Page 15 of The Player (Close Quarters 5)

I close the door, letting the latch snick closed. Then I turn around and lean back against the door, watching the man in the Batsuit while my entire body crackles with electricity. I want him.

And I’m going to have him.

CHAPTER SIX

Rowan

IDIDNOTanticipate today turning out this way, and can I just say I’m fucking delighted. My sexy little assassin has her hands behind her, holding the doorknob, and she looks at me with those wild purple eyes. Not being able to see her mouth iskillingme.

I want to drag her mask down to expose her lips and kiss her until her knees give out.

“I think the tour concludes right here,” Em says, her voice husky and low. “Are you ready for the grand finale?”

“Should I be worried about what a grand finale from an assassin might entail?” I walk toward her, closing the distance between us in a few strides.

“Worried for your life, Batman?” she purrs.

More like worried I’ll be ruined for all other women forever.

“I can hold my own.”

Her gaze drags over me. “I bet you can.”

I plant my palm against the door, right by her head, and lean forward. She tilts her face up to mine, lust sparking in her eyes. Tension crackles in the air and I bring my free hand to her collarbone, tracing the ridge with my fingertip. She shivers. I love a woman who reacts so easily, so freely. I love being able to see the direct impact of my actions.

But this is unlike anything I’ve ever done before.

I might have a reputation as being a bit of a party guy—always out networking and schmoozing. Always at the places where you go to be seen. I love women, have no issue bringing them into my bed. But I’ve never slept with someone whose identity I didn’t know.

For a second, the idea sits a little funny in my chest.

You think you reallyknewany of the other women you hooked up with?

Good point. I have the odd one-night stand and my sex drive is high, hence the incident in the shower the other night. God, what my uptight neighbour would think of me getting busy with a total stranger.

The thought sticks in my mind for a bit, but the second the woman in front of me brings her hand to my stomach, fingertips swirling a pattern over the ab-tastic plate on my costume, all thoughts of anything but the here and now evaporate.

“Put both hands on the door,” she says. “I want them where I can see them.”

It seems like a crime not to touch her, not to run my palms over the curves hugged by gleaming black fabric. But I’m game and I want to play.

On my terms.

Her gaze clashes with mine and my cock is straining hard against the uncomfortable pants of my costume. I’m desperate for friction. Rubbing the heel of my palm up and down my length, I watch as her eyes widen. They’re hungry eyes. Excited eyes. The kind of eyes that make me feel alive.

“Hands on the door,” she repeats. I plant my other hand against the door, penning her in.

“Like what you see?” I ask as she drinks me in.

“I’m not sure yet.” She brings her fingertips down my stomach, over the belt buckle bearing the bat symbol and down to where I’m painfully hard. She cups me, so forward and bold and without inhibition that it makes my blood pulse harder in my veins.

If there’s one thing I love, it’s a woman who gives as good as she gets. And something tells me, this masked beauty isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. To take charge.

I’m going to thoroughly enjoy flipping that dynamic soon.

“I think I need a closer inspection.”

Her fingers dance up and down my length until she finds the waist closure cleverly hidden behind my belt buckle. Thank God, I didn’t go for one of those cumbersome one-piece costumes. She unzips me and there’s no hesitation when she reaches for my cock, her fingers wrapping around me as though they belong there. I grunt as she squeezes, running her hand up and down, twisting her wrist.

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