Page 40 of Raziel
“I like you for so many other reasons,” I whispered against his skin.
He stilled, then turned just enough to look down at me, his voice a rough scrape over my nerves. “Name a few.”
I let my teeth graze his back, then pressed my lips to the spot before pulling away to meet his eyes. “You have a very talented mouth.” His pupils darkened. “You’re generous with your hands and your money. You look especially good when you’re pissed. And—” I nipped at his lower lip. “You cook for me.”
A low sound rumbled in his chest, something between a laugh and a growl. “Superficial.”
“Mmm.” I dragged my fingertips down the center of his chest, following the trail of dark hair that disappeared into his waistband. “But I’ve got one that’s not.”
His breath hitched, just barely. “Yeah?”
I leaned in until my lips brushed the shell of his ear. “It’s a secret.”
His grip tightened on the spatula, knuckles whitening. “What kind of secret?”
I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, my smile all mischief. “One I’ll only tell you when you like me.”
For a heartbeat, the world stopped. His eyes burned, the air between us thick enough to taste. Then, with a rough exhale, he turned back to the stove, muttering, “If you’re not gonna tell me, hush and let me finish this sauce.”
I laughed and walked away, letting my fingertips trail across his lower back before stealing a fork and spearing a bite of pasta straight from the pan.
“Hot,” he warned.
“So am I.” I winked, blowing on the noodle before slipping it into my mouth. It melted on my tongue—rich, garlicky, buttery. I groaned. “You cook as good as you fuck.”
He side-eyed me, his mouth twitching, but he didn’t say anything.
I slid onto the kitchen island, legs swinging, watching him move.
“Stop staring at me like that,” he said without looking.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re waiting for a confession.”
I laughed, smug. “Guilty. But it’s not for selfish reasons. I really want to tell you why I like you.”
His gaze flicked to me, and I knew I was getting to him. But instead of pressing, I changed the subject. “You wanna eat and watch A Bronx Tale with me?”
He finished plating the pasta and slid a dish my way before answering.
“Yeah,” he said. Simple. Firm. Giving in like I knew he would.
Chapter fourteen- Raziel
Maya’s ass bounced on my lap at a pace she set to ruin me. This wasn’t about pleasure—it was about power. My power. And it was slipping through my fingers with every snap of her hips. She knew my body better than I did, like my nerves were wired to react to her fucking fingertips.
I felt her rhythm in my teeth. Every thrust, every filthy grind sent sparks up my spine, my dick twitching inside her. The pressure coiled low in my gut, my thighs locking as I fought to hold back, but the need was a live wire behind my eyes, burning deeper with every second.
She was merciless.
Her small hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing until my vision blurred at the edges, the walls bending like a fever dream. I didn’t stop her. I tilted my head back, baring myself to her grip. She tightened her hold. My breath thinned, the pressure behind my eyes pulsed in warning.
Dizzy. My fingers dug into her hips, trying to wrest back control, but she slapped them away like I was nothing. Just her plaything. And fuck—I was.
A whimper tore from my throat—pathetic, like a dog begging for scraps—and her smirk curled slow and smug across her lips.
“You can’t take it, Raziel? Not being in control?” she whispered, voice dripping honey and venom. “I thought you were stronger than this.”
