Page 21 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
When I kiss him, he’s still smiling.
Six
Mariana
There are kisses, and there are kisses. Slow, deep, and incredibly hot, this one wins best in show. Only seconds in, and I’m helplessly squirming.
I wonder briefly how many women it must’ve taken for him to perfect his technique, then decide I don’t care. For tonight, his talented mouth is all mine.
It’s so good, I bite his lower lip and sink my fingernails into his back, desperate for more.
He laughs softly against my greedy lips. “Easy, killer. What’s your rush?”
“It’s been too long. And you’re delicious.” I’m panting. Close to begging. Long-dormant nerve endings are waking up, ravenous with hunger, like vampires at dusk.
“Right back atcha, Angel. But we’re not rushing anything.” His eyes are dark, so dark they’re almost black. His voice drops to a growl. “I’m gonna savor you, inch by inch.”
I shiver, thrilled by the sound of that, and he laughs at me again. My eagerness pleases him. His smile is devilish. We both know he’s got me exactly where he wants me.
For now.
“Okay,” I say. “But hurry up.”
He puts a finger over my lips and proceeds to ignore my demand.
He starts at the sensitive spot just below my earlobe, investigating it with his lips, gently stroking the skin with the tip of his tongue. Then he moves his mouth slowly down my neck, pressing soft kisses every half inch, cradling my head in his hands as his lips go to work on me.
My eyes drift shut. This is heaven. I have to remember this. I have to sear this memory into my mind so I can take it out and admire it later on.
I make a small sound of desperation. He quietly shushes me. His hands glide to my shoulders. His fingers toy with the straps of my dress.
He rests his cheek on my chest for a moment, listening to the clamor of my heart. It’s terribly intimate. I know my heartbeat sounds like gunfire. My cheeks burning, I turn my face to the cushion and clench my hands to fists.
“No hiding,” he whispers, lifting his head. “There’s no hiding from me now, Angel. It’s too late for that.”
I don’t open my eyes or indicate I’ve heard him. When his hand slides around my throat and gently squeezes, my lids snap open. My entire body tenses.
Instantly, he releases his grip on my throat. His eyes search mine.
“Don’t restrain me,” I say, my voice shaking. “I can’t stand that.”
A furrow appears between his eyebrows. He considers me in silence, then speaks gently. “Thank you for tellin’ me. Do you want to stop?”
A spike of
pain pierces my heart.
Passion, I can handle. Though it’s unexpected, it’s welcome. This gentleness, though, this tender attention to my emotional state… What the hell is this? I’m not familiar with this from a man. I have no idea what to do with it. It’s terrifying.
Finally, I answer. “No. Just don’t hold me down.”
I’m rewarded with a string of the sweetest kisses all over my chest, just above where my heart is frantically beating. His voice is both soft and rough when he speaks. “Anything you don’t like, just tell me, sweetheart. I only wanna make you feel good.”
I’m dreaming. This can’t be happening. Obviously, I took a bad fall somewhere and am lying in a hospital bed in a medically induced coma.
This man is a mercenary. He was trained by his government to hunt, maim, and kill. His paranoia is such that he carries a concealed weapon even on vacation and rigs his hotel room with spy gear like something out of a Bond movie. He obviously knows I’m not being truthful about a lot of things, yet he’s handling me like a fragile piece of expensive china. Like a treasure.
Like a gift.
