Page 31 of Knot Their Arrangement

“You love being a cocky fucker, don’t you?” His voice is a husky rasp, thick with unspent desire.

Before I can respond, his mouth crashes against mine.

The kiss is scorching, all-consuming, a battle of dominance neither of us intends to lose. His tongue parts my lips, delving deep, tasting himself on me with a guttural sound of satisfaction.

I return the fervor, sliding my hands up his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. Our tongues tangle in a wicked dance, and my toes curl in my polished leather shoes.

Every stroke, every flick of his tongue sends fire coursing through me. I drink him in, losing myself in the moment, in the taste of salt still lingering on my lips from earlier.

Ezekiel deepens the kiss further, his grip shifting from my hair to cup the back of my neck, forcing me to take every ounce of his passion. I groan into his mouth, my hands tightening around his biceps, feeling the strength beneath his dress shirt, the tension thrumming through him.

The need to have him buried deep inside me rages like an inferno, making me shift uncomfortably against the seat. I feel the thick press of my cock straining against my slacks, aching and desperate. He must feel it too because his hips press forward, the solid heat of his own arousal grinding into my thigh.

I curse against his lips, panting as he finally breaks the kiss, our breath mingling in the tight space of the car.

“Fuck,” he mutters, running his tongue along his bottom lip like he’s savoring the taste of me.

I smirk, still catching my breath.

“Getting soft, detective?”

He huffs, his lips curling into something smug.

“Sit back and correct your posture, old man,” he teases, though his voice is still thick with lust.

I roll my eyes, dragging my fingers through my tousled hair.

“You’re the one panting like you just ran a damn marathon,” I mutter, though my own swollen lips betray just how wrecked I am from his kisses.

Ezekiel watches me carefully, his dark gaze lowering to my mouth, tracking every movement. I run my tongue along my lips, tasting the faint trace of him still lingering there, and I swear I hear his breath catch.

He groans, shifting closer, planting a palm against the passenger-side window. The glass fogs slightly from the heat radiating between us, his frame looming, caging me in, his breath hot against my skin.

Inches.

We’re just inches apart.

My heart hammers against my ribs, my cock throbbing in its confinement. He sees it—sees the thick bulge straining beneath the fine fabric of my tailored Brioni dress pants. The expensive material does little to hide just how fucking hard I am.

His gaze drops lower, and instinct forces me to follow it.

My lips part slightly, an exhale slipping free as I fully acknowledge my predicament. The thickness of my arousal presses uncomfortably against my slacks, the sight of it only adding fuel to the fire already simmering between us.

Ezekiel hums low in his throat, eyes flicking back to mine, sharp with knowing. He shifts his hand from the window, brushing his fingers deliberately slow down the front of my chest, lingering just above my belt.

Then his phone rings.

Neither of us move.

The shrill sound fills the heated air between us, but all I can focus on is the intensity of his gaze; the unspoken promise in his smirk. My cock twitches in response, throbbing against its confinement, demanding attention, demanding him.

The phone continues to ring, unanswered.

Ezekiel’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips as his gaze flickers between my face and the obvious bulge pressing against my slacks.

The tension coils tighter, suffocating, intoxicating.

I don’t know who the fuck is on the other end of that call, but they can wait.

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