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She only nods, lips parted lightly, and soon enough, delicious moans fill the moonlit room. My eyes never leave hers as I work my hips, only slower this time. Much slower.
My hand runs up and down my rock-hard length, and I imagine feeling her muscles close tightly around me with every thrust. Her body feels tense from all the pleasure. She doesn’t know how much more of my slow torture she’ll be able to handle—but I draw it out over another few minutes. Feeling myself pulsing inside her, I know I’m torturing myself just as much as I’m torturing her.
“Eyes on me.”
If I could freeze time I would live in this moment forever: her beautiful eyes locked with mine, our breathing heavy as can be, her fingers on her clit, my cock spearing her cunt while her arrow spears my heart, pierces my soul. No way I can last inside her. I take her hands in mine and guide them above her head, pressing them firmly into the mattress.
“No…Dillan,” she begs, protesting. “I was so close…please let me come.”
“No, not yet.”
Oh she hates me.
“This will haunt me forever,” I growl, my forehead pressed against hers. I work my slow and excruciating pump to deeper, harder thrusts. Fuck. It feels so damn good. “You will haunt me forever.”
With force and a cry of my name, she comes. Her muscles close tightly around my shaft, and I groan, shooting streams of hot come into her.
Several beats later, I pull her up to sit in my lap, and she clings to me.
Keeping her head to my shoulder, Lizzie whispers, “Please don’t go, Dillan.”
When a call comes in the middle of the night, I initially expect an emergency at the clinic and sit up. Have Mrs. Chadwick’s contractions started too early?
Then I recognize Gavin’s number on the display. My first impulse is to push the call to voicemail. I can already sense it’s going to be another one of his twisted ideas to coax me out of the house.
“D,” he says so softly that I can barely understand him against the thumping bass in the background. It trembles with panic, as if the familiar voice has been replaced by a stranger’s. “Listen, I’m in trouble.” The urgency in his voice cuts through the noise. “I need a hundred thousand. In cash. Immediately.” The last word comes in a desperate sigh.
What the fuck?
I rub the sleep from my eyes. “Gavin?” I want to tell him to go to Hell. What comes out instead is, “Where the hell are you?”
The part of my brain responsible for recognizing and processing danger seems to grasp the seriousness of Gavin’s words more than my sleepy self.
“She-Devil’s Lair,” Gavin utters. “Back room.”
My fatigue disappears on the spot.
I’m already on my feet, grabbing my leather pants, a black shirt, and taking my phone and wallet. The She-Devil’s Lair is even more notorious than Sinner’s Lounge (before its transformation into a burlesque joint).
Now isn’t the best time for a sermon, but trust me, Gavin has got some serious explaining to do once I get him out of whatever mess he’s gotten himself into.
“A hundred thousand in cash,” I repeat, the phone clamped between chin and shoulder as I lace up my Docs. “One hour,” I say, “then I’ll be there.”
A hundred thousand isn’t pocket change, but it’s not going to break the bank either.
“Thanks,” Gavin mutters, his voice catching in his throat.
A cry of pain reaches my ear, followed by a crash as his phone falls to the floor.
Two seconds later, I hear a woman’s voice through the speaker, as cold as a corpse in the pathology lab. “Hello, Gavin’s best friend.”
I settle for an indistinct sound that could mean anything from “hello” to “hurry up.”
“In case Gavin hasn’t told you yet: cash only. No police. Otherwise, your friend might soon become your girlfriend. Patience isn’t exactly a virtue my friends are renowned for.” Her hyena-like laughter sends shivers down my spine.
Are they planning to castrate him? Who the hell are her “friends?” What the fuck has Gavin gotten himself into that a woman is threatening to emasculate him?
She-Devil. Of course.
