his hand, and fuck, he knows exactly what he's doing.

"You don't know the half of it," I manage to say, breathless, but my words sound hollow, my body betraying me as he pumps his fingers, slow and deep.

"I'm not the one who's in danger." He thrusts his fingers harder, his thumb pressing against my clit, and I moan, my hands clutching the edge of the table in front of me to steady myself.

He's driving me insane, and he knows it.

"Leo..." My voice cracks, and I can feel him smirking behind me, his mouth pressing soft kisses to the back of my neck as he works me over with his hand.

"You're not leaving this room until I'm done with you," he growls, his other hand coming up to wrap around my throat again, holding me in place as he fucks me with his fingers.

My breath hitches, my body trembling on the edge, and I know I'm close. Too close.

---