Page 31 of Hustle

Son and brother who thinks of everyone else? Gone.

The only thing that’s left behind is me. Just a man, who is on his couch with the woman he’s wanted to fuck for years. That realization hits me, and another raw sound rips its way out of my throat.

“Why, Seamus Doyle,” she asks very sweetly, as if she read my mind. “Am I making you lose control?”

My cock jerks so hard at the words “lose control” that I think for a second that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

Absolutely fucking not.

We’re on our feet, and she’s leading me to the bedroom, even though some dark corner of my hazy brain isn’t sure how she knows where it is.

“Light,” I command and the soft glow of the side lamp sparks to life.

I reach for her with my other hand, but she puts up a hand, and then pushes me back on the bed. I’m not used to not being the one in control. But I respond to her command on some deep level that threatens to drown me down into the undertow of this woman’s amazing influence.

It’s taking everything I have not to rip off the rest of her clothes, and mine too. Her eyes go around the room and they stop at the fuzzy handcuffs on the bed poster.

Heat rushes my face.

Fuck.

It’s a joke. My brother Kieran put them there as a big fuck you to my precise and expensive furnishings. I’d left them there to keep my brothers from providing any other housewarming gifts. It was a small concession that never mattered, I don’t bring women here.

As I rush to explain, she puts a finger to my lips.

“Shhhh.”

Her fingers touch my wrist, and before I know what’s happening, she’s sliding the cuffs around it. Before she closes the final snap, she asks if it’s all right, and then when I nod, it closes firm. She’s grabbing a tie off the dresser, where I’d left it earlier, and now my other hand is secured to its nearest bedpost. Evelyn McCallum has me spread-eagled and tied up to the frame of my bed.

This might be the best fucking day of my life.

She’s looking at me, a little concerned.

“Seamus,” she says in a seductively sweet voice that makes my entire body vibrate. “We seem to have a little problem here.”

Problem? What problem? I’m trying to push through a haze of desire when she slides a knife out of the bag she brought with her. I break out in a sweat. I like hardcore and I want to be hardcore, but this might be too far, too fast.

A laugh of pure amusement escapes as she flips the blade. “Still wearing your shirt, Seamus. Going to have to cut it off. Too bad, it looks expensive.”

It is but I don’t care. She could incinerate it while I wear it, as long as she keeps going. The shirt is cut away, her hand tracing down over the muscles of my abs. The knife goes back in her bag.

She just cut my fucking shirt off.

Holy hell.

Her fingers dip into my pants, under the belt, and instinctively I thrust up at her. My hands go to move toward her, but I can’t because I’m tied up.

Damn it, she’s good with knots.

“Evi,” I manage.

She’s undoing my belt, pulling it out of the belt loops. She unbuttons my pants, my cock is straining to escape. She pulls and they’re down around my ankles. I try to kick them off, but she’s sitting on my legs, staring down at my cock.

“These too,” and then she’s pulling down my silk boxers. I lift my hips, in part to help and in part because I want my cock as close to her as I can get.

She licks her lips, and my whole body bucks.

I may not survive the night. But I’ll definitely die a happy man.

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