Julian #3
"You have several options. You can strike my throat, my eyes, or my groin. Or you can use my momentum against me." I lean in closer, demonstrating how an attacker would press their advantage. "If I'm leaning into you, you can drop down and slip out to the side."
But I don't move back. And she doesn't try to escape. We're inches apart, my body pressed against hers, both of us breathing hard. I can see her pulse fluttering in her throat, feel the heat radiating from her skin.
"Julian," she whispers.
My muscles are wound tight. My hands are inches from her. I could touch her so easily. Be inside of her in seconds. "We should stop."
Her chest heaves. "I don't want to stop."
"Isabelle—"
"I want you." Her hands come up to rest on my chest. "I want you so badly I can barely think straight. And I know you want me too. So why are we still pretending?"
Because I was hired to kill you. Because I was told I have less than a day to decide whether I'm going to put a bullet in your head. Because touching you now, when I should murder you, would be the cruelest thing I've ever done.
"This is a mistake," I say, but I don't move away. She feels like a magnet, pulling me in. Like dragging myself away from her would rip the skin from my body.
Her hands slide up to my neck, pulling me closer, and I can feel my control slipping.
Every defense I've built, every wall I've erected, every reason I've given myself for keeping my distance—it's all crumbling under the weight of wanting her.
I lean in, my forehead resting against hers, my hands moving from the wall to her waist. "If I kiss you, I won't stop. "
Her forehead crinkles. "Good."
"Isabelle—"
"Stop talking." She rises up on her toes, closing the distance between us, and her lips brush against mine. The touch is electric, sending a shock of heat through my entire body. I make a sound low in my throat, a growl vibrating in my chest, and my hands flex against the wall.
God, she tastes fucking sweet. I hold myself rigid as her mouth traces over mine, my cock stiff again, every cell in my body protesting the distance between us.
Her tongue dips into the seam of my lips, trying to deepen the kiss, and I can feel the imagined press of her soft breasts, the grip of her legs around me, the heat of her pussy on my cock like a phantom touch.
Like everything I could have had if I just shifted a few inches closer.
"Please," she begs against my lips, and I groan, giving her exactly what she wants. My open mouth for her to plunder. My cock jerks as her tongue slides against mine, and I feel more pre-cum leaking down my shaft, my balls tightening dangerously. "Julian," she breathes. "Please."
My muscles tremble with the force of holding myself back.
My hands fist against the wall, trying not to grab her.
If I touch her, I'll fuck her. I'll fuck her for hours, until we're both spent.
My deadline will be up before I finish with her.
We might both die fucking, because I won't know if someone comes through that door until it's too late…
And oh, God, no woman has ever made me this hard from kissing me. Her hands are all over me, sliding up under my shirt, over my sweat-drenched skin and hard muscle, down to the waist of my pants, and I feel my abdomen flex as she licks across my lower lip, then sucks my tongue into her mouth, like…
I have never, not even when I was a fucking teenager, come in my pants just from making out.
But in that instant, as Isabelle Montague drags my tongue into her mouth like it's my cock, her teeth grazing under my lip as she does, her nails digging into my abs, my abused cock starts to spurt helplessly.
The groan that escapes me is unstoppable, as heat races up my spine.
I've been hard and soft and hard again too many times, all fucking morning, edged to the point of madness by the insatiable brat currently tangling my tongue around hers and clawing at my abs like she wants to climb me, and my control snaps.
Spurt after spurt soaks my boxers and the front of my jeans, the pleasure over all too soon, shallow and not nearly enough.
And then reality crashes back in. I jerk away from her, turning sharply to hide what just happened.
The contract. The deadline. The fact that I was hired to kill her, and she doesn't know. The fact that I have to choose between murdering her or dying to protect her. "No. We can't." I bite out the words. "Isabelle, just…"
"Julian?" Her voice sounds confused, thick with her harsh breathing from her own arousal, and I can't look at her. Even though I just came, I could be hard for her again in seconds.
I could be almost anything for her. Except the man she deserves.
Without another word, I stalk away from her, toward the bathroom to clean up. I lock the door behind me, ignoring her sounds of frustrated huffing, and lean back against it, breathing hard.
Isabelle Montague will be my undoing. And God, she's both the worst and the sweetest way to die.