Taking What's His (Shillings Agency 4)

Her arms raised above her head, and she shot him a teasing look. “Like this?”

“Fucking perfect.” He yanked her shirt over her head and tossed it. Without wasting a second, he undid the clasp of her bra. Skimming his fingertips over her bare skin, he lowered her arms down to her sides, threading his fingers with hers. She seemed pretty damn steady, but he had to ask. “You’re certain?”

She bit down on her lip and nodded once. “Y-Yes.”

“Then you’re mine for the rest of the night.” His grip on her flexed, and he nibbled on the bare skin at the base of her neck. Her bra hung off her shoulders, but he didn’t remove it yet. He liked to unwrap his presents slowly. “All. Fucking. Mine.”

A small, fragile sounding moan escaped her. It made him want to cradle her close and protect her from everything and everyone. Even him.

Hell, especially him.

He slid his hands up, touching every inch of smooth skin as he went along, and slipped his fingers under the straps of her bra. The tips of her dusky nipples were visible over the top, and he couldn’t look away. Delicious.

There was no other way to describe her.

He flicked his fingers and the bra fell to the floor, landing at her feet. She shuddered and raised her arms, as if to cover herself, and he growled. “Don’t.”

She shivered, freezing instantly. “Whatever you say, sir.”

It was obvious that she got off on him being bossy while seducing her. So he roughened his voice even more and said, “I didn’t tell you to move. Hands on the fucking wall, now.”

“S-Sorry.” She slammed them in place, her shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath. “You’re killing me.”

“I haven’t even started yet.” A small laugh escaped him, and he gripped the waist of her jeans. “Not even close.”

“Oh my God,” she moaned, dropping her forehead on the wall.

He hadn’t given her permission to do that, but he let it slide. She’d said she liked to play rough, but something told him she didn’t have much experience actually doing it. Maybe she’d fantasized, or read that Fifty Shades of Whatever book that all women fawned over, but she didn’t seem to actually know what she was getting herself into. That was fine. He’d just have to take it slow with her.

They had all night. And he’d never wanted to take his time exploring a woman’s body more than he did hers. He’d relish in every inch of skin he uncovered. Every sigh, moan, and cry. By the time he was finished with her, she’d never be the same again.

But for the first time, he worried he might not be, either.

Ignoring the warning voices whispering in his head that said this woman was different, he gently undid the button of her jeans and slid his fingers inside her pants. She wore a tiny scrap of satin underneath those jeans, and she was soft and shaved. Cupping her from behind, he rubbed his palm against her clit.

She moaned and curled her hands into fists. “Holt.”

“Yeah?” he breathed into her ear, pressing his lips to the soft shell. “You need more?”

“Yes. More.” She bit down on her lip. “So much more.”

Yeah. Me too. “Hmm.” He sank to his knees and removed his hand. “Not yet.”

A frustrated sound escaped her. “Oh my freaking God. I’m going to kill—”

“I suggest you stop that threat right there.”

She slammed her mouth shut. “Fine.”

“What’s that? I didn’t hear you. I believe the proper response is, ‘yes, sir.’”

Mutinously, she glared

down at him.

He palmed her ass, squeezing her through her jeans. Experimentally, he slapped her. She jumped, her cheeks flushing with color. “Say it.”

She licked her lips. “Or what?”