Page 32 of Kissing Danger

A man could only be so noble when offered his desires on a silver platter.

Knocking on the window that separated us from the front of the car, I ordered the driver to take us to the nearest luxury hotel. It was New York City. There was a hotel on practically every street corner, so we didn’t have to travel far. I barely had time to kiss Deacon again before the car came to a stop.

Luckily, since it was an odd time of day, the hotel lobby wasn’t too busy. Renting a room only took a few minutes, but every second that passed where Deacon’s skin wasn’t pressed against mine felt like a small eternity.

He clung to my arm the whole time, tracing nonsensical patterns over my shoulder and chest.

At one point, when the receptionist looked away from us to focus on her computer screen, Deacon angled his hips, so the back of my hand brushed against his groin. I could feel how hard he was, and I nearly mounted him down right there on the front desk.

Everyone in the lobby knew why we were there anyway. There was only one explanation for an older man leading a younger man into a hotel, with no reservations and no luggage. Our intentions were no secret.

After an excruciatingly long wait—five whole minutes—we finally had a key to a hotel room on the top floor. This time it was Deacon who dragged me along into the elevator, and as soon as the doors closed, I pushed him up against the mirrored wall and kissed him hard enough to bruise both our lips.

At some point on our journey to the top floor, other people may have tried to get on the elevator. I vaguely remembered thedoors opening more than once, but no one invaded our space and we were left alone on the elevator.

When the numbers over the door announced our floor, we parted just long enough to make our way to our room. The journey from the room’s front door to the bed ended up taking nearly twenty minutes, as I kept giving in to the temptation to press Deacon against every flat surface I could find as he tugged at my clothes.

We were both wearing only our pants by the time we made it to the bed. I pressed him down on the mattress, biting and sucking at the skin of his neck. His fingers dug bruises into my shoulders as he moaned, and one of his legs wrapped around my waist.

His arousal rubbed against my own, and I didn’t think twice as I slipped my hand down inside his pants to grab his ass. When I did, however, he suddenly went stiff in my arms in a way that obviously wasn’t from pleasure.

I removed my hand and pulled my lips away from his neck, but he was already pulling at my shoulders, trying to drag me closer again.

“No, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to react like that. It’s fine. Keep going.”

Looking down at him, I could see the instinctual fear in his eyes. He was more afraid now than when he’d watched me kill several people less than an hour ago.

“I’m not going to do anything you won’t enjoy.”

He clung to me harder. “If it’s you, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. Please, Nathan. Don’t leave. I need you.”

“I’m not leaving,” I was quick to assure him. “However... I think I have an idea.”

Standing from the bed, he immediately started protesting, but I shushed him and again repeated that I wasn’t leaving. Then I searched for my jacket, which had been left on the floor by the front door.

Returning to the bedroom, I pulled a pair of handcuffs out of the jacket’s pocket and held them up for him to see.

Still sprawled half naked over the bed, with his breath coming heavy and an attractive blush spreading from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, Deacon frowned at me.

“Why do you have handcuffs in your pocket?”

With a shrug, I tossed my jacket aside. “For emergencies.”

Handcuffs in hand, I approached the bed.

“Do you trust me?”

CHAPTER 12

Deacon

Evening light glintedoff the metal handcuffs dangling from Nathan’s fingers as he waited for my answer. It was said in a flirtatious way, but I knew he meant it seriously.

Did I trust him?

Any sane person would say “no”. He was a member of the Mafia, and I’d just watched him kill at least one person.

Then I remembered the weight of the gun in my hand, the thrill of pulling the trigger and ending someone’s life so easily.

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