Page 93 of Only the Wicked
It’s no wonder. We’re two alpha souls.
Heat encompasses my core, over my panties. The silk seam tugs tight, digging into my hip, and the tip of his finger dips inside.
Sensations swirl and my hips undulate.
His finger withdraws. There’s a tight pull, a sharp pain, and the panties fall loose.
I break the frantic kiss, needing to see.
“You ripped my panties,” I say, taking in my naked bottom half draped over his trousers, and the black lace looped around his fingers.
“Who was the guy from the FBI?”
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Sydney
I snap back as if slapped. The temperature in the room plunges.
My breath catches. Not from surprise—I knew this was coming—but from the realization that part of me wants to tell him everything. The mission, KOAN, Caroline, all of it. That impulse is dangerous.
“Who are you, Sydney?”
I’m whoever you want me to be.
That thought, unbidden, stays within the confines of my mind, ricocheting with deceit.
Slowly, I recover from the ambush and shift back on his thighs to meet the inquisition.
I don’t have to play dumb. He knows I worked for the CIA.
“I have his business card if you want it.”
His thumb flicks over my nipple, and I swear the light flick shoots fire to my clit, the lace so thin his touch brokers the feel of skin on skin.
“You didn’t mention him.”
The accusation cuts.
“How did you know?”
Our eyes lock, and my chest seizes.
“I know everything, Syd.”
He believes his guttural confession, but he’s wrong.
Or at least, he is wrong, right? He can’t possibly know everything. But the way he’s looking at me—like he’s already solved me—makes my chest tighten.
He fists my hair, rough, controlling.
“Talk later.”
His eyes are pure ice. The pull on my scalp sharp.
“Now. We fuck.”
