Page 212 of Felonies are Forever

Some philanthropic program where a privileged woman thinks her writing letters to a caged man would help him.

I shake my head, admiring the fear in her eyes. The way she’s blinking over and over. I note the slight pressing of her thighs together, the chewing of her inner lip.

The scent of her paper, the faintest trace of perfume clinging to the pages—those were the only moments that kept me human. Kept me from turning back into the cold-blooded bastard I’d been before her. Every time I received one of her letters, I traced her words with my fingers, imagining they were pressed against her skin instead. I thought of her curling up with a pen, writing to me, and it burned—knowing she was out there, soft and untouched by the filth of this place, while I was in here, covered in it.

And now she’s here.

She stands there like temptation itself, all soft curves and sharp wit wrapped in a red dress that hugs her body in a way that should be illegal. The fabric clings to her hips, dips at her waist, teasing me with the shape I’ve only imagined in the dark. A delicate gold necklace rests against the hollow of her throat, the tiny pendant rising and falling with her breath, taunting me. Her hair—wild, unruly, the color of sin—spills over her shoulders, begging for my fingers to tangle in it. She shifts, and the subtle slide of her dress against her thighs makes my teeth clench. She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me. But she will.

Her candy and temptation scent grips my balls and I fill my lungs with her like I’m coming up for air after a long waterboarding session. I’m gonna destroy this little girl, and she’s standing there looking at me like I’m fucking Santa Claus.

The knock at the door shatters the moment. My entire body tenses, instincts roaring back to the surface.

The knock comes again, followed by a hesitant voice. “Sir, we need to check the—”

I don’t let them finish. In three strides, I’m at the door, yanking it open so hard the idiot on the other side stumblesback. The color drains from his face as he looks up at me, throat bobbing with fear.

“You need to do what?” My rasping voice is quiet, but it’s the kind of quiet that makes men regret their life choices.

“I—I—”

“You don’t need to do a damn thing.”

The guard shifts on his feet, clearly trying to find the courage to push back, but I don’t give him the chance. I step forward, invading his space, my voice low, deliberate. “You think I don’t know exactly who runs this place? Me, you dumb little fuck. Walk away while you still can.”

The man turns pale, bolting down the hallway like a scared cat. I almost laugh. Almost. Instead, I slam the door shut, letting the echo of the metal punctuate the moment.

When I turn back, Lenore is staring at me, lips parted, breath quick. “You really need to work on your people skills.”

I arch a brow. “Your mother would say the same thing.”

A pause hangs in the warm air between us. A crack in the moment, forming as she spins her tongue across the front of her teeth and my dick doubles down the battle it’s having with my zipper.

That gets a laugh out of her, but then she narrows her eyes. “Wait—how do you know what my mother says?”

I smirk, stepping closer. “Sweetheart, do you really think I wouldn’t keep tabs on the woman who raised the most frustrating, reckless, beautiful pain in my ass?”

She groans. “Oh my God. Youandmy mother? I’m doomed.”

I grin. “Damn right you are.”

I move toward her, reclaiming the space between us, and just as I’m about to reach her—

My left foot loses friction.

In a spit second, I’m thrown to the side, a fucking little piece of clear plastic sending my hulking weight off balance. For asecond, gravity takes over, but I straight arm the metal table before I hit the floor, righting myself with a grunt. I’ve never flailed before, but I think I just did.

I recover fast, but not before she gasps—and then giggles.

The sound rips through me like a cold shower, and I grit my teeth not with pain or irritation but with pleasure. Pure pleasure. My dick is sucking up all the blood in my body, wondering if she giggles like that when she touches herself, wondering what it would take to be able to hear that sound every morning when I wake up.

She slaps a hand over her mouth, clearly realizing the danger she’s in. Her eyes are wide, but I still see amusement there, and I could stare into those eyes for the rest of my life.

“You think that’s funny?” I ask, tilting my head.

She shakes her head rapidly, but I can see the tremor in her shoulders, the way she’s struggling to hold it in.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” I murmur, voice dark and edged with something promising. I take the last step forward, and she flinches as I grasp her shoulders and push her back, bending her over until the only thing keeping her from falling is me.

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