Black and Blue (Otherworld Assassin 2)

She licked her way across his jaw, then delved lower to suck on his neck. “Just want to . . . reach the . . . finish line.”

Finish line? A quick in and out? So they could both get off, and the wanting could stop? So they could both walk away and forget it happened?

She didn’t want to want him, did she.

Maybe he’d been wrong before. Maybe she didn’t see him or like him, even in the smallest way. Because, despite her apology, she definitely didn’t respect him.

Anger mixed with his arousal.

No sex, then. Not yet.

Not ever—Michael’s daughter!

Yeah, but that was starting to matter less and less. Right now, it was her attitude he couldn’t get past. But he had to take something from her. Otherwise he’d have a power surge.

Sure. That’s why.

He scooted her higher up the wall, nuzzled her bra aside with his chin, and sucked on a pretty pink nipple. A broken groan left her. He tunneled a hand under her shorts, palmed the very heat of her, thrilling when she shouted with relief and pleasure.

“Yes!” The back of her head hit the wall. “Going to . . . oh, so close already . . .”

So beautiful. So mine.

“Grip me,” he commanded.

Her eyelids flipped open, and passion-drugged eyes stared at him. “What? No. You’ll come.”

That was the point. “Do it.”

“But—”

“Do it or I’ll remove my fingers from between your legs. Tonight, we’re going to make each other happy with a hand job. But that’s as far as we’re going to go.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. If you’ve got a problem with that, we can stop right now.”

Her gaze fumed as she did as he’d commanded. She would never know how thankful he was for her capitulation—or how close he’d come to begging. She reached past the waist of his pants to clasp his length, and hell. With that one touch, she almost unmanned him.

“You’re so big,” she breathed. “Are you sure you don’t want to put it in me?” She nibbled on his earlobe. “I think I’d come with the first thrust.”

Killing me. “Lick first,” he commanded.

She licked his ear.

“Not there.”

Understanding, she pouted for a moment, then removed her hand. He swallowed a moan as she licked her palm. Then, while her skin was wet, she clasped him again. The moist heat provided a smooth glide.

“That’s not good enough,” he said. He took her hand, forced it under her panties, between her legs, and let her rich wetness coat her skin. Then he returned her grip to his shaft.

“Harder,” he said, “and I’ll give you a finger.”

She squeezed, slowly pumping her hand up and down. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure. This wasn’t what she’d wanted, but she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself from enjoying it, he noted with pride.

And when her clasp tightened, he sucked in a breath, doing as he’d promised and sliding one finger deep inside her. And, oh, he almost wished he hadn’t. She was tight, hot, and soaking, just as she’d promised. He had to get in her soon.

“Faster, baby,” he instructed, “and you’ll get another.”

Her speed increased, enough to wring a deeper moan out of him. So he gave her a second finger, stretching her. How long since she’d had sex? As tight as she was, he’d have to guess years. The idea filled him with a heady sense of possession, and he decided to reward her, working his thumb in a circular pattern at her apex.

“Blue!”

“You feel so good. When I finally get inside you, I’m going to pound so hard, take so much, you’ll swear you’re dying. Later, you’ll beg me to pound even harder, to take more.”

The dirty talk sent her over the edge. Her broken cry echoed as her inner walls clutched around him, again and again, holding him close and wringing every drop of pleasure she could from him.

Knowing she’d climaxed sent a white-hot lance up his shaft, and he exploded in a rush, pumping into her grip until the last of his shudders faded.

It took him several long minutes to come down from the high, and when he did, he heard her breakfast table crashing to the floor, followed by the pots and pans. He removed his hand from her—maybe the most difficult thing he’d ever done.

No. Wait. Not tasting the moisture on his fingers was the most difficult. But if he did it, if he gave in to the craving, he would next be on her. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

He bent down and grabbed his shirt, then used the material to clean her hand. “One day soon,” he said, “after we’ve both had a little time to think, we’re going to talk.”

She eyed him warily. “And what will our topic of conversation be?”

“Expectations.”

* * *

A roommate.

A single, sexy male roommate.

A single, sexy male roommate who’d just given her an earth-shattering orgasm.

The thoughts rolled through Evie’s mind, unstoppable. She’d attacked Blue the moment she’d found out he was single. He’d been just as frantic to be with her . . . but he hadn’t wanted sex from her. Just a hand job.

She wasn’t sure what to think about that. Or the fact that he wanted to talk about expectations.

What kind of expectations? His? Hers?

She knew what his were—no strings. He could see other people and she couldn’t complain.

But what were hers?

She didn’t want to think about it. She thought she might actually cry.

Apparently, for now, they were just supposed to pretend they hadn’t had their hands in each other’s pants.

“We’ve got work to do,” he’d said, moments after dropping the chat bomb. “Go and get dressed in something that covers you from neck to toe, then meet me in your office. I want to watch the video feed from the club and listen to audio feed from Star’s house. After that, we can figure out the best way for me to run into Tiffany.”

Tiffany.

Gah. He had to charm the girl. Maybe more.

Evie wanted to kill her.

See? This is why you can’t get involved with someone like Blue.

“I protest only one detail of your work plan,” she’d replied, trying to act calm. “Let’s do our watching and listening in the living room, not the office.”

Now, dressed in a pair of flannel pj’s, she hooked her laptop to her giant holoscreen TV, allowing them both to view the Lucky Horn video feed from the comfort of the couch. Blue already reclined there, gorgeous and shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose slacks.