Page 24 of Craved

Which is why even though I hate myself right now, my breathing is hard and shallow. My skin is tingling. And my core is so wet that when he thrusts his fingers inside, his low moan harmonizes with mine, and in that moment a wave of fury crashes through me. Fury against him, because he betrayed me. Betrayed us. And against myself, because despite his treason, all I want right now is him. His touch, his mouth, his cock.

All of him. I want it. I want him.

This man I’d once loved is at the center of a god-only-knows what kind of nefarious plot. He’s holding hands with evil and he knows its name.

And right now, I don’t give a damn about any of that. This is Maxim. The only man I ever loved. A man who doesn’t know the real reason I’ve come to New York.

A man who believes my hate for him stems only from him leaving me, and not because of the vile master he now follows.

A man I will destroy if I have to.

But not yet.

Not until he makes me come.

“There she is,” he says, keeping two fingers in my pussy and teasing my ass with another as he tumbles us both onto the bed. He ends up on top of me, his cock hard beneath his slacks. I reach for him, wanting him inside me. Wanting this one last fuck even though I know what he is and that we can never, ever do this again.

“Not yet,” he says, then bends over me, his fingers playing me, bringing me higher and higher. “Kiss me,” he demands, and as I arch up to meet his mouth, I see a familiar heat in his eyes. A gleam that sends a slurry of sparks cascading through me. Because I know that look. This may have started as a hate fuck. An anger fuck. An I’m-Beating-my-nemesis fuck.

But it’s more than that now. This is us. This is the us we used to be. And though I hold no illusions that we’ll ever get that back—I know that once the passion fades, we’ll be enemies again—I can’t help but thank whatever gods there are that I get to have this man one more time.

With more grace than should be possible, he strips off his tailored slacks and jacket as I rip his shirt open, sending buttons flying. His mouth is on mine, his hands on my breasts, his cock right there. Then he shifts, rolling us without warning so that I’m on top of him. “Now,” he says, and I take him in, arching back as I rock my hips, taking him deeper and deeper until it feels as though he’s touching everything inside me.

I ride him hard, not caring that he’s the enemy, not knowing what he’ll do after. Right now, I’m simply chasing an orgasm, thrusting myself back to a past when he belonged entirely to me. When we’d discovered the pleasures of our bodies together.

When we hadn’t had any secrets.

“Stop,” he demands, and I whimper in protest as his fingers tease my clit. “Stop,” he repeats as I continue to rock my hips, just a little, wanting to keep fueling the explosion.

I sit up straighter, feeling smug that he’s no longer protesting. I’m still grinding against him, and he’s still hard inside me. He has one hand on my hip and his eyes are locked on mine. It’s a dangerous game we’re playing. We both know it. Absent a blade at my throat, it doesn’t get more dangerous than this. And right now, Maxim is a living, breathing blade.

“Tell me why you’re here,” he says, his fingertip still teasing my clit.

“I want to join you.” I have to force the words out on a gasp of exquisite pleasure. “I know you’re planning something big. I want in.”

“Why?”

“I’m tired of being fucking broke. The FBI pays a shit wage, and most of my bosses are assholes. And I don’t work that well having a boss anyway.”

The corner of his mouth curves into a knowing smile and he moves his fingers in a slow, deliberate motion even as he pistons his hips. “FBI? Aren’t you giving away too much?”

I’m having a very hard time focusing on his words.

“Cami.”

“Yes. I mean no. Don’t try to bullshit me, Maxim. You must have checked me out. You know they recruited me.”

“I did. That’s a nice little program they have going. Recruiting all those bad girls and boys who already have such interesting skill sets.”

“Yes.” The word is a moan, more in response to the play of his fingers than what he’s saying to me.

He cups the back of my head, then pulls me down so that his mouth captures mine. The kiss reverberates through me, and I have to fight the urge to let go, to quit thinking, to simply be with this man I love.

No.

I jerk myself upright, unsettled by my thoughts. By that word. By how much his touch has pushed me back into the past. I don’t want this man any more. If I want anything from him, it’s to land his ass behind bars.

“What?” he asks, but I dodge the question by easing off of him, then rolling onto my side. “I want out,” I say as I stroke his cock. “But right now, my job is the last thing I want to talk about. For that matter, I don’t want to talk at all.” I’m playing a game—a dangerous one. All the more dangerous because although the words are meant to be a ploy, I mean them.