Chapter Thirty-Six
Isla
His body landed on my back with overpowering weight, and he roughly gripped a handful of my hair.
Then he yanked my head to the side, brought his face to mine, and yelled, “Who’s the sniper?”
Wrenched from my mind, the answer burst through my defenses. “My brother!”
He kissed me.
Gentle. Soft. Reverent.
He stroked his tongue through my mouth with soul-crushing worship.
My body bathed in his dominance, my traitorous confession all but forgotten, my head floated.
His kiss was exquisite.
He was exquisite.
His fingers drew a tender line down my arm before they skated across the side of my flattened breast, then found a home gripping my waist with intent.
I shivered.
He deepened the kiss.
But his hips, offset to the side of mine, his hard length against my still-smarting cheek, the buckle of his belt digging into my abused flesh, didn’t move.
Desperate, I shifted under him and thrust my ass up.
His erection notched between my thighs, the head landed at my entrance, and he growled.
Low and husky, the vibration hummed from his throat and crawled into my mouth like velvet seduction.
Shoving my hips up, grinding, I pushed into his erection again.
By his grip in my hair, he pulled my lips off his. “Watch it, intruse.”
“No.” I wanted him to fuck me.
With one swift move, he flipped me over. Then his knee shoved my thigh wide, he settled between my legs like he owned me, and he brought his mouth to mine like an offering. “Who’s your brother?” His voice seductively gentle, still gripping my hair tight, he gently kissed the side of my mouth.
Oh, the mastery of his defilement. “I can’t tell you.” I never should’ve said anything, but this man….
His dress-pant-covered erection pressed into my wet desire. “Can’t or won’t?”
“You’re going to ruin your suit.”
“Do you want me to fuck you, intruse?”
Intruse, intruse, intruse. Not prostitute.
What kind of episodic spell was he casting on me?
Where was my anger? “You don’t want the answer to that question.
” I tasted the blood in his mouth. His sex-dripped words, the filth they carried, the accusation steeped in dirty shame, the way he’d wanted to humiliate me—I’d played into all of it. Like an animal.
“I know the answer to that question.” He rocked forward. His lips trailed down my neck. “But you’re going to answer it anyway. Do you know why?”
Yes. Because I had a broken, twisted soul, and I was a glutton for his dominance. “No.”
“Because I don’t fuck deceptive little prevaricators or allow them to grind their greedy little cunts all over my cock.” With the thick head of his erection pressing against my entrance, he ground his hips and bit where my neck met my collarbone.
My back arched, and a moan dragged up my throat as if he’d reached down and grabbed it.
“That’s not an answer, Isla. Do you need me to ask it again?”
Isla. Isla, Isla, Isla. Not intruse. Not prostituée. Me. Him. “No.” Yes, yes, yes, please.
“Do you want to be mine for the next forty-eight hours? Do you want to lie in this bed like my little pet, taking everything I give you?” He pulled back barely an inch, then slammed his hips forward. “Do you want my cock?”
Oh God. Oh fuck. I was going to come. How was that possible? “I’m going to come.” He wasn’t even touching my clit.
The fingers on my waist dug into my flesh with bruising punishment as his voice dripped sex all over me like hot wax. “No, you’re not, intruse. That tight little cunt isn’t going to do a damn thing without my mouth or fingers, let alone my permission.”
“Oh God.” Please. “Please.”
“Until you tell me why you’re not on any security cameras in the hotel, you’re going to keep those legs spread and that cunt empty.” He drew his nose up my neck, then bit the soft fleshy lobe of my ear.
Fuuuck.
“Focus, intruse.” His fingers scratched over the top of my mound. “Hotel security cameras. Why aren’t you on them?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Why was he changing the questions? I grabbed his hard biceps and thrust up.
It was instant.
A palm landed on my throat, a knee slammed down on my thigh, and his body leveraged off mine.
Pinning me down, hovering above me, the green of his eyes turned into a darkened emerald furor, his demand snapped out like law. “Who are you?”
A harlot for his touch. A trespasser. A wanton mess. “Isla Sennan.” A shitty sister.
“Who’s erasing your digital footprint?”
I’m sorry, sorry, sorry for this lie. “I don’t know.” Bring your body back to mine.
“Answer the question, Isla.”
The demand, weighted heavier than his entire body and dominance combined, pressed down on me with the responsibility of my actions. “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry, Wolf. Please ignore my text. “I can’t.”
A warfighter, a skilled interrogator, a criminally intoxicating dominant stared down at me. “You can’t or won’t tell me who’s erasing you from the hotel’s security cameras?”
Short-lived relief flooded my sex-depraved body because that was a question I could answer. “Both.” I didn’t know, but I could guess.
He pushed off the bed.
Standing over me, the front of his pants stretched around his cock and wet from my desire, he swept an impassive gaze from my hard nipples to my drenched pussy, then back to my eyes. “Do you know what you’re going to do for me right now, ma petite intruse?”
Awareness erupted. Fluttering across my skin, it sank into my bones with a responsiveness so deep that it was both familiar and mouthwateringly new.
I wasn’t going to fight this.
I knew my body was already his, but my mind was still trying to hold out.
Except even that conscious part of me was bending more and more toward his skilled seduction every time he used that term of affection—or degradation, depending.
It made me both love and hate it. Most of all, it made my heart dance.
Stupidly, idiotically, the preening organ came to life each time he was near, bathing me in the false presumption that I was special.
Unique. Simply because a SEAL, a warfighter, had taken the time to give me a pet name.
The same warfighter who had kidnapped me twice. And yet, I wanted to be his.
Jesus, I wanted that.
Except I’d trained myself for ten long years to not want anything. To just be grateful. To live. To experience. I’d run away from my life, casting aside my past so I could do exactly that.
But now this armed, dangerous warrior lording over me, telling me I was about to do something for him—it was turning my tide, and I wasn’t only salivating for him, I was desperate for whatever he wanted.
And that was the twisted, depraved part of my soul I had never escaped.
That was the baser part of my being that wanted to submit all of my free will to him.
But I couldn’t allow myself to forget how the evening had started.
How all of this had started.
Forcing myself not to reach for him, to not even breathe wrong for fear he would change his mind, I carefully curated my response because there was one thing I wasn’t going to let slide.
“Did you ask the other woman you were with tonight to do something for you?” Was that where he’d gone? “Did you give her a nickname too?”