Oh holy hell, she was flirting with him. I clenched my hands into fists.
Cade just smirked at me. He leaned back onto the kitchen island, grinning at Celia. “You aren’t afraid, are you?”
“Are you from… England?” She twisted the end of her ponytail around one of her fingers.
I was going to strangle her.
She looked at me. “Shell, I thought you were going to get blankets.”
I stomped off to do just that. Well, this was my own fault. Why hadn’t I simply claimed Cade was a drunken hookup? Then, maybe we’d be in my bed right now, and we could be—
But, you know what, maybe it was better this way.
Cade was dangerous. I was attracted to him, but there was no way in hell that he was actually good for me. Honestly, I was behaving a lot more like Starling than like myself, being so forward. Kissing him, making out with him, giving him hand jobs. Letting him get me off… I stopped at the thought of it, all the breath rushing from my lungs. Fuck, that orgasm he’d given me…
But everything was crazy, wasn’t it? Because he was hot and cold. He’d be all over me and then all business. Maybe there was some crazy animal attraction between us, but that wasn’t what I wanted out of life.
When Austin came into my life, I think I was so quick to overlook the things about him that made him seem… less than perfect because I wanted to settle down. I had sowed my wild oats in college. I was in my mid twenties—soon to be my late twenties—and it was time. I was looking for a real relationship, not another series of one night stands.
And a real relationship with a hitman?
I snorted.
No, I needed to steer clear of Cade. He was only going to use me and leave me. And that was the last thing I needed.
* * *
Cade
I shifted on the couch, which was about five inches too short for me, meaning that I had to sleep with my legs bunched up. Not comfortable at all.
Tomorrow, we were going to have to find someplace else to stay, and her apartment was not the most optimal place.
Honestly, I didn’t even understand how I had gotten into this mess.
This girl was not my problem. I had a code and all, and I did my best not to kill people who didn’t deserve it, but that didn’t make me some kind of hero. I didn’t go around trying to right wrongs or save people or any of that kind of shit.
So, the only reason I was here was because of Shell.
Because I wanted to fuck her.
But seriously? I was going through all this trouble for a piece of ass?
How good could it be?
Even if it was phenomenal screwing her, even if her pussy felt like fucking a fountain gushing gold and rainbows, it couldn’t be worth all the shit I’d been through already.
Anyway, now it was personal with Ice.
I’d had beef with him for a long time. This was probably a long time coming between us.
So, it was about Ice, then. That’s why I was sleeping on this couch all alone in this apartment.
I rolled over onto my side and punched the pillow that Shell had given me.
Right.
Hell, this was stupid.
I should get up off this couch and go back into her room, where she was sleeping.
I could probably tie her hands and legs down to the headboard and the foot of the bed before she even woke up. I could have her there, right at my mercy, do whatever I wanted to her.
Then I could leave, go find Ice, beat the hell out of him, and all of this would be over.
I considered, trying to figure out which of the two scenarios I found most appealing. I pictured Shell completely naked, tied spread eagle on the bed, her legs wide, her pussy wet and hungry for me.
And that, of course, was why I didn’t do it.
Because I knew better.
I couldn’t sneak into her bedroom, tie her down while she was sleeping, and then expect her to actually be wet for me. For all the big talk that I made, I knew that women—especially a woman like Shell—couldn’t just be forced like that.
And I didn’t want her struggling and angry and frightened.
I knew that someone like Ice liked it that way. That was his idea of a good time.
But I didn’t like that.
I wanted to be in charge, that was true. I wanted to have absolute control, to be able to bend her to my will, to have her carry out whatever my dirty mind thought up for her.
I didn’t need props or scenarios. I didn’t need her to be tied down, I just needed her to be willing to do what I wanted. I needed her under my power.
And I wanted her to get as turned on from that as I did.
I knew it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. I brought home women like that, who would get wet because I ordered them around.
But Shell…
I didn’t get that vibe from her. She was much too defiant. She kept speaking up, and giving me shit. Even when I’d first taken her hostage, when she hadn’t known what to make of me, she’d been a little sassy. So, I didn’t think that she would appreciate what I wanted to do with her right then.
Still…
She’d been compliant enough against the wall over there, stroking my cock like a champ. Her tight grip around me, her little gasps of pleasure, and her wet little cunt…
Man, all of it was enough to get me hard again.
I groaned.
I rolled over on my back.
Go to sleep, I told myself.
* * *
Cade
I probably only got about five hours sleep, because Shell’s roommate woke me up when she left for work early that morning. I rolled around on the couch a little longer, trying to go back to sleep, but the light was streaming in through the window, and it was a lost cause.
Instead, I stumbled into the kitchen to see what I could do about feeding myself.
I hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch yesterday, and I was starving.
I rummaged through the refrigerator and the cabinets, noting that everything was divided up and labeled. I thought that was kind of funny. Personally, I’d never had a roommate. Probably would have literally killed them if they pissed me off. But I thought that the two of them were being just a tad too anal about this labeling business.
I considered blatantly eating some of Celia’s food.
Then I figured that would only get Shell in trouble.
So, instead, I found some coffee and half a pound of bacon. I didn’t tend to eat bacon too often. Eating bacon tended to make me feel… heavy. I didn’t like it weighing in my gut when I was trying to haul ass after some mark that had managed to evade me—not that many marks got by me or anything. Still, in my line of work, I needed to stay fit.
I didn’t have a problem with meat or anything, I just tended to stick to leaner cuts of meat. I didn’t eat a lot of carbs either.
It wasn’t so much a diet…
Oh, hell, okay, I was anal about shit too.
Anyway, the choices were bacon and eggs or pancakes. Not only would the pancakes have been empty calories, they wouldn’t have stuck with me later.
So, bacon and eggs it was.
I got started on breakfast, hoping that Shell would wake up just from smelling it, even though it was early, and she hadn’t had much sleep either.
She didn’t.
So, I waited for a bit after everything was finished, and then I decided I’d just wake her up, considering the food was going to get cold otherwise.
But her door was locked.
I banged on it. “Shell, wake up.”
A muffled response from the other side of the door.
“I made breakfast,” I said.
More noises from the other side of the door.
Then Shell opened it. Her hair was mussed from sleep, and she was wearing an oversized flannel shirt that skimmed the tops of her thighs.
Wow. I hadn’t thought about her being so uncovered.
“You cook?” she said.
“Are you a good cook?”
“I like it,” I said, shrugging.
“Because you’re from England, right, and English food is supposed to be horrible, not that I’d know, because I’ve never been there or anything. It’s just what you hear.”
“I haven’t lived in England since I was ten,” I said. “And if the food isn’t good, it’s because you had a shit selection.” I turned and walked up the hallway.
Within minutes, Shell had joined me. She’d taken the time to smooth her hair back into a sloppy ponytail on top of her head, but she hadn’t put on any pants or anything.
I gazed at her bare legs, wanting to pick her up, set her on the counter, and order her to slowly open her knees to me.
I sat down at the table instead and began attacking my eggs as if they had caused me personal insult.
“You’re in a bad mood,” she observed, sitting down. “Is it because you suck at getting my sister back?”
“I’m not in a bad mood.” I popped a bite of eggs into my mouth. I chewed.
She picked up a fork and shoveled some of the eggs into her mouth. “Not bad,” she said around her mouthful.
I pointed my fork at her. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”
She blushed.
It made her look even prettier. I turned back to the food, resolving to keep my mouth shut.
“So, what are we going to do today?” she said.
Just when I decide to be quiet, she asks me a question. “We aren’t going to do anything. I’m going to go back to the drawing board, trying to figure out where Ice went. We’ve got two days. You should probably stick with me, because you might not be safe on your own, but I don’t think we should stay at your apartment any longer. Your couch is seriously uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I just sort of panicked when Celia was throwing around accusations…” She took a drink of orange juice.
“She mentioned an ex,” I said. “Is he the guy who was here last night?”
“You were spying on me, weren’t you?”
I shrugged. “Is he?”
“Yes,” she said. She picked up a piece of bacon and stared at it. “He’s gay.”
“I thought you said he was your ex.”
“He is. He figured out he was gay about a month before we were set to get married.”
I winced. “I’m sorry, love. That sounds…”
“It was a nightmare.”
I ran my finger around the rim of my coffee mug. “If he was gay, how come you didn’t…”
“Notice?”
I wrinkled up my nose, realizing that was probably a rude thing to ask.
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “He just seemed normal.”
“Huh,” I said, staring at my plate. I couldn’t figure how that seemed normal, but it wasn’t my place to judge. I hadn’t been there. Anyway, it was probably all a painful sort of thing to talk about for her. She probably didn’t want me asking a bunch of questions.
“You want to know about the sex, don’t you?” she said. “Everyone wants to know.”
“Do they?” I plastered a smile on my face.
“It was fine,” she said. “It was normal. There was nothing wrong with it.”
I raised my eyebrows.
She began to break off pieces of bacon and toss them on her plate. “I mean, sure, he wasn’t exactly great at foreplay or whatever, but most guys aren’t. And yeah, it wasn’t like I had an orgasm every time we did it, but who has sex like that anyway? No one.”
“Seriously?” I said.
She looked up at me.
We held each other’s gazes for a while.
I was the one who finally looked away. “If I’m having sex with a girl, she gets off.”
“Oh, but how can you even be sure of that?”
“I’m sure.” I looked up again. “I’m sure that you came yesterday, and that wasn’t even sex.”
She swallowed.
We were quiet again.
“This isn’t the best breakfast conversation, is it?” she muttered.
And what was I supposed to make of that? She’d hated it, hadn’t she? She’d hated that I’d blown my wad in her hand like some idiotic teenager, that I’d been so inept that I couldn’t even spread out our first sexual encounter into anything beyond something embarrassing and brief.
I shook my head into my plate.
Okay, this time for real. Keeping my mouth shut.
* * *
Shell
“Are you ever going to get dressed?” Cade growled from across the room.
I looked up from the sink where I was washing up the breakfast dishes. Since he’d cooked, I’d figured it was only fair to clean up. I gestured at my nightshirt with soapy hands. “You don’t like it?”
He stalked across the room, moving like a lithe predatory cat. “I’m trying to concentrate on figuring out where Ice might have gone.”
“Yeah, I get that, and I’m washing the dishes.”
He stepped in front of me, placing one arm on either side of me, resting his big hands on the counter next to the sink. “And every time I look up,” he said in a rough voice, “your fucking shirt is riding up higher and higher.”
“Oh,” I said quietly. “And that’s bad.”
“That’s distracting.”
I nodded slowly. Oh, man, this wasn’t good. I knew that I told myself to keep away from Cade, that getting involved with him was a disaster. But I couldn’t help liking the notion that I was distracting him, that he was mesmerized by my bare skin. That made me feel a little powerful and a lot turned on.
“So,” he said. “Are you going to get dressed?”
I smiled slowly. “You know, I’m actually very comfortable in this nightshirt.”
He made a noise of displeasure in the back of this throat, seized my hips and turned me back around to face the sink. “Wash the dishes, then. But if you aren’t going to get dressed, then I can’t be held responsible for what I do next.”
Oooh. A little tingle went through me. That threat was delicious.
His voice at my ear. “Wash.”
I plunged my hands back into the soapy water.
He grasped the hem of my nightshirt, and then he lifted it, exposing my panties.
I sucked in breath. I hadn’t given much thought to my panties. They were black cotton bikinis. Comfy but unremarkable. I honestly only had a few things that could even really be called lingerie, and I hadn’t worn them since trying to show them to Austin. He hadn’t been into it, so I’d buried them at the bottom of my drawer. Maybe that had been a sign…
But all thoughts of Austin were wiped out of my head when I felt his fingers on the back of my thighs.
Jolts of goodness went through me.
“Spread your legs a little,” he whispered.
I did.
“Good,” he purred.
Oh, fuck. I’d never really done this before either. I wasn’t a nun or anything, but most of the sex I’d had was pretty vanilla. And most guys I’d been with weren’t very vocal except for some grunts and “Oh yeah”s.
I liked being told what to do.
I liked pleasing him.
Heat gathered in my sex.
“Keep washing the dishes,” he said mildly.
I tried to scrub one of the plates, but my hands were shaking.
His fingers went under the outside elastic of my panties, one of his hands on each side, and he tugged the fabric upward, so it tucked into my crease, forming a thong shape, exposing my ass cheeks.
I let out a breath, feeling laid bare, feeling used, feeling dirty, and loving it.
He caressed both of my cheeks. His hands were warm.
My clit started to feel heavy and thick.
“You like showing me your ass, don’t you?” he breathed into my ear.
I gasped again. “Y-yes,” I admitted. This was much more exciting than I ev
er could have imagined.
“That’s why you wore this nightshirt. You wanted me to look at you.”
Maybe that was true.
“Is that right?” he said in a soft voice.
“Yes,” I breathed.
“That’s not a very nice thing to do, Shell. Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry?” I was confused.
A crack against one of my cheeks, his open palm slapping me.
I was shocked by the stinging sensation, appalled. But then his hand was caressing the place he’d spanked. And I was flooded with a very pleasant sensation, more than I’d expected. My pussy clenched.
“I don’t forgive you,” he murmured. “Try that apology again.”
I closed my eyes, feeling wicked. “I’m sorry,” I said in a voice that didn’t sound the least bit sorry.
His palm cracked against my other cheek. The same motion. Sting, then caress.
“Hmm,” he said. “Someone doesn’t seem sorry at all.”
“No,” I gasped, arching my back, enjoying this. “I think you’ll really have to teach me a lesson.” I grinned at him over my shoulder.
He smiled back. “Don’t look at me. You’re supposed to be washing the dishes. After all, that was so important that you couldn’t even be bothered to put on some clothes.”
I stifled my grin, turning back to the sink. I began scrubbing a dish.
He spanked me.
I gasped.
He spanked me again.
I moaned. I set the dish in the other sink to rinse. I reached for another.
He spanked me again.
I cried out. Everything was so sensitive down there now. My whole pelvis was glowing with heat and pleasure. I wriggled my hips.
“Hold still.” His voice was strangled.
I felt his hands on my hips, holding me in place. I stopped moving, my breath coming in short, hard gusts. Everything was good right then. I was so turned on, and it all felt amazing.
He ran a hand over my back. “Good girl. You’re very obedient.” His hands seized my panties. There was a ripping sound, and then I wasn’t wearing anything. I felt the air against my wet sex. “I like that. You like doing what I tell you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
His hands explored the curves of my ass, and everything was so sensitive from the spanks that it felt glorious.
I moaned again.
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