Page 9 of The Truths that Deceive

Chapter 3

Smith

Creep doesn’t even begin to describe how I fucking feel right now.

Calista’s stopped struggling but my hands on her feel good, too good to want to stop touching. They make me want to take things further.

Faster.

Harder.

Fuck my life.

“Let me go, you pervert,” she snaps at me in German.

“Not on your fucking life.”

I don’t bother with the German. She’s CIA, so she no doubt has a number of languages under her hat, like me. But while she’s young, she’s fit. I can feel that in the power that she doesn’t bother to try and hold back. She hasn’t learned the knack of going soft and pliant until she launches into fight.

Comes from her fucking desk job.

But that inexperience licks up along my senses and fires into my cock. There’s just something about her. Her fire, her fight, her sass. Maybe all of it. And even thoughshe’s way too young for me, I was drawn in the second I deliberately bumped into her and planted the tracker on her pack.

Maybe it’s the fact she’s pretty, although I’m not the kind of guy who gets dumbstruck by a beautiful face. I’m also not sex deprived, so getting off isn’t the reason why my cock’s in such a twist right now. It’s just her. The way she’s prey with claws and teeth. The way she cased the room and ran from both places, the way she wants to kill me right now.

It’s hot.

It’s pure catnip. Fuck.

She wants to fight me and run, and I want to let her. I want to chase and tackle her down and?—

I deliberately shut down those thoughts before they take hold of my hands and my mouth. “I’m going to check you for weapons,” I growl against her ear.

“I don’t have any, asshole.” This time she speaks English, and the vibration of her muscles warms my skin. “I’m not exactly in combat gear.”

I shift, pressing against her, pushing her into the wall.

Oh fuck, she smells good. Oranges and jasmine, with a hint of spice. It’s an erotic scent that doesn’t seem to belong on her. Or maybe it does. She’s dressed like a punk version of a hooker in schoolgirl cosplay, and now she looks eighteen.

I remind myself I’m not into women below the age of thirty, but this one is shattering that and stirring the fragments into something new and compelling.

“You get your tiny rocks off by doing this? Feeling up young women? Exerting whatever bullshit control you think you have? Does that make you feel like more of a man?”

Shit, her words are poisoned aphrodisiac-dipped syllables. I love the sting of them, and I move, holding her with one hand as I pat down an arm, up along her torso, skimming the underside of soft, full tits.

She hisses air, her ribs fluttering as I deftly switch hands to pat down her other side.

I go lower, skimming along her waist, and then I drop my mouth to her ear. “I’m going to let you go. Try anything and I’ll fucking shoot you. Got that?”

“Not if I shoot you first.”

Laughter bubbles up as I keep a hand on her wrists and step back. She twitches, and I grab my gun, then press it against her temple. “I said I’d shoot.”

“You haven’t yet.”

“You haven’t made an escape.”

“Early days,” she says, her low voice full of the right mix of contempt and challenge that makes me want to tear her panties off with my teeth.

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