Page 83 of The San Marco Heist

“Good answer.” I tore my sweater off, revealing my favorite black silk bra with ivory frastaglio embroidery. “And permission granted.”

“Fuck me,” he breathed, his eyes consuming every inch of my exposed skin. “And I’d thought your dress last weekend was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.”

“It gets better.” I slid a hand down the front of his pants, stroking the outline of the growing bulge. “The thong matches.”

He tucked one arm behind my waist and edged me along the divan, so I was lying down and he was between my legs. “There. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’m not interested in rest right now.” I popped the button on his jeans, my fingers deftly navigating through the fly of his boxer briefs to wrap around his hardening cock. “This is what I want.”

“No.” He removed my hand from his pants, pinning it above my head with one hand, while he redid his zipper.

I tried to lift my hand, but he held it firmly in place. “What are you doing?”

“Taking control. Now stay put.” He loosened his grip, but I didn’t move. “With your permission?”

“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Like you did the second time in the light well.”

“With pleasure.” His fingers threaded into my loose hair, and he lowered onto an elbow, settling some of his weight on me. The kiss was slow, his tongue sweeping across mine as he ground his hard cock between my legs.

I moaned into his mouth, keeping it as quiet as possible, too aware of the team being on the other side of the door. Unable to keep my hands above my head, I wrapped an arm around the uninjured part of his back, the other driving into his hair. A bed would have been better. Hell, a floor space wider than the aisle between the divan and the chair would have been better than the tiny couch.

He broke from the kiss and licked his lips. “This doesn’t fold out into a double bed, does it?”

“No.” Sadly.

“We’ll have to make do, then.” He kissed and licked his way down my chest, folding the waistband of my tights down so he could see the top of the thong. “Thatisnice.”

I ran my hands over my breasts, into my hair, closing my eyes to live in the sensations. It had been far too long since someone else had pleasured me, and I was going to take every second he’d give. “Keep going.”

Malcolm left the tights in place, his lips warm and gentle as he kissed the sensitive spot at the inside of my hip, grazing down the front of my thigh. The man was a tease, which shouldn’t have surprised me. “Patience.”

“You want me to beg, don’t you?”

He chuckled, warm breath spreading through the fabric, heating the juncture of my thighs. “I don’t think you ever would.”

I bit down on my lip, trying to contain my smile. “Please?”

“That’s not begging.” He winked at me, locking his eyes with mine as he trailed kisses back up to where he’d started at my hipbone, avoiding what I wanted.

“Pretty please?”

He ran one lazy hand between my thighs, applying too little pressure, and paused. “You suck at begging.”

I shivered, grinding myself against his hand. When he tried moving it, I clamped a hand over his and applied the pressure myself.

“Told you so.” His nostrils flared, the hunger in his eyes palpable as he withdrew his hand from my grip and curled his fingers around my waistband. He eased my tights down, inch by infuriating inch. “A woman who knows what she wants. I like that.”

“Good.” I took a handful of his hair, lifting my hips so he could undress me. “Because I want your mouth—”

A fist pounded on the door. “Scarlett!”

“Go away!” I shouted, louder than need be.

“The tattoo! It’s Fenix!” said Rav, his voice growing more insistent. “The one from the Barton Safe company.”

I shot up to sitting, nearly knocking Malcolm to the floor. “What?”

“Brie just sent the details.” Rav—or someone—attempted to open the door. “We need to talk. Now.”

---