Page 16 of Death By Chocolate

“You’ll get what I give you,” I say, irritated at his effect on me. I could do without sex for a while. In my line of work, relationships can be a distraction. But, fucking, that’s a necessary release. I don’t crave sex, but I crave Xeno.

“Like you gifted Rhys, allowing him to feel your pussy choking his cock?”

Knowing I fucked Rhys is messing with his head.

Why?

He didn’t know me then. Hell, he doesn’t know me now. I shouldn’t entertain his male ego bullshit, but I want to know. It’s not like I have men swinging their dicks over me everyday. I look over my shoulder at Xeno. “What the fuck is your problem?”

He lowers his head, and then I feel the press of his lips on my neck. Warmth spreads through my body, my pussy pulses at the contact. A moan escapes me before I bite the inside of my cheek. I can’t let him know that his every touch is my undoing, that I love his dirty talk.

“He had you,” he whispers, nipping my ear. The hint of pain heightened my arousal. “Touched you. I’m jealous. My cock is envious.”

Damn. Straight, no chaser. I find I like that about Xeno. There’s no smoke clouding his mirror. He shows me who he is. He’s deadly, demanding, and impulsive. But he’s also attentive in a crazed, possessive way. I don’t know what exactly he’ll do next, but I trust he won’t hurt me. Even if all I am to him is a temporary fuck.

“You’re here. He’s not.” I grumble, stepping out of his reach. I distract myself from my body’s craving for more by releasing my boots and kicking them away. They click into place with a satisfying snap—part of the magnetized fibers that makes me more than the only woman responsible for protecting The Governor with these testosterone-ridden alphas; more like a one-woman army.

“What the fuck was that…the Dorothy-ruby-slipper click with your boots? They’re sexy by the way.”

Seeing Xeno studying me, those piercing eyes moving puzzle pieces around, trying to make me fit—us fit together like too normal people learning each other, was new. Oscar rarely asked me anything about myself. He gave orders. “First,” I start, turning to face him, “thank you. The snakeskin was a gift from a Friend. Second, stop referring to me as fictitious ass women who can’t figure out their shit without a damn clubhouse meeting.” Now that I’ve unhinged the lock, his offenses roll off my tongue.“Barbie—not real. Dorothy—ain’t real or black, fucking around with a dog in a tornado. “ I mutter. “I am real.”

He crosses those delicious forearms in front of his chest. “And third?”

“My suit and boots act as an exoskeleton.”

“You mean armor.” There’s something in his eyes that unnerves me. He’s seen beneath the clothes, touched my hair, made languid circles on my skin. Did he jerk off to that version of me? Weak and vulnerable? Fuck him.

“In a sense. House interfaces, updates, and initiates defense commands.”

He raises a brow at that. “And you trust the House.”

I stiffen at the subtle attack. “House never fails. It saved my life.”

Xeno narrows his eyes on me. “Sending the car, hacking the airport’s Wifi signal, you mean?”

No.

“Yes,” I say, looking away. After I escaped Oscar, I didn’t trust anybody. The Alaska compound had been emptied when I unlocked my cage. I’d dressed in the clothes I found in the cook’s quarters, loaded the money, thumb drives, and ledgers in a backpack, and fled. I called the one person I had trusted without question—Silvio. But even he knew better than to touch me. That’s when he introduced me to House, a tool to protect myself. The power to fight back went beyond my hands, House transformed me into a formidable opponent. Xeno could never know the pain and humiliation of true helplessness. “Look, you take the bed. I need to think through some things.”

Walking past me towards the raised dais, he gives a nod. It’s slight but no less weighty, as if I’ve divulged more than the words communicated. My skin burns as he rakes his eyes over me once more, his gaze lingering on my bare feet. Even the attention he pays to my toes, polished a jeweled onyx makes my pussy wetter.

“These things…related to hunting down the man bitches from the airport?”

“The word is mitches. Man plus bitches equals mitches.”

He places both hands on my mattress and pushes. I imagine those fingers spreading my thighs, how his eyes will look when he sees how wet I am for him. How he’ll push me to the edge of pain to bring me pleasure.

“Big bed. Firm mattress,” he says loud enough for me to hear him.

“Suits the purpose,” I say, rounding the couch. There are no rugs. The cool tiles feel good against my bare feet. I planned to sit but think better of it with Xeno. With him, I need every advantage. “It’s getting late. You should sleep. I’ll stand guard.”

“Dani, I’m not just going to sit back and watch. You’re not the only one they’re after, right?”

I clench my jaw. He’s testing me. The question is probing, seeking details I can’t share—won’t share. “Listen, I’m not at full strength. I need to train, regain motor control, and sharpen my reflexes. I won’t be here much.”

“Huh,” he nods as if unconvinced. “You think you’ve lost muscle memory and motor control in three days?”

Hell no, but I say, “It’s possible.”

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