Wicked Intentions

18

He’s big and hard in my mouth, a pulsing heat against my tongue. I open my throat and take him all the way to the base, thrilling to the sound of his broken gasp. He settles his hands on either side of my head, and they’re trembling.

Adrenaline surges through me.

I want him undone. I want him to feel what I just felt, that sudden, jarring loss of equilibrium, knowing someone else has taken over your body. Knowing someone else—a total stranger—is in command. I want to knock him off his smug pedestal and leave him whimpering at my feet.

I want to punch him in his pretty face.

Who is he to control me?

Then, without warning, I’m flat on my back with Ryan on top of me, his elbows braced on either side of my head.

“We’re not doin’ this if you’re pissed off,” he says, breathing hard.

Now I want to kill him. “I’m not pissed off!”

He growls, “Lie to me again, and I’ll take you over my knee, woman.”

I try to shove him off, but he weighs too much. Plus he’s bracing himself with his arms and legs. Budging him is impossible. I grit my teeth, seething with frustration. He puts his lips next to my ear.

“Normally I’d tie you up right now and force you to tell me what the f**k is wrong, but since you don’t like bein’ restrained, we’re just gonna have to have a conversation like adults.”

I can recall with perfect clarity how many times in my life I’ve wanted to commit murder. This is time number three. I want to strangle him. I want to squeeze his thick, tanned neck and choke the life right out of him, then maybe light him on fire and do a victory dance as he burns.

I’m losing it. I close my eyes and suck air into my lungs.

Ryan grips my head. His heartbeat thunders against my chest. His c**k, wet from my mouth and rock-hard, presses between my legs. Into my ear, he says, “Be honest with me for once!”

A sob catches in my throat. Suddenly, I’m fighting tears, mortified by these ridiculous emotions, hating how powerless I feel.

“You make me feel weak,” I blurt, then groan at my own stupidity.

A shade of tension leaves his body. His voice gentles. “You keep forgettin’ you’re the one in control, Angel. This is happenin’ because you want it to. Just ’cause you’re feelin’ some kinda way about me, about this thing between us, doesn’t change the fact that you’re here, lyin’ naked underneath me right now, by choice. Trust it. You’re not the kind of woman who’d be here by accident, no matter how different this is from what you usually do.”

My chest rises and falls in rapid bursts. “How do you know what kind of woman I am?”

Looking into my eyes, he says deliberately, “Because I see you. And I know that’s what really scares you. No one ever gets to see the real you, but I do.”

Knife to the heart, slicing it wide open.

God, the truth is awful. And this terrible intimacy is even worse. I think it’s probably the worst thing in the world.

Ryan holds my head still when I try to turn it. At the end of his patience, he snaps, “Either you drop this hiding bullshit and be brave, or I’m kickin’ your ass outta my room! What’s it gonna be?”

His stare is blistering. I stare back, hating myself for liking him, cursing whatever gods might exist for putting him in this room. Anyone else and I’d have stuck to my plan. Anyone else and he’d be deep in a peaceful, sedative-induced sleep right now. Instead, fate decided to put me in the path of this man, the trained killer with a beautiful laugh and addictive kisses and eyes that see straight down to the bottom of my soul.

Finally, in a small voice I say, “I’ll be brave.”

It’s not like I have a choice. If he kicks me out, I won’t be able to climb the balcony to Prince Khalid’s suite, and then I won’t be able to steal the necklace, and the consequences of failure aren’t something I allow myself to think about.

Better to suffer here in this bed than at the hands of the masters I serve.

Nostrils flared, Ryan inhales slowly. His gaze darts all over my face. “I mean it,” he warns.

I swallow, muster my courage, then wrap my arms around his back. “I know.” My voice is a pathetic, wavering thing. When the tear slides from the corner of my eye, I don’t try to wipe it away. I just lie there and hate myself.

“Oh f**k, Angel,” he breathes. He looks dazed, in happy disbelief, like someone just told him he won the lottery. Because of a tear.

I don’t understand this person.

At.

All.

He kisses me so gently, I want to break every piece of furniture in the room. “Stop it,” I beg. “Stop being so…sweet. I can’t take it! Just f**k me like you would anyone else!”

“How do you know I’m not like this with anyone else?”

“The same way you know I’m a liar!”

He stares at me for a beat, blue eyes glittering. “Fair enough,” he says with frightening calm. “But just so you know, me not bein’ sweet is gonna leave marks.”

I exhale in relief. “Thank God. That I know how to handle.”

Not even a split second passes before Ryan shows me exactly what not sweet involves as his fingers, hard as stone, dig into my skin.