Page 58 of Vengeful Lies

When he applies even more pressure, I curse and finally remove my hand, realizing he’s drawn blood. It smears his lips, and I’m as horrified as I am turned on. There’s a beat between us when we assess one another’s approval.

He pulls me in closer as I continue riding him, and his lips find mine again as if his life hinges on it. I can’t stop moaning even as I taste my blood on him. His hands wrap around my throat, pressing the stones from the diamond necklace into my skin and cutting off my airway.

Fuck.

I keep rocking against him, and his thrusts match the rhythm I set. I can’t breathe. And yet, the lightheadedness is adding to my high.

My legs begin to shake as I reach a new, higher peak. He greedily kisses me, taking and taking until I fall over the edge. I can’t even scream as the wave washes over me, and I come on his cock. He lets go of me then, and the rush of air and pure bliss hits me like an avalanche.

He holds me in place as he jerks inside me, filling me up. His intense gaze keeps me grounded as I slowly rock my hips back and forth as I come down from the high.

Blood is smeared on his lips—and most likely mine—and my hand. I should be mortified, but there’s something untamed and carnal about fucking this man. Like he pins me down, marks me, and breaks me, and I get off on the high every fucking time.

“You enjoy milking my cock, don’t you, Kitten,” he says with an arrogant smile.

I mirror his smile. “It’s the least I can do, fiancé… before I kill you.”

His smile grows bigger, and I wonder if anyone gets to see this side of Eli. In all the photos I’ve seen of him, I’ve never seen him smile like this, so beautifully and openly.

My hand raises to his face, and I rub my hand against the scruff of his jaw as if petting him.

He seems perplexed by the tender touch, and even I don’t know why I feel so moved to do it. Aftercare is not my specialty.

I snap into a sudden realization. Aftercare? What the fuck am I thinking?

I lift myself off him and quickly scramble over to the passenger seat, pulling down my dress and adjusting my panties.

“Truce is over,” I say, my heart hammering and strange emotions I’m not entirely comfortable with, wanting to explode out. He’s chuckling, amused by my quick switch, as I place my golden guns in their case and practically jump out of the car.

“Aren’t you forgetting this?” he asks, holding up the bullet.

“I was hoping you’d choke on it. Keep it as a memento, asshole,” I bite out, slamming the door as he laughs.

I cut across the parking lot to my apartment building, focusing on the clicking of my heels as I walk.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

What am I feeling right now?

Why do I feel like this?

I hit the button to the elevator more times than needed, but when the doors finally close, I hold the gun case close to my chest and thump my head on the wall with a sigh.

A momentary truce, huh?

Meeting his parents?

Fuck, is this becoming real?

I pull my phone from my small clutch, noticing a new text message from my client that came in two hours ago. I feel the life drain from me as I read the words.

Anonymous Number: Meet one of my men in this location tomorrow evening at eight to exchange details on the Monti family. Don’t be late.

“Fuck.” The glint of my engagement ring catches my eye, and I swallow. I bite at the tip of my nail. The longer I prolong the hit, the longer… Well, I’m not entirely sure what I’m feeling.

The elevator doors open, and I hide any emotions that might be showing on my face. I’m a lethal hitwoman, for fuck’s sake. And no man will be my downfall.

I remind myself of that as I step into the hallway with my two golden guns.

---