Page 45 of Emerald

“It’s been a while.” She shrugs.

“What’s been a while?”

“Sex.” I swallow hard. How the hell did we veer off to this topic? “Being dead makes it hard to get laid.” She smirks.

“Right, guess it would. Is that why you stood in the shadows and watched me like a peeping Tom?”

She splashes me again. “You wish.”

Am I flustering her? “Seems to me it’s you that wishes. I’m not the one who hasn’t been getting laid.”

“Clearly.” She rolls her eyes. “That was transactional sex, I know the difference.”

I raise a brow, she’s not wrong. “What makes you say that?”

“Because it seemed too vanilla for you.” She huffs, glaring at me, and then stills as if she realized what she said.

“How the hell would you know what I like in the bedroom?”

“It’s my job to read people. Plus, when you had the knife against my throat it made you hard.”

“No, it didn’t,” I bite back.

“Liar.” She grins.

“You think I like to force women to have sex with me?”

“No. But in that scenario, it would have been consensual force. If you had spread my legs, you would have found me drenched.” What in the hell? I don’t know what to say. I’m fucking speechless, and my dick is hard at the image she’s created in my mind of that moment. Thank fuck it’s hidden beneath the water. “I can see it on your face, you’re imagining it now.” She smirks.

“No, I’m fucking not.”

She reaches out and her hand cups my hard dick. “Liar.”

I take a step back from her touch. “Is this how you would lure your victims to their death?”

“Sometimes.” She giggles.

Fuck, what a way to go though. No. She’s a killer. “I’m not interested.”

“Have you told your dick that?”

“Please, he isn’t picky.”

“Obviously, if you slept with that woman last night.”

“Rosita is a beautiful woman,” I argue with her.

“She is, but you still weren’t interested in fucking her. I’ll say you gave just enough to make her think you were into it.”

“You’re changing the subject and using sex as a means of distraction.” She’s good.

“It’s all I know,” she confesses, making me still as I look at her.

Did she just give me something vulnerable? Nah, she’s a professional liar. I don’t know if I can trust her. “You really think that or is this bullshit to make me try to feel sorry for you.”

“Fuck you,” she says, flipping me off.

“How am I meant to know if what you say is real or not? Am I a mark?” I ask her.

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