Designed for Murder (Killer Style 4)

Up on the tenth floor, no one could clearly see her from the busy sidewalk below, and being the fashion district, there weren’t residential apartments with nosy neighbors staring out the window. Still, the T-shirt’s hem stopped right at her slick folds, wet for him, and he’d barely touched her. God, he did something to her. She’d thought she’d tried everything, but with him it was different. A frisson of excitement tinged with fear made her shiver against the glass.

Carlos lifted her shirt in the back and smoothed his palms over her bare ass. “Spread your legs for me, mi cielo.”

The growl in his voice put his words right over the line from request to demand, laced with sensual promise that she knew he could deliver. Still. Where was the fun in giving in so easily? Her ripped panties might be on the floor, but she was anything but powerless in this situation.

She undulated her body with deadly slowness, gliding her bare ass over the rock-hard outline of his cock, pushing against his inseam. “I thought you wanted to fuck me over the back of the couch.”

“So impatient.” He smacked her ass just hard enough to send a delicious shiver across her skin. “First I’m going to play. I’m going to make you so hot and so wet that you’ll come just from the lightest touch to that pretty clit of yours.” He slid his hands between the window and her body, cupping her breasts and filling his hands with them. Then he pressed hard against her from behind, rubbing against her. His tongue traced a line behind her ear and made her moan out loud. “Spread your legs, mi cielo.”

Excitement pulsed through her body, making her thighs shake as she did as he asked.

He smoothed his hands down her belly—his long fingers coming so close to her cleft—and around her hips to her ass. He squeezed the globes in his hands and parted the cheeks, spreading her wide. “Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me.” If he didn’t, she was going to implode. Control wasn’t in her wheelhouse anymore, if it ever had been when it came to Carlos.

“Where?” His thumb traveled down the crack of her ass with tortuous slowness, pausing to brush against her asshole. “Here?” He circled the hole with excruciating leisure. “That’s it, mi cielo, arch your back for me; show me how much you want it.”

She did, arching it so sharply that her spine protested, but not enough to override the pleasure of his thumb against the sensitive nerves. It wasn’t the same sensation as when he stroked her clit, but it started a yearning deep in her core that couldn’t be ignored.

“Yes. That’s it.” He rubbed against her, his sexy voice touching her just as much as his thumb.

Desire curled into a fully charged ball in her core, sending out flares of pleasure that electrified her. She couldn’t take it. His movements focused all of the sensation into that one spot, centralizing her pleasure but not allowing it to build past a certain point. He kept her right on that edge of ecstasy.

“Carlos.” She barely recognized her own voice, it was so strangled with yearning.

“Yes, mi cielo?” He tapped against her edges in an alternating slow/fast beat.

“I can’t take it.” It was too much, but she needed more.

“What do you need?” His words brushed across her hole, adding another sensation that had her overcharged body.

“Lick me.”

For a breath, there was nothing. Then the air shifted behind her and his soft tongue touched her, gliding over her hole. Up and down and around, he flicked his tongue against her asshole, teasing and tempting and treating her all at the same time. Her knees almost buckled as sensation washed over her and she mewled in pleasure.

“I love it when you make that sound.” He followed the curve of her ass with his tongue, leaving a wet line of fire in its wake. “Bend over so your hands touch the floor.”

She had to take a few steps back to do so, making sure to rub her ass against his hard, denim-covered bulge. He groaned, the sound pushing her on, and she bent over, pressing her palms against the floor. Her T-shirt fell over her face, the thin material letting in some of the fading sunset streaming in through the window but blocking out her ability to see exactly what he was going to do next.

“Mi cielo, you have the prettiest pussy I have ever seen. It’s so soft and wet for me.” The sound of his zipper being lowered filled the room. “You have made my dick so hard, and I can’t wait to slide inside you. Do you want that?”

“Fuck yes.” Blood rushed in her ears, partly from the position and partly from how his dirty talk was turning her on.

“You’ll get it, mi cielo.” Lust had deepened his voice and strengthened his Spanish accent, sending a shiver down her thighs.

Waiting, she maintained the position, the accidental blindfold of her shirt blocking her from being able to see what he was doing. The only thing she could hear was the sound of her shaky breaths. All she could feel was his strong hand gliding over her lower back, ass, and thighs—coming close but never actually touching her aching center. It was agony—pure, blissful torture. Everything—her whole world—centered around the parts of her body he touched and the one he wouldn’t.

“Please,” she begged, too far gone to care about how needy she sounded.

He pressed something against her slick folds. It was hot and hard and thick. Oh God yes, it was his cock. He rubbed the head against her, stroking up on one side of her opening and down on the other. Then he pressed forward so his shaft rocked against her core but never dived inside. It was too much and not enough at the same time.

She needed more. She needed him. “Fuck me, Carlos.”

“Oh, you know I will.” He pulled away. “But not yet.”

She stood up quickly. Too quickly. The blood rushed from her head, and she had to hold on to his shoulder until the dizziness passed. “How long are you going to tease me?”

“Until you can’t take it anymore.”