Page 41 of Lady and the Hitman
“That’s presumptuous.”
“That’s true.”
He took a bite of steak, chewed, swallowed. “You want to know what I think?”
“Always,” I said, breathlessly.
“I think your body’s been waiting for this longer than your mind has. I think you’ve spent years pretending your hands could do what you needed. But they couldn’t. Not really.”
He leaned in again. “You need to be taken.”
The words ripped through me like silk tearing. Quiet. Devastating.
“And what do you need?” I asked, somehow keeping my voice steady.
His smile was slow, dangerous. “Control. Until I decide to give it up.”
The room felt too warm.
The world too sharp.
He shifted in his seat, one leg brushing mine under the table. I felt the hard outline of his thigh. His body—bigger, stronger, heavier than I’d let myself picture—wasinches from mine, and every cell in me leaned toward him.
“If I slipped my hand under that table right now,” he said, “and spread you open, would you let me?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
He exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound of satisfaction.
“But I won’t,” he said. “Not yet.”
My jaw clenched.
“Because I like watching you wait.”
I stabbed my fork into another scallop.
He leaned close again, his lips barely grazing my ear. “When I finally touch you,” he said, “it won’t be here. It’ll be somewhere private. Silent. Somewhere I can hear every sound you make. Every breath. Every time your hips buck when I don’t let you come.”
I squeezed my thighs together so hard I thought I’d snap.
The waiter reappeared with dessert.
He chose a dark chocolate torte.
The bite he offered me tasted like lust. Like the way he spoke. Bitter. Sweet. Dangerous.
“I want to feed you. Tie you down. Break every rule you’ve made for yourself.”
He wiped the edge of my mouth with his thumb.
Then slid that thumb between his lips and sucked the taste of me from his skin.
I whimpered. Quiet. Wrecked.
“You want to know what it’ll feel like when I finally fuck you?” he asked, voice low, just for me.
My whole body locked down.
