Julian played down his training regime publicly and even my inside sources were unsure where his specialties lay outside of the gym. He could be just as talented as me with a blade, however my gut instinct said he was more of a gun person. Something long range, where he could watch and wait. He also would be trained in hand-to-hand; Felix Asaro would have insisted upon it.
His fingers trail their way up my thigh, eliciting a soft sigh from me as I claim his mouth once again. It was a shame this wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Hitching my leg upwards, he positions me so that my heels are resting on the table and I’m spread open for him, palms resting behind me to support myself.
I arch into him as he brushes against the lace of my panties. I’m so wet right now that he must be able to feel it as he teases me through the material. Fingers applying pressure to the right spot as he pushes my knees with his other hand. The burn, the stretch in my thighs being spread wide apart drags another groan from my lips.
“Fucking knew it . . .” He groans against my neck and I’m desperate for more. More of his kisses. More of his touch. More of him. Julian Asaro was my vice. Just as he’s about to remove the only barrier between us, he pauses with a frown. Stumbling backwards, mouth twisted as his pupils narrow, I know our fun has come to an end.