Page 96 of Black Sheep

He jerks inside me, filling me with hot jets of creamy semen. His hands stay on me, stroking my body until our racing hearts quiet.

“I like this dress. Very, very much,” he breathes in my ear.

An unexpected giggle catches me. “I think it likes you too.”

His low, throaty laugh rumbles through me. The sound of it, the first genuine show of amusement I’ve heard from Axel, reaches inside and squeezes my heart. My breath catches.

“What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

“Your laugh,” I blurt without thinking.

His eyes turn wary. “What about it?”

“I haven’t heard it for so long.”

The light leaves his face. His jaw clenches tight. “A million reasons for that, baby.”

And just like that, the easiness is gone. I don’t know what comes over me. I slide my fingers down his cheek. Words I shouldn’t feel, shouldn’t accommodate, push against my vocal cords. With everything inside me I bite them back.

He sees my struggle. His haunted eyes meet mine, probing for a minute. Then he taps my waist.

“Time to go.”

“Where are we going?”

His steel hard jaw flexes. “To my next meeting. It’s time to step things up.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

POSSESSION IS NINE-TENTHS OF THE LAW

Axel

Thursday nights at the Punishment Club are what I’ve termed Vanilla Socials, although B chooses to slap a fancier term on it. But it’s the night when the less adventurous club members socialize in the lobby.

It’s the only night I allow Cleo in this part of the club. The only night when I can be assured some asshole won’t try to draw her into his game.

Recalling the fucker who knocked on her door yesterday, my gut clenches in fury.

Why keep her here at all?

I’m giving her what she wants…Like I always have. Because it’s always been her.

Always will be…

My gut clenches for another reason. I push it aside and concentrate on the man in front of me.

Detective Malone’s meerkat-like expression is almost comical. The moment he entered, I clocked his disappointment at the lack of a salacious orgy right here in the lobby. Since then he’s been glancing around, waiting for the skin flick that is never coming.

I nod at the waitress, who delivers his beer, and glance to where Cleo sits at the bar, sipping her second mimosa as she listens to a man reading incomprehensible poetry to his wife. Every now and then, her gaze catches mine and skids away.

Something happened in that booth at my club. I saw questions in her eyes, questions I silently pleaded for her to ask, even though I was terrified I might not be able to answer.

It still hurts like an open wound to see her withhold them.

She catches my stare again, and her body freezes under the overhead bar light bathing her body. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. And responsive. And strong.

And still closing her heart against me.

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