Page 30 of Jagger's Remorse
Something in her eyes.
Not fear.
Not even anger.
Permission.
And underneath, a promise of revenge so sweet it might be worth it.
I cross to her, cage her against the bike.
"I'm sorry," I breathe against her ear.
"No, you're not." She grabs my cut, pulls me closer. "But you will be."
I kiss her to shut her up.
To stop the truths she keeps throwing like knives.
She kisses back with teeth and rage.
Drawing blood.
Making it real.
My hands go to her sweats, and I hate myself for how much I want this.
Hate that it's here, like this, with them watching.
Hate that she's already in my head, under my skin, burning through my veins like a fever.
"Make it believable," she whispers against my mouth. "Or they'll know."
So I do.
I spin her to face the bike, bend her over the seat.
Yank her sweats down just enough.
She braces herself, and I see her count breaths.
Preparing.
Calculating.
I free myself, spit in my hand.
It's not enough.
It's never enough.
But this isn't about pleasure.
It's about power.
About showing the cartel their property is being properly handled.
I push inside her, and she makes a sound that might be pain.
