Page 25 of Over the Edge

“I am.” I brushed my thumb across her lower lip. “And what I want is to take you apart slowly. Thoroughly. Not rushed between exhibits with tourists walking by.”

Her breath caught, and she looked almost fragile. Then the mask slipped back into place, though not completely. This was still Lyric, not Elisa.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Shepherd.”

I laughed darkly. “Sweetheart, I never do.”

She glanced at the dainty gold watch on her wrist, then up at me with a smirk that promised trouble. “You only have three hours left.”

“Not enough.” I caught her hand and pulled her toward the exit. “But I’ll make it count.”

CHAPTER8

LYRIC

He tookme to his hotel room. It wasn’t as fancy as my suite at Hotel de Paris Monte-Carlo, tucked in a small, boutique establishment a few streets away from the glitz and glamour of the main harbor. The room was small but clean, with two queen-sized beds and a balcony that overlooked a narrow street lined with laundry strung between buildings. It felt real in a way that the opulence of the casino district didn’t.

And it was closer to the aquarium.

As soon as the door shut, I shoved him against the wall, my fingers in his hair, my mouth on his. He tasted like espresso and bad decisions, and I didn’t care. I didn’t care that we were teammates, or that he was the one person I wasn’t supposed to want.

All I knew was that I needed this. Neededhim.

The kiss was molten. I poured myself into it, forgetting everything but the pressure of his mouth and the hard lines of his body against mine. I pushed his shirt over his shoulders, fingers greedy on his skin. His breath hitched, and I reveled in the feeling of power. That I could make a man like Flynn Shepherd—cocky, dangerous, always one step ahead—react like that.

His hands slid down my back, cupping my ass and lifting me against him in one smooth motion. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing exactly where I needed it.

“Bedroom,” I managed to gasp between kisses.

“Lyric—” he started, but I silenced him with another kiss.

I didn’t want to talk. Talking meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering all the reasons this was a terrible idea.

I wiggled the straps of my jumpsuit off my shoulders, hating that I chose this fucking impossible outfit this morning instead of the easy access of a skirt or dress.

Flynn’s laugh rumbled against my collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Impatient, princess?” His hands found the zipper at my back, dragging it down with torturous slowness.

“Three hours,” I reminded him, voice breathless as I caught his lower lip between my teeth. “Clock’s ticking, so shut up and help me out of this thing.”

The jumpsuit peeled away, the silky fabric sliding down to pool at my waist. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and my nipples tightened under his gaze. The hunger in his eyes made liquid heat pool between my thighs.

“Christ,” he muttered, one calloused thumb brushing over a hardened peak. “You’re?—”

“Don’t talk, Shepherd. There are better things you could be doing with your mouth right now.”

“Your wish is my command, princess.” Flynn shifted our positions, and my back hit the wall hard enough to rattle the generic art hanging there. His mouth replaced his thumb, hot and wet against my breast. Stars burst behind my eyelids as his tongue circled my nipple, teeth grazing just enough to send electricity racing down my spine. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as I rocked against him, desperate for friction.

I tugged at his hair, urging him back up to my lips, suddenly desperate to taste him again. His mouth was hot, hungry against mine, as if he’d been starving for sex as long as I had.

Ha. Who was I kidding? Flynn Shepherd probably never went hungry for sex. But at that moment, I didn’t care. Not when his hands were everywhere, leaving trails of fire across my skin.

I fumbled with his belt, cursing when my fingers slipped on the buckle.

Flynn chuckled against my mouth and reached down to help me. His belt gave way with a satisfying clink of metal, and I wasted no time slipping my hand beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Fuck,” he hissed when my fingers wrapped around him, hot and hard and ready. I stroked him once, twice, savoring the way his breath caught, the way his eyes darkened to molten amber. His pulse throbbed against my palm, and I wanted more—wanted to feel him inside me, wanted to forget everything but this moment.

A knock shattered the illusion.

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