Her body responds to my challenge with a hard shiver. Then her hips rock into me, daring me all the same. London and I have been battling for control since I first entered her therapy room. If she only realized just how much control she has over me…the damage she could do.
“This isn’t your selection process,” she says, a tremble in her voice. “It’s too impulsive.”
“No…it’s new. It’s us. This is our selection process.” And it’s sexy as hell. I drag my hand up her thigh, her thin, little skirt nearly ripping under my palm. “You’ve been selecting your victims for a long time, London.” I guide her head with my cheek, our eyes scanning the crowd. “Trust your instincts.”
Like a radar, my soul recognizes other black souls. I can spot them in a crowd. Zeroing in on that indefinable thing that makes us alike. Same.
The damned.
Killers.
London has this ability, too. It’s what makes her so damn good at her job. Sensing the dark thread woven through a killer’s being. Pulling that thread until it unravels. Fraying the end until she has him wrapped around her finger…
She’s an artist.
I take her hand in mine, running the pad of my finge
r over hers as I seek the groove marks that wrap her flesh. They’re deeper now. As if she’s spent hours twisting her little string around and around, tightening it until her finger throbbed.
My jaw clenches. Our time apart hasn’t just been torturous for me.
Her shoulders tense. “Some things never change.” She presses back, sending a thrill through my whole being.
I slip a hand beneath her skirt. Her thighs squeeze together as I roam up her inner thigh. She rolls her head across my chest, entranced. As London grinds against me, setting my senses aflame, I tease her panties aside, seeking the proof of her arousal.
Her approval is felt in the heat rolling off her body—the wetness soaking the material of her panties. “Fuck.” My teeth damn near crack under the pressure of my clenched jaw.
Self-control is what’s kept me hidden this long.
Another reason I had to leave London cuffed to the trap as my lair blazed into the early morning sky.
She makes me fucking reckless.
My erection pushes painfully against my dark denim. I’m tempted to dig the switchblade out of my pocket and trail the steel blade up the curve of her ass, cut her panties away. Become a loosed animal. Wild and feral. I want to drag her over the nearest table and fuck her in front of everyone here.
My adrenaline careens painfully against every artery. Blood roars in my head. As her hips expertly roll across my restrained cock, she raises her hands above her head and dips low, sinfully sliding her body down mine like the seductive goddess she is. Proving I’m just a mere mortal in her divine presence.
A heady groan works its way free. She’s breaking me.
I’ve never danced with anyone before. Never had the chance. Never craved the experience.
Until her.
London makes me desperate to taste everything I’ve missed…taste it all for the first time with her.
“Touch me,” she whispers, taking my hands and bringing my arms around her slim waist.
The raging fire within smolders into a slow burn as I relax against her. My dark lover, and yet, still my sound psychologist. This is why I chose her; she knows what I need.
Because of her, I no longer crave the pain that has always correlated with pleasure. Never one without the other. My body wears the scars of every agonizing slash I inflicted while my victims suffered.
“We can be free,” she says, tempting me further.
And like that, the tension coiling my spine snaps, releasing the pent-up rage. My hand clasps her throat as she pushes her ass up against my pelvis. Christ. A low growl is set loose.
Sweet. Fucking. Perfection.
We can be free. Free to experience every beautiful sensation that was denied to the both of us.