TWENTY #3
Then she opened her mouth. ‘It’s not… smart,’ she murmured, her voice low but lucid. I raised my chin, my interest zeroing in on her lips as they formed the words. ‘Sometimes the drug has… odd effects on me.’
It was a quiet admission, stretched.
The unrelenting tension vibrated low in my groin until a twist of nausea ripped through me – this wasn’t her, this was the effect of the drug.
She shifted slightly, and the movement drew my eyes to the lace of her stocking, peeking out from beneath the hem of her dress. I clenched my jaw, trying to pull myself back from the edge, but the strain had become a living thing, pulsing between us like a held breath.
‘I don’t want to ruin this,’ she continued, her tone firmer, though there was slight frailty in her words.
‘Ruin what?’ I asked, my mind on autopilot as I laboured to keep my hands off that goddamn lace.
‘Us.’ Her voice dipped, low and uncertain.
My gaze snapped to hers, heat surging.
She blinked slowly, then added, quieter, ‘Professionally.’
My mouth went dry.
Professionally. Right.
The word hit like ice – clean.
Necessary.
‘You should go,’ she murmured.
But I couldn’t fucking move.
Somewhere in the haze of her words, I realised I’d been leaning in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
My hand, almost absently, brushed the edge of her stocking, my thumb grazing the textured edge of the lace that mimicked the garter.
Soft ruffles whispered, secret seams smiled open.
The softness of her skin beneath it shot through me, my breath catching as her citrusy scent drifted around us.
‘I can’t,’ I murmured low.
Before I could say another word, the cool press of metal met the soft flesh under my chin. I hadn’t even seen her take it from under her pillow, but there it was. And the fierce change in her had the dark, feral monster in me jumping to its feet.
I held her eyes, my pulse threatening to burst out of my ribcage.
A small, matte black barrel was steady against my skin. Her finger hovered near the trigger, surprisingly steady as her body fought the haze.
Oh… shit.
She had no fucking idea what that did to me. She couldn’t have known.
Something twisted in me and flared like a beacon. She had no idea what she had just done.
No fucking idea.
This wasn’t a warning – it was a provocation, her defiance peeling back every barrier I struggled to keep away from.
My body responded instantly, heat and pressure pulling low in my core as I imagined what I could do to her. What she would fucking let me do, whether she realised it or not.
In a different setting – one where her mind wasn’t fogged – I wanted to take that gun from her hand and press it back to her lips.
I wanted to let her feel the cold steel as I traced it down her neck, across her chest, lower.
I wanted to claim that power back – not to dominate her, but to feel her shake beneath something far more dangerous: trust. I wanted to hear her gasping my name as I fucked her with that goddamn barrel.
But more than that, I wanted her because she wasn’t weak. She wasn’t fragile, not in the way I’d thought. Vulnerable, yes, but only momentarily. And yet, here she was, staring me down with unflinching resolve, daring me to test her.
Shame hit.
She was drugged, I reminded myself. And I wasn’t that kind of monster.
‘Leave,’ she commanded. ‘Please.’
Oh fuck.
Now she was begging. It didn’t matter that she was begging me to leave. The word itself, in combination with the gun, the heat of her body, her lips…
Move, arsehole!
‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ I whispered, completely undone.
For a moment, I let the thought linger, let myself imagine every possible way this could play out.
Then that small fragment of sanity made me think about what a normal man would do in this position. What would one of my characters have done?
They would have been afraid that a drugged woman was holding a cocked gun against their jaw.
I feigned fear, raising my hands and tilting back, the tension easing from my frame as I put distance between us.
‘You’re right,’ I said, my tone soft but threaded with something darker. ‘I should go.’
She lowered the gun, her shoulders relaxing just enough to let the exhaustion show through.
I stood, my gaze tethered to her for a moment longer. She was far from the fragile kitten running from her past. She was a lioness, scarred but unbroken. Who was I to think I had any right to her?
As I walked to the door, the image of her holding that gun… uncompromisingly… It burned in my mind. She was fire and steel, and I was starting to see her for what she truly was.
And I couldn’t help but want her all the more for it.
Reaching for the door handle, I let my fist tense around it, and her soft, unguarded voice caught me, ‘Thank you…’
Stillness took over my limbs.
The words hit harder than she could have even imagined.
Because I had never been able to save anyone in my life. Not my mum. Not myself. And tonight? Had I truly done something like that?
With my tongue clenched between my teeth, I turned the handle, slithered out, and pulled the door shut behind me – her words still echoing like something precious I didn’t know how to hold.