Captive Beauty

“I just like to keep you close.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Do you fuck the strippers?”

I’m taken aback. “What?”

“The girl from last night. I watched you with her. Saw how you looked at her—”

“How did I look at her?”

She turns her stubborn chin up, sucks in her cheeks. “I saw you order a bottle of champagne,” she says before busying herself with making her sandwich.

I walk around the counter, take her arms, make her face me. “Are you jealous?”

She gives me an incredulous look. Like nothing could be further from the truth. But the flush of her cheeks gives her away and I grin.

“You’re jealous.”

“No, of course I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

She straightens and looks at me, suddenly angry, probably because I’m onto her. “I just think you should be using condoms with me if you’re going to fuck your strippers.”

I laugh outright, release her and take the slice of cheese off her bread. I stick it in my mouth. “I’m not fucking anyone else.”

“I saw how—”

“I’m not fucking anyone else, Cilla. Don’t be jealous, it’s not becoming.” I open the fridge, grab the juice.

“What does that even mean?”

I turn to face her, find her standing with her hands on her hips.

“Which part?” I take the lid off the carton and drink straight from it.

“You know what? Piss off.” She turns her back on me, puts another slice of bread on her sandwich and picks it up like she’s going to walk way.

I grab her arm and spin her around.

“You don’t get to tell me to piss off. And you don’t get to walk away.”

“Let me go.”

I don’t. “I told you I’m not fucking anyone else.”

“I don’t care if you are.”

I take the sandwich from her hand and bite into it, then set it on the counter and release her. When she makes to scoot away, I trap her with a hand on either side.

“I think you do care,” I say in a low voice.

She stares up at me, not denying it. “I want something from you,” she says instead.

This is a turn I didn’t expect. “What do you want?”

“Two things, actually.”

My eyebrows go up.

“I want to see Jones.”

I expect this one but I have a feeling it’s the second thing that’s going to throw me. “And?”

She searches my eyes, caution in hers, the battle of whether or not to trust me.

“And I want you to help me get my pound of flesh.”

17

Cilla

Kill’s watching me closely, yet his eyes betray nothing. I want to know what he’s thinking. What he knows about me.

“You’re dark, Cilla.” His eyes move to my mouth. Down to the exposed skin of my chest. With one hand, he undoes the belt holding the robe together so it falls open. He looks down at me, at the space between my breasts, at the slit of my sex. His eyes glide back up to mine. “Whose flesh?”

“Herbert Callahan.”

“Judge Herbert Callahan.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. Why? What did he do to you?” he lifts me up, sits me on the counter, pushes my legs wide. Even when he just looks at me like that, with that wild hunger in his eyes, he makes me wet.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You want me to kill a judge but you can’t tell me why?”

“I never asked you to kill him. I said I wanted your help, that’s all. I want to feel his blood on my hands.”

He studies me for an eternity. I reach out to touch the scar on his face. I trace it.

“Did it hurt?”

“I don’t remember.”

I move my hand to his lips. His chin. Down to his chest. Over his powerful arms. He’s wearing a T-shirt today. I pull it out of his jeans, push it up until he slides it over his head and tosses it aside.

“You have secrets,” he says, pushing me backward, opening my robe wide and dipping his head between my legs. “And I want them. That’s why I want you.”

I touch his head, pull it into me, arch my back when he takes my clit into his mouth.

“You want to own everything,” I say, wrapping my legs around his neck. “You want me inside and out. You can’t, though. Not this time.”

He raises his head, meets my eyes. “I always get what I want.”

I push him back between my legs. I want his mouth on me. “Will you help me?”

He dips his tongue inside me before returning to my clit, teasing it, then sucking hard, making me cry out. Making me squeeze my legs tight around his neck as he slides one hand up to my breast, pinches my nipple.

“Fuck,” I mutter, closing my eyes. His tongue is soft, the scruff of his jaw rough, and I come. I come on his tongue as we negotiate murder. I come hard as he tells me he’ll possess me. Own every part of me.