Page 13 of The Truths that Deceive

But that’s not what I am thinking.

I wanted to see if he tasted as sinfully good as he looks.

Thinking isn’t what my brain is doing. No, it is in idiot mode.

Before I can say a word, he catches my chin, then slides his other hand down the side of my body, to my hip. “Don’t even try, Calista Hendrix Price. Because I won’t be a fucking gentleman.”

His hand reaches under my skirt and his fingers are back between my thighs. The heat of shame morphs into heat of desire and heads south. I shift, parting my thighs.

The flare of masculine pride tells me he notices, and I get the feeling not much gets past him.

I don’t even know who he is and he’s slipping fingers over my wet panties that have everything to do with him. His thumb strokes my clit as his fingers slide over my covered folds, pushing the fabric up between my pussy lips.

God, I want more.

Right or wrong. Batshit crazy or mildly insane. It doesn’t matter.

I want more.

Crave more.

And I want to run.

Worse. I want to run and have him chase me down.

I’ve had sex, done some wild things, and I know vanilla doesn’t get me hot. Nothing’s gotten me as hot as when his fingers touched me, felt me up. He unleashed something and I want to bound down that unexplored path. I want to flee in the opposite direction. And I partly want to stand here and just see what he’ll do to me.

Something shifts in him. He stills. Just the slightest intake of breath and tilt of his head. Like he can read me. Like he’s gonna go to town and tear me apart, bit by bit.

Like he knows I’m going to let him.

He still holds my chin as he slides my panties out of the way and pushes two fingers inside of me. A bolt of exquisite delight hits me, making my insides clench at his demanding touch.

He doesn’t stop as those blue eyes glitter with pent-up need. He dips his head, lips brushing against my ear. “What I’ll do is take that invitation.”

The man pushes into me again and I gasp, trembling as another orgasm threatens to hit. He starts to stroke into me and my legs almost buckle from the sensations crashing over me.

“I’ll take it,” he says, “and fuck you senseless. If you try andrun, I’ll put a bullet between those pretty eyes and not lose a second’s sleep.”

Now his fingers suddenly stop moving and he pulls his hand away, the loss almost making me whimper. Then he steps away, leaving me to slide, boneless, halfway down the wall.

He turns, sucking his fingers, which is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. His hard cock catches my attention through the fabric of his pants as the fire in me flares with that erotic act of tasting my juices.

“You’re not going to kill me.”

“I might,” he says, pulling out a phone and looking at something on it. He slides it back into his pocket. “You’re very annoying. Tasty, but annoying.”

There’s charm there beneath the surface, careless and deadly, and probably only doled out on very rare occasions. This isn’t one of them. Just a savageness lurking beneath a veneer of sophistication, behind something masquerading as that careless charm.

And it makes me want to moan.

Crawl to him.

Take him in my mouth and build my own altar and hand him a dagger of my own making.

What I need is to get myself together.

Somehow, I manage to drag myself back into a standing position. “If you wanted to kill me,” I say, “I’d be dead.”

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