Page 52 of Tide of Treason
“Watch me.”
“We’re not negotiating.”
“It’s not negotiable.”
A steely softness coated her words. “You aren’t walking away.”
Stopping at my door, I gripped the frame, the wood biting harshly into my palm. “I don’t trust you. I don’t like you. And I sure as fuck don’t need you. Who the hell puts a man in their hotel without a single goddamn heads-up?”
“The same woman who bribed three city planners to widen the street outside so your convoy wouldn’t bottleneck traffic.” She shrugged one bare shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
“You widened a street for me?” Sarcasm fractured into disbelief. “Are you sick?”
“Terminal.” A delicate sigh. “See, Lucius, I don’t like you either. You’re reckless, arrogant, a walking RICO case.” Kayla stopped inches away. Shadow swallowed half her silhouette,leaving her split between light and dark. “But every time your name scars a headline, my pulse skips. That’s inconvenient. I prefer efficiency.”
While I stared, thunder flickered behind my breastbone. I gripped the frame harder, splinters threatening to tattoo my palm.
“Get the fuck out of my doorway,” I said softly.
She flicked her gaze over my shoulder, past the chaos of boxes and half-assembled furniture. Her lashes lowered, as if taking inventory of everything unfinished inside my domain and, by extension, inside me.
“I widened a street for you,” she repeated. “You think I’m going to let a geographical inconvenience like a lease push you out of my line of sight?”
Her hand found my throat, pushing me back against the door. Any retort I had left died on my tongue the moment she pressed those red lips to mine and stole the breath right out of my lungs.
14 | Lucius
23 years old
Present day
I kicked thedoor shut and sealed the night behind us.
Blood roared in my ears and cast a cloudy sheen over my vision, muting every rational thought, every sliver of self-preservation, leaving nothing but the narcotic drag of her mouth. Kayla’s fingers tangled in my hair and she sighed against my mouth. It was a content, almost sweet sound. Shit, she tasted good. Sweet vermouth and sin. A harsh throb settled in my chest, a hot-wired jolt that set every bad instinct I owned flashing red. I’d been electrocuted once with my palms slammed onto a car battery to make me talk.
This felt a hell of a lot worse.
Because I wanted more.
I broke the kiss just long enough to breathe and instantlyregretted the distance. Her mouth drifted down my neck, skated over my tattoos. Only our breathing filled the room while she explored at her leisure.
“Kayla.”
Nothing, unless you count the way her teeth sank into my throat. A hiss slit my tongue when she sucked a bruise the size of a goddamn dinner plate over my Adam’s apple.
“Jesus.” I groaned.
She exhaled slowly against my neck, her whisper filthy and sweet as heroin. “If you ever tried to leave Lucius . . .” Teeth scraped over her own mark, sharpening the threat. “You’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you hadn’t.”
Instinct hijacked the wheel, smashing caution through the windshield. I gripped her ass, lifting until heat welded us rib-to-rib, her thighs cinched around my hips. I carried her through the mess of the penthouse, kicking boxes out of the way with each step, never breaking the kiss. She moaned against my mouth, low and throaty, grinding down against my cock. Friction seared my spine. Sparks popped behind my eyelids.
We crashed onto the couch.
Dragging in a sharp breath, I leaned back and swiped a shaking hand across my mouth. Futile. The blood still thundered, scorching through veins too weak to resist. Kayla was perched on my lap and letting me study her, not shifting or averting her eyes. Her pupils had obliterated the warm brown entirely, leaving only pitch-black lust. My downfall spelled clearly in that stare.
She leaned in, trailing her tongue up the side of my throat. Murmured something in throaty Italian. My brain fizzled like a blown fuse. I didn’t understand a word and didn’t care to try. I let my head fall, dragging in a slow breath through clenched teeth while her hands slid around the back of my neck and pulled me in—guided my face between the softest, most perfect set of tits I’d ever had the pleasure of burying my mouth in.
“Fuck,” I muttered, dragging my mouth across the swell of one, then the other. Wet lips. Abrading teeth. Tongue lazy and devoted. Silk clung to erect peaks; my thumbs circled until she arched and a tremor chased up her spine. “These perfect fucking tits . . .”
