“Can I trust you?”
“Yes,” he repeats.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t.”
My sharp blade lifts from his skin. There’s a small cut left in its wake, beading with a few drops of blood. A burst ofsatisfaction fills me. He looks even sexier with a fresh mark from me on him.
I back myself into the narrow gap framed by shelves of ammunition and racks of guns. A motion from my knife instructs him to follow. Byron obeys instantly.
“Get down on your knees.” The tip of my blade points to the spot.
He lowers without hesitation, looking at me for the next command.
“Good boy,” I praise.
But now I’m at a loss. This is when I enter uncharted territory. Stagnant heat spits from the vent in a rattle, calling out the awkward lapse. My bravado quivers for a moment too long. Byron notices and slowly lifts his hands toward my waist.
“May I?”
It seems like a requirement. The man might be built of brawn and arrogance, but even he will struggle to rip leather apart at the seams. I nod for him to proceed.
Byron opens my pants and peels the supple material down my legs, stripping off the scrap of my thong in one fell swoop. I assume he’s going to undo my boots to finish the job.
“Brace yourself.”
That’s the only warning I get. He lifts my caged ankles off the ground, which hoists me higher on the wooden wall. A fluid ducking maneuver wedges his head into the split between my thighs as if it was created for him. It’s stunning how quickly he pulled that off, but then my mind blanks out.
His exhales puff against my exposed center. A shiver ripples through me and I moan. In this position, we’re locked together. I’m apprehended. It’s vulnerable and requires trust—two things I avoid. But I decide to see where this goes.
I relax and allow my knees to hang over his shoulders. My ass kisses the cool panels behind me, chasing off some of the firein my veins. Byron’s palms are suddenly there to cradle my butt like a seat. He’s holding me as if I weigh no more than a feather. I feel fragile and precious. It’s not entirely unpleasant.
“Ready?” The question caresses my arousal.
I haven’t dared to move during this readjustment other than where he’s placed me. My nod is barely recognizable.
“Need to hear you,” he rasps.
The embers of my stubborn pride burn through me, keeping my attention fixed straight ahead. “Go ahead.”
But he doesn’t listen. “Look at me.”
That’s the opposite of what instinct dictates. The thought of gazing longingly at someone induces nausea. I’ve never exchanged eye contact with my partners during sexual acts. It’s too intimate and sensual. But this is Byron. He’s not a faceless identity I get to walk away from.
My glare lowers to his. “I’m tempted to stab you.”
There’s entirely too much emotion swelling in those warm brown depths. “If that’s what you need to stay suspended in this moment.”
“Aren’t I restrained enough?” I buck against him and get nowhere.
He tightens his grip. “Be here with me. I’ve got you.”
That traitorous burn attacks my eyes and I blink quickly. “Okay.”
I’m helpless to watch as his tongue tastes what nobody else has. The first swipe is gentle, almost like a tease. I squirm in impatience. His chuckle scolds me. Before I can discipline him with my knife, he opens wide and buries his face in my pussy.
It’s a shock to my system. I jolt from the unexpected intensity. A hit of pleasure injects directly into my bloodstream, instantly drugging me. My muscles go lax as Byron eats like a starved man. The wet noises would probably embarrass me if I could focus. I’m mindless under his influence.