Page 57 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
My cheeks heat. I don’t know why. I’ve never been ashamed of my body. But I’ve also never been this aroused before. It’s like every ounce of awareness of my body is there between my legs. I squirm under his attention and start closing my thighs.
“Don’t you fucking dare, kitty cat,” he growls and meets my eyes. “It’s my turn to touch you. It’s only fair.”
I don’t like this game. Maybe he sees the panic in my eyes because he doesn’t drop to his knees as I fear. As I need.Jesus, I don’t know what I want.
He touches me with his fingertips, trailing them all over my body, learning my shape, eliciting goosebumps in his wake. I squeeze my eyes shut as if I can hide from this moment.
“Open your eyes, Leila.” His voice is a dark whisper near my ear. His breath is hot and damp on my cheek. “Watch me touch you.”
God help me, but I do as he says. I watch as he swipes his fingertip down my throat, circles the hollow at my collarbone, and traces along the corset’s top. He groans as he cups my breast through the leather.
“Fucking perfect.” Reverence bleeds into his tone as he circles the hard bud of my nipple with his thumb. The patent leather isn’t as thick as it seems. Every swipe around tugs the leather down and gives my trapped breast the freedom it needs.
My dusky nipple pops out, scraping along the seam. Sensation shoots straight to my pussy, flooding me with desire. My breath hitches. I resist the urge to press his hand there, to relieve the aching heaviness begging for attention. When he pinches my nipple, my lashes flutter and I whimper.
“Keep watching,” he breathes.
“Why?”
“So you can see this is what’s real.” His palms slide over my breasts, my hips. He swivels his thumbs inward when he hits my thighs, teasing closer toward the line of my thong. “This reaction your body is having is from my touch. Listen to it, not whatever the fuck is in your head telling you that we don’t belong together.”
To prove his point, the next swipe of his thumb presses deep into the juncture between my thighs. I gasp as sensation builds in me. We’re approaching a point of no return. His touching game is far more erotic than mine was. But I can’t stop watching what he does to me.
He brushes over the lace with his thumb, rubs my clit, and revels in my moan as I rock into his touch, chasing more.
“You love this,” he rasps. “Admit it.”
Lipstick.
“We have a job to do.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and lift the red stick toward my mouth. Storm clouds come over Zeke’s expression. His eyes scream outrage. How dare I pretend I’m not affected? He captures my wrist before I can paint the red, cups the back of my head, and holds me still. We stare at each other for a long, hot minute. A standoff between old friends and new enemies. But we aren’t really anymore. We’re neither.
One thing that’s for certain is this magnetic pull between us. It’s always been there.
He takes my mouth in a hot, plundering kiss that tells me he’s hurting in more ways than one. I’m left dazed and breathless when he pulls back and returns to wiping the last of the shaving cream from his jaw.
“Why did you do that?” My words barely have the power to form.
“So you remember me when you’re doing yourjobtonight.” He snarls at my corset, then hands me back the lipstick.
Dismissed.
Sort of.
It’s my fault, but this isn’t the reaction I wanted. I don’t know what I wanted, only that I wanted to keep playing this game. A switch flips inside me. Defiance so strong and pure hurtles through my system, turning everything hot, obliterating the last line of resistance surrounding my heart. I knock him backward. He thinks I’m going to fight. I can see it in his eyes.
He doesn’t expect me to switch our positions until his back is to the mirror, his ass planted on the vanity. My eyes lock with his, and I yank his towel from his hips, springing his thick, hard erection free.
“What are you doing?” he snaps, as if I’m annoying him now.
“Giving you something to remember while I’m doing my job.”
His breath shoots from his lips as I take him in hand, but he doesn’t break eye contact. It’s strange how one can read emotions in eyes. The actual organs never change. They remain two orbs framed by long lashes. One minute, I think I read a challenge. But the next, I see his submission. Finally, something deeper bounces between us that is open, raw, and vulnerable. It’s then I realize I’m staring at my emotions reflected back at me.
We want this. Deeply. But we’re afraid.
With each stroke of his cock, my pulse quickens, and my breath turns ragged. His hand works into my hair and clenches hard until my scalp burns.
