Page 16 of House of Cards

“Yeah? Then what?” Her hands curl into fists at her side, lifting her chin as I turn back to her. Not sure where she’s getting this little spark of bravery, but it won’t be around much longer.

When I pull a pair of black gloves out of my pocket, her skin pales.

“You just carry those around with you wherever you go?” she breathes, clearly fighting not to show her terror.

“Ever tried getting blood out of your cuticles?” I curl my hand into a fist, and she stares at my glove as though mesmerized by the dark, clingy leather.

“And you wonder why people call you names,” she mutters, fingers trembling as she reaches behind her to drag down the zip. The satin fabric hugs her amble breasts and curvy waist, snug enough that I’m doubting she’s wearing a wire.

She’s the perfect operative. Pretty enough to fit in with the arm-candy most men bring with them to the casino. DEA, FBI, a rival organization…could be any of them.

Someone’s always watching. Always trying to listen in.

“Faster,” I snap.

“Does anyone ever performbetterunder pressure?” she mutters, hazel eyes darting up to glare at me.

Her dress shouldn’t distract me as much as it does. It’s snug enough to hug every curve, her tits straining against the fabric, the hem skimming her thighs.

But it’s the bare skin above her neckline that keeps drawing my eye.

Begging for a string of pearls.

Or a hand around her pale throat.

The way I’m drinking in the sight of her makes the woman freeze.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

She licks her lips, and slowly peels off her bodice, baring creamy, heavy tits behind a lacy emerald bra.

Most women keep their heads bowed and eyes downcast around me. Submissive. Eager to please. So why does my cock stir when her hazel eyes narrow into challenging slits?

“This isn’t a striptease.”

Glaring, she yanks the rest of the dress down her legs.

I swear I hear her mutter, “Asshole,” as she’s bending.

I twirl my finger, and she scowls at me before reluctantly shuffling around in a circle, her dress in a pile at her feet. She faces me again with color on her cheeks, but it seems equal parts anger and embarrassment.

No wire.

No reason to suspect she’s anything but someone in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Her flush deepens as she crosses her arms over her chest, trying to shield herself from my gaze.

The sinister calm in my murmured, “Good girl,” makes her pale.

I flick my eyes toward the chair, my voice back to a cold bite as I tell her, “Sit.”

She bends to pull up her dress, freezing when I tut her.

“You won’t be needing that.”

Her flush deepens as she crosses her arms over her chest. “There’s a ton of free porn on the internet you can jerk off to, perve.”

Lucky for her, my phone vibrates in my pocket, snapping me out of dark thoughts. Thoughts about her on her knees, my belt around her throat as I forced her to choke on my cock.

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