Page 22 of Hostile Secret
This iniquitous thrill is more addictive than buying a new weapon or ending a villainous life. It’s deadly and a fucking curse.
Truth is, having used females since I was old enough to figure out what my boner was capable of, I’d never met a woman I could trust––or ever had the desire to let someone in my life.
I guess that's what happens when your father single-handedly reconfigures your purpose in life and slowly dismantles your heart until you become a loyal and emotionless weapon for the Souza cartel.
As much as the devil marked me with an evil streak, I’m not completely dead inside. Not anymore. Over the years, I’ve kept a secret that’s given me a whole new lease of fatal possessiveness and a reason to escape my destiny.
It wasn’t only the world I wanted to hide it from––it was the cruel bastard who’d raised me.
Somehow my blackened heart had begun to beat again and the darkness I once lived in became less one-dimensional.
And then André had shackled me to this beautiful dick tease. She’s one of us, whether she likes it or not. Now and forever.
It doesn’t help that she’s occupied my mind for a while now––ever since her entitled life was spat out at the gates of Hell.
I flew to New York to assassinate the cocky banker on my brother's behalf, but when I pulled the trigger, I did it for India.
For justice.
To satisfy the need for revenge that had woven through us all. And allowing myself to think about India like this is the worst possible catastrophe that could ever happen.
For her and for me, because the shadows that follow me would suffocate her sunlit soul.
Her fingertips skate to my abdomen, the searching pressure making my muscles clench. I yank her head back and lick a pathway to her earlobe, loving the feathery puffs of her breath warming my skin.
My mouth settles at the shell of her ear. “Whatever this is… what you’re trying to do… it won’t work on me. Don’t play this game, India.” I shove myself backward, climb off her, and hide my haywire desire by standing. “Or I’ll move you into a room with steel bars and no windows.”
7
INDIA
I inhale sharply at his threat, my pulse thrumming from the harsh way he had claimed my mouth.
I’ve kissed a few guys in the past, but holy hell, that was a kiss unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
The pressure was punishing yet seductive, his dominant tongue slippery and the taste of liquor on him mind-blowing.
Instinctively, I dab my swollen lips and try to act cool even though my insides are on fire and that dirty, hot mouth fuck was an atomic bomb I’m not sure I could ever forget.
Where the hell did this appetite for Giovanni come from?
I don’t know why or how, but the fascination burning up my skin is multiplied by the unbearable ache in my sex. There's a persistent throb down below that won’t go away even when I squeeze my thighs together.
His jade eyes burn into me, the whites brightening when a lightning strike transforms the color to a shade so exceptionally extraordinary it dazzles me.
I clamber to my feet, tuck loose hair behind my ears, and inhale slowly to steady myself.
I’mnotthis type of girl. For years talking to guys was where I had to draw the line, especially after the shitshow that went down one afternoon when Reno had heard about his little sister making out with a random surfer dude on South Beach. It wasn’t my first kiss, but it was certainly my last.
Until now.
Giovanni can pretend he’s not into this, but that hefty bulge in his joggers says it all. The protruding shape of it is magnificent. I bet it’s silky soft to the touch and harder than iron.
Even though he’s towering over me like an apex predator sizing up his next victim, I sense the same level of lust crawling under his inked skin as much as what’s radiating from mine.
But Giovanni Souza is a cold-hearted killer who has branded me an underaged girl that’s off limits. Perhaps that makes it easier for him to dismiss this white-hot connection. Unfortunately for me, his resistance is driving me mad.
Under booms of thunder, I’m the breathless one whereas he’s casually running a hand through his messy dark hair, his washboard muscles tense, and his stance primed to defeat.
