“You said you were trained by the CIA,” he clarifies. “Were you undercover?”
My laugh sputters out of me and his hand tightens, though not enough to cut off my air or ability to speak. “The Culinary Institute of America.”
MacKenzie blinks in confusion but doesn’t release my neck. “What?”
“It’s a school in New York,” I explain slowly, confused as to how he doesn’t know about it. “Not in the city, sadly, but it’s about halfway between Manhattan and the capital.”
“I know what the school–” He starts and cuts himself off, finally releasing me to take off his glasses and rub his eyes. “I thought…It doesn’t matter what I thought.”
“Wait. Did you think I was from the government?” I can’t help but laugh at the outlandish thought. “Yeah, no. I am not intelligence agency material. I didn’t even finish college, let alone culinary school.”
Rolling my eyes, I find myself pinned under MacKenzie’s weight before I can blink. One of his hands pins my bound wrists in placewhile the other throttles my neck again, cutting off blood flow. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, boy.”
MacKenzie’s thighs bracket my legs, lining up my semi with his own bulge. He’s not hard like me, but he didn’t seem opposed to a hook-up before I saw him kill that rich guy. Maybe I can use the attraction to my advantage and make it out of this situation alive.
Rolling my hips up so he can feel me, I ignore the dizziness settling into my mind from his tight hold. “Yes, Daddy.”
He doesn’t let me go, but his hand loosens. Black spots at the edge of my vision recede. “Don’t call me that.”
“What do you want me to call you?” I ask, licking my lips.
MacKenzie’s pupils go from tiny pinpricks to dilated with lust and I know I’m having an effect. He breathes in and out for a few beats, and I think he’s not going to answer when he finally whispers, “Sir. You call me Sir.”
Even before those delicious words, I found Owen MacKenzie hot. He is one of my biggest celebrity crushes. If he wants me to call him Sir, that’s what I will do. Thrusting my hips up as much as I can under his weight, I feel his dick hardening against mine.
“Yes, Sir,” I moan, playing it up. If I can seduce the man, he’s less likely to kill me, right? “What else do you want to do with me?”
“Fuck,” MacKenzie curses under his breath. There’s clearly some conflicted thoughts and emotions running through him, but I need to sway him towards the horny rather than the homicidal.
His hand moves from my neck to caress my full lower lip with his thumb. The talk show host’s fingers are rougher than I expect from a man in his position, but then he isn’t an actor. My mind races with the bits of information I know about him. He’s a journalist, so he’s goodat research and travels all over the world. With such a busy life, I have to wonder when he fits in time for fun.
“I asked if you wanted to play when we met,” I point out. Lapping at the pad of his digit, I taste salt and the hint of leather from his gloves. A shiver runs through me remembering why he was wearing those gloves.
MacKenzie raises a brow and grips my jaw in one hand. “Oh, does that offer still stand?”
“If you want it to…” I trail off, letting him fill in the blanks. Somehow, the thought of sleeping with a killer is even more of a turn on than any old celebrity. “Sir.”
After staring at me for so long I think he’s going to leave me hanging, MacKenzie squeezes my jaw harder so that my mouth opens. “If you want to prove your usefulness—prove why I shouldn’t kill you, Ethan—you have to show me you want this.”
“How?” I ask, jaw hurting in his grasp.
“Tell me exactly what you want. Beg for it,” MacKenzie adds, and I feel a whimper leave my lips involuntarily.
My acting skills are crap, but I’m not going to need them to show this man I want him physically. My own safety be damned.
Chapter four
Mac
AmIjustasbad as the people I punish? I’ve kidnapped a man, restrained him, and am considering sexual acts with my captive.
Emotions are something I had to work at learning, but I know right from wrong. Well, my version of what’s right. Kidnapping is firmly in the wrong category. Though If I have to kidnap my marks to get them to a better place to kill, I don’t have a problem with it.
Maybe my stark line is blurrier than I like to believe.
Still, I’m in a position of power over my prisoner.Ethan, I remind myself. He doesn’t look like an ‘Ethan’ to me. The name is pedestrian, and he is a tanned beauty. Also, saying Ethan’s name makes him feel like the people I kill, when I’m listing their crimes.
There’s something mischievous in his eyes, even as I have him tied up under me and at my mercy. Calling me Daddy and trying to top from the bottom tells me he’s a brat. Exactly how I like them, on the rare occasions I get to play.