I don't stop.
My fingers slide through slick heat and—oh.The sensation shoots straight though my body, sharper than I remember, more urgent. Eight years of nothing and now everything at once.
I circle my clit slowly, testing, and my hips roll into the pressure unbidden.More. I need more.
Behind my closed eyes I see his face when I hit him. The way his head snapped to the side. Blood at the corner of his mouth and that smile—
I want to hit him again.
The thought sends arousal through me so intense my thighs clench. I push two fingers inside myself and the stretch makes me gasp into my pillow.
What is wrong with me?
I don't know. Right now, I don't care. I fuck myself harder, my palm grinding against my clit and chasing something I'd forgotten my body could feel. The pleasure builds with every image I shouldn't be thinking about. His mouth, his blood, his voice sayingyou're minelike it was fact, not threat.
The orgasm crashes through me without warning.
I bite into my pillow to muffle the sound, body shaking, fingers working through every wave. It goes on and on, more intense than anything I remember.
As I lie there trembling, tears leak from the corners of my eyes. Not sadness, not exactly. Something closer to shock. My body still pulses with aftershocks, oversensitive, alive in a way it hasn't been in eight years.
He's down the hall. Maybe awake. Maybe thinking about me.
Probably is. He's been thinking about you for seven years.
I fall asleep with tears drying on my temples, and his voice in my head.
You're mine. You were always mine.
And the terrible, thrilling knowledge that when I hit him, and when he smiled, some part of me became exactly that.
six
Cole
The man in the charcoal suit watches Angelina exit her chambers. His smile has too many teeth.
I don't know who he is yet. But I've seen that smile before. On men who believe they own things. People. Women.
New variable. Unidentified. File and monitor.
I'm positioned with my back against the wall near the elevator bank where I can see both exits and her chambers door simultaneously. Friday afternoon quiet settles over the courthouse. Attorneys are clearing out early, there's a low hum of HVAC, and footsteps are echoing somewhere down the east corridor.
Angelina steps into the hallway, case files tucked under one arm, attention on her phone. She hasn't seen him yet. But he's seen her. He straightens from where he's been leaning against the wall near the courtroom doors, eyes tracking her movement.
He knows her. Or thinks he does.
The footsteps resolve into a familiar gait. My hand eases off my weapon.
Asher materializes beside me, coffee cup in hand, steam rising in lazy curls. He leans against the wall in a mirror of my position.
"Security assessment's done." His voice stays low. "Building's tight for a federal courthouse. A few blind spots in the garage we can work around."
"Defense brought in an expert witness today. Toxicology specialist."
"Noticed. Testified for about an hour. Solid credentials." He takes a sip of coffee. "Worth watching?"
"Maybe."