Page 94 of Wicked Sin

It’sdark when I creep out of bed. The only light in the room comes from the flickering television, and for a moment, I think he’s asleep.

But then he turns and looks at me.

No words are exchanged.

None are needed.

I walk toward him, my pulse thumping. Nerves jangle as I stop in front of him, my bare knees brushing against his sweat pants.

God help me, I’m a mess.I want it to be as real as possible.

I swallow hard. He looks up at me, his eyes hooded, his mouth slick like he’d just licked his lips before I appeared.Iwant to lick his lips.

I want to crawl into his lap and seduce him. A forbidden, off-limits fuck in the middle of the night. Turn the big, bad cop into a rutting, fucking machine for my pleasure.

It’s hard to read his expression in the dim light. Dark eyes, hard jaw. Impenetrable. Maybe this is a bad idea.

I step back, and that’s when he strikes, his arm whipping out to grab me by the wrist. “What are you doing out of bed?”

A gruff, hard question.

It makes me wet between the legs. Slick and hot and bothered.

So bothered.

I wrestle against his hold. “I wanted some water.”

“No water in here.”

“Stop,” I whisper. A test.

His eyes narrow in on my face. I lick my lips.

You mean like a safe word?

Maybe more of a safe question. A double-check that you’re in.

“I don’t think you want me to stop, do you?” He growls the words. Identical to when we practiced them, a secret code offering me the chance to unlock depravity.

I’m shaking, and it’s not from fear. I give him my practiced response. “You don’t know what I want.”

I’m yanked into his lap so fast I don’t see it coming. His free hand shoves up underneath my loose t-shirt, his shirt, which he gave me before I went to bed.

To wear for this moment.

He palms my ass roughly. “No?” He laughs in my ear. “Pretty wet for a scared little kitten. Pretty fucking soaked for someone who claims she doesn’t want me to roughly shove my fingers up her tight, hot little cunt.”

She’s got a hot little cunt.I freeze.

Instantly, Luke releases me, his grip going from punishing to protective in a split second, his hands loose on my hips. “Yellow? Red?”

I can’t answer.

“Red. It’s okay,” he whispers. “Sorry.”

“No.” I swallow, my mouth painfully dry. “No. It’s… Yeah, okay. I’m fine. Probably a yellow, really. I just…”

He tugs me in against his body and pushes up, standing in a fluid motion. “Come on into the kitchen.”

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