Designed for Murder (Killer Style 4)

“You to fuck me.”

“Like this?” He pressed up against her, letting his dick rest on her ass. “So the couch presses against you while I’m filling your sweet pussy with my cock?”

She rocked back, and his hardness slid against her soft skin. “Yes.”

He rolled on the condom and lined up his dick with her glistening core. “Mika…”

“Don’t you dare stop.” She pushed back against him, and he forgot what he was about to say.

His forearm pressed against her lower back, pressing her down as he drove home, sheathing himself in her tight walls in one long stroke. “Mi cielo,” he whispered with all the awe and reverence he had.

It wasn’t just that fucking her was heaven. It was her. Mika was his heaven. He withdrew and plunged in again and again, and each time she clung to him like they were made for each other. The angle let him go deeper than he had before, and he rubbed the head of his cock against her G-spot each time he thrust forward into her.

“Carlos,” she cried as she arched her back. “Please.”

He couldn’t deny her even if he wanted to. She felt too good, too perfect. “Yes, mi cielo.”

Her clit was a hard nub underneath his fingertips as he moved them up and down on either side of it in time with the motion of his cock. She held him tight, and he knew neither of them was going to last much longer.

“That’s it.” He withdrew and then plunged forward, watching as he disappeared inside her. “Take it in.” Back and thrusting forward again. “Take it deep.” So tight, so warm, she accepted him. “Take all of me.”

He pinched his fingers together, trapping her clit between them, and then released and reapplied pressure in a fast rhythm that had Mika sighing in ecstasy underneath him.

“I’m going to come,” she cried.

“Yes.” He increased his pace, pushing her—pushing them both—to the precipice. “I want to feel you come all over my dick.”

She screamed out his name and bucked against him as the orgasm washed over her. Holding him captive inside her, she squeezed so tight he couldn’t hold off the inevitable anymore. He drove forward, sinking himself to the hilt and coming so hard the world turned into pure, bright light with Mika at the center.

When he came back to himself, he gathered her in his arms and picked her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, aftershocks of her climax still rolling through her and making her quiver in his arms as he carried her around to the front of the couch. The sun had set, leaving them in semi-darkness in the studio as he sank down and pulled her close and draped the blanket over the top of them. She laid her damp cheek in the pocket of his shoulder. It was as close to perfect as he’d ever known—before or after Ivy.

Still, even as beautiful as it was, it couldn’t last. They were opposites thrown together by circumstance, and as soon as the case was over, that excuse would disappear. He wasn’t a forever guy, and she deserved more than to be a booty call.

He hadn’t realized until this moment how hellish heaven could be. “Mika…”

“Don’t say it.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “I know we agreed that this was temporary, but for tonight let’s just pretend we’re closer to the beginning than to the end.”

He’d given up role-playing games just for this reason, because pretending felt so fucking good. Like there was still hope in the world. Like there was still hope for him. But he couldn’t deny Mika. He was afraid he never would.

“Go to sleep, mi cielo.” He kissed her temple. “We’ll deal with tomorrow when it comes.”

Thoughts of what it would be like if it wasn’t pretend swirled around his mind as his eyes grew tired and drooped closed. He should’ve been thinking about the case, about what to tell Reggie and how they’d catch the douchey drug dealer Roger, but Mika shifted in his arms, dragging his thoughts from business to personal. And then sleep crowded out the thoughts in his head until all he could see was Mika in his dreams.

So he slept.

A door slammed, jolting him from deep sleep. The inky darkness of one in the morning shrouded the room. For three heartbeats, he thought it had all been a trick of the night. Then the lights flashed on, temporarily blinding him.

“Isn’t this fucking sweet?” a man said.

Carlos didn’t need his sight to know that voice: Roger.

He sat up and shoved Mika behind him.

r /> Chapter Twelve

“Character. Intelligence. Strength. Style. That makes beauty.”

—Diane Von Furstenberg