“Pursuit of sadistic pleasure, power and control.”
She nodded, a cloud of thoughts churning in her wide eyes. “Reeks of paraphilic disorders.”
“When the victim isn’t a willing adult, yes. There are erotic attractions to fear, blood, asphyxiation, children, pain, tears, bondage—”
The fluctuation in her breath jumped on the last word. Her thighs flexed together.
Oh, Joni was a naughty girl. “You want to discuss bondage?”
Her response was dismissed with her laptop as she set it on the table to unwrap the honey-wheat bread. She tore off a piece soaked with butter and slid it past her lips. “Want some?”
He shook his head, mesmerized by the movement of her mouth as she chewed. She licked her fingers, tongue curling, sucking each slender digit, the damned tease.
His breath staggered away from him as he hovered on the edge of the chair. Fuck it. He jumped to his feet and nudged the table aside with his foot. She paused midlick, watching him. He leaned down, hands on the armrests of her chair, his face a breath from hers.
They shared an impenetrable moment of eye contact, her soft expression at odds with the heave of her chest. When her hand lowered from her mouth, he caught her wrist, his fantasies shoving their way into reality. His heart hammered.
“What are you doing?” Her husky voice surged heat through his veins.
Slowly, vigilantly, he clenched the tiny bones in her arm and raised her fingers to his lips. Her breath caught, eyes smoldering, her arm pliant in his grip. Fucking perfect. Fear was not his kink.
The first touch of her fingers on his lips sent a shiver through him. She watched his mouth, unblinking, a swell of want deepening the yellow-green expanse of her irises.
He nipped at her index finger and drew it into his mouth in one long suck. The sweet and salty flavor of her skin and the breathless tremble through her body propelled him to the next finger, and the next.
Her eyelids drooped, and her mouth parted. All the right signals. He grabbed her other wrist and hoisted her to her tiptoes. With her chest pressed against his, he crossed her arms behind her back. Still no struggling and her eyes sharpened with interest.
“I think bondage is your thing, Joni.” His pulse raced at the thought. He bent his head and opened her lips with his, sweeping his tongue in, coaxing hers.
She stiffened in his hold, and for a distressing moment, he was certain she would reject him. Then she fell against his mouth, sucking and licking, hands tugging against the shackle of his. He released her arms, and she plunged fingers through his hair, pulling his face closer.
He molded her slender waist against him, one hand on her jaw, the other clenching on her hip. The friction of her pelvis rubbing against his, the intense slide of her tongue chasing and tangling wrangled a moan from his throat. It was a hard, crushing grind of lips and bodies as they kissed and bit.
“We’re closing in ten minutes.” The fucking barista shouted from the back room.
Joni pushed against his chest, slipped from his arms, and swiped a hand over her m
outh. Her breath rushed from her lungs noisily, her eyes wide and uncertain.
Goddamn it. His stomach sank.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen.” She sidestepped around him and crouched to slide her laptop into her bag.
The curvature of her waist and the round bend of her ass kept his arousal heated on a roiling simmer. He needed to keep the conversation going and look for an opening to extend the night. “We haven’t discussed the gray areas.”
She stood, her swollen lips conflicting with her narrow-eyed glare. “Do these gray areas have anything to do with that kiss?”
Why would she ask that? She didn’t know the depth of his intentions. “The trickiest crimes teeter on the razored edge between seduction and coercion.” The words warmed his throat, voiced from the dangerous snare of his thoughts. “We both wanted that kiss. And more.” He took a step toward her. “Come home with me.”
She backed up, little lines grooving her forehead.
Fuck. “I meant…” Exactly what he’d said. His throat dried. “Let’s go somewhere, so we can finish the conversation for your research.”
“I have what I need, Detective Burgess. I need to use the restroom. I’ll see myself out. Thanks for your time.”
Dismissed. No handshake. No smile. She paced away, her ass flexing with each graceful step. Motherfuck. What had scared her off? The barista? Fear of her desires, or his? He scrubbed a hand over his face, muscles contracting, ready to chase her.
Across the room, she disappeared behind the bathroom door. He moved to follow her, and his foot tangled in the strap of her laptop case. He reached down and gripped the flap, opening it. Right there in an inner pocket waited a white key-card envelope. The name of the hotel and her room number would be printed on it. If there were two key cards…