Caitlin
“What the f**k are you doing?” my hitman demands. He has that decidedly urban, definitely dangerous way of saying f**k. When a college boy says f**k, it means nothing. The way this guy says it hits me square in the chest. It’s an assault all in itself.
He’s way more beautiful than I expected. Wickedly, darkly handsome, which seems unfair, since he’s also a multi-millionaire.
And a killer, I remind myself as I seek my c**t through my yoga pants. It is a manipulation. I’m trying to throw him off guard with my crazy. But it’s also for me. s*x pulls me back to my body and I have to think now. I can’t dissociate when my life is on the line here.
So I move my fingers slowly between my legs, rolling my c******l hood piercing while I force myself to breathe and stare into the dark brow
