Page 108 of Tide of Treason
Her gaze sharpened, the stubbornness glittering brighter than the diamonds she draped herself in. However, her palms lifted to cup the full, tempting curves, thumbs sweeping dusky peaks until her breath hitched in defiance. Even her obedience was painted in shades of mutiny, a beautiful paradox that sent poison and pleasure scorching through my veins.
“Shit,” I breathed, bracing my fist into the mattress, muscles straining to hold back. I watched Kayla tease herself with a special kind of masochism only addicts understood. Sometimes I wondered if she knew how easily she could kill me, how fast I’d kneel for her if she crooked a finger. Sometimes I really hoped she didn’t. “That’s it, baby. Just likethat. Show me what she does when I’m not home. You’re so fucking good at listening when you want to be,principessa.”
She bit down on her lip and pinched herself harder.
My restraint splintered, crumbling to ashes beneath her taunting touch. Teeth bared, I hooked my arms under her knees and drove into her so hard she yelped into the pillow. The slap of my hips on her ass, the ripple and give of her body—fuck, that view. I caught her hand and pinned it above her head, lacing our fingers tight. She had these glossy nails, pink with cute little hearts. I fixated, mind flickering. Hearts. What kind of bastard notices details like that when he’s buried inside his wife’s sister?
Apparently, the same kind who’d ripped his wedding band from his finger one blackout night and hurled it across the room. Never bothering to retrieve it because he’d been too busy living every moment in a state of disgrace.
It was agony not seeing her face and her eyes rolling back when I pushed deeper. So we rolled, and Kayla ended up riding me, nails leaving red-hot tracks down my chest. For a man who liked to think he was in control, I never felt more alive than when she took it away. Leaning back, I let her dictate the pace, cursing so deeply it vibrated in my teeth.
Her hands coasted up my torso, fingers spread to catch every cord of muscle. The sensation burned through my skin, drugging my blood until she reached my neck, tangling into damp curls. Brain flickering with half-formed curses, all of them swallowed when her breath ghosted over my mouth, warm enough to part my lips without me noticing it. And then, she tipped my chin and sucked my tongue into her mouth.
A groan tore free, grip tightening on her ass. The slide up, the clench down; it was enough to make my heart slam harder than nine-millimeter firing at close range. Kayla bit my bottom lip on a downward grind, and my vision fuzzed at the edges. Stars. Static. Her name etched behind my lids. The silk slip she hadn’t bothered to take off in her rush to straddle me in the middle of a sunlit bed was bunched at her waist, nearly translucent, letting me see the sharp vee of her sex stretched tight around my cock. It got me offhard, evident in the way we fucked.
Face-down, ass-up with her choking on the pillow. Sideways, twisted in the sheets, gasping when I pounded up into her so deep she sobbed into the mattress. She wound up perched on the edge of the dresser, tits bouncing with every ruthless thrust of my hips. Sometimes I knelt behind her on the floor while she held onto the side of the bed for dear life. The prettiest noises always cracked in her throat as I slid my thumb over her clit just right. I watched her mouth part and her lashes lower, that breathy “fuck” nearly finishing me. It went straight to my balls. Made them pull up tight.
Between rounds, she dropped to her knees and sucked me off so thoroughly spit ran down her wrist. Christ. The woman was a menace. Then, she pushed me down by the chest and climbed on top again, slick heat swallowing me to the root until I couldn’t think, only feel.
I blacked out for a second when her teeth scraped my neck—came back to myself with my hands clamped so tight on her hips my knuckles popped.
“Gonna make me come again, baby. You know that?”
Her lashes fluttered. My girl was cockdrunk and glassy-eyed.
“You like that? Squeezing every last drop out of me until I can’t see straight?”
She bit her lip. Nodded.
“Say it.”
“I like it,” she whispered.
“Say what you are.”
“Your problem.”
Goddamn right, she was. Best fucking problem I ever had.
We had a system for the aftermath. First pass, I stayed on my back, letting her sprawl full-weight across my chest like a pissed-off housecat guarding territory. When her body temp spiked (it always did—ice-queen runs nuclear after), she rolled, jamming her back to my front. I folded around her, one thigh wedged between hers, one arm across her waist, fingers spanning nearly hipbone to hipbone. She tucked cold feet behind my calf, heel hooked. If she was anxious, she found my wrist pulse and pressed. If I was wired, I counted her breaths against my ribs until the mania let go.
Tonight, she guided our joined hands beneath her belly.
I’ve smelled gun oil in jungles, burnt powder in tunnels, cheap bleach over bad murders, diesel exhaust in cartel back lots, jet fuel, rain rot, prison sweat, sanctuary incense thick enough to choke. None of it ever stuck to me. But Kayla . . . she soaked into my bones, made herself a new sense. Salt air off the Sicilian coast, the heat of a thousand Augusts, and thecrackle of an old record spinning a love song I don’tdeserve.
31 | Kayla
30 years old
Present day
“Vito broke histhumb.”
My brows arched, all faux interest and no real surprise. “How?”
Elio scratched the back of his neck. “Luca Calabresi called him a tourist.”
Funny.
