Page 67 of Reaper
“Am I under arrest?”
I grip him forcefully, pulling him forward and then slamming him back against the brick. “Do I sound like I’m playing? Put your hands behind your back and stop resisting.”
I want him. I want to dominate him. Right here, right now, and if anyone sees us, I want there to be no doubt in their minds that he’s mine.
A light brightens Reaper’s brilliant eyes, and he grins at me. “Yes, ma’am.”
He complies. I still rough him up a little before stealing another deep, intense kiss. “Now, you’re mine. So don’t fucking move, got it?”
His breathing hitches, and I feel the tension in his muscles as he forces himself to stay still against the wall. The compliance, the way he's letting me take control — it sends a thrill through me that's better than any interrogation victory I've ever had.
I start with his mouth, kissing him deep and possessively before trailing my lips along his jaw. His stubble scrapes against my skin as I work my way down his neck, tasting salt and that uniquely masculine scent that's pure Reaper. He makes a low sound in his throat when I find that sensitive spot just below his ear.
"Fuck, Adriana," he breathes, his voice already rough with want.
My hands begin their own exploration, sliding over the hard planes of his chest through his shirt, feeling the defined muscles beneath the fabric. I can feel his heart hammering as I trace the lines of his body, mapping every ridge and curve like I'm memorizing evidence at a crime scene.
When I reach the waistband of his jeans, I let my fingers dance along the edge, just barely touching skin. He jerks slightly at the contact, a sharp intake of breath telling me exactly how affected he is.
"Still not moving," I murmur against his collarbone, approval clear in my voice. "Good boy."
My hand moves lower, pressing against the growing hardness in his jeans. Even through the denim, I can feel how ready he is for me, how much he wants this. I palm him slowly, deliberately, watching his face as his eyes flutter closed.
"Jesus," he gasps, his hips trying to push forward into my touch before he catches himself. "You're killing me here."
I increase the pressure, stroking him through the fabric until I can feel him getting harder, bigger beneath my palm. His breathing becomes more labored, small sounds escaping his lips that go straight to my core.
"Look at me," I command, and his eyes snap open, dark with desire. "Tell me what you want."
He swallows hard, his voice coming out strained. "You know what I want."
"Say it." I slow my movements, just barely touching him now. "Beg for it."
The word hangs between us, a challenge and a demand. I see the moment he surrenders completely, his pride dissolving into pure need.
"Please," he whispers, his voice breaking slightly. "I need your mouth on me. I need you to—" He groans as I press harder against him. "God, please, Adriana. I need your mouth on my cock."
The raw desperation in his voice sends liquid heat straight through me. This powerful, dangerous man is reduced to pleading in an alley because he wants me so badly he can't think straight.
I capture his mouth again, kissing him with renewed intensity, all teeth and tongue and possession. He responds eagerly, desperately, like he's drowning and I'm oxygen. When I finally pull away, we're both breathing hard.
Without breaking eye contact, I get on my knees before him. The concrete is hard and cold. I reach for the buckle of his belt, spring it open with two flicks of my wrist, lower his pants, his underwear, take his cock in hand and give it the barest lick at the head, tasting a dribble of pre-cum against my tongue. He moans.
"Quiet," I command, my voice low and authoritative. "Don't make a sound unless I tell you to."
I take him deeper into my mouth, savoring the salt and heat of him, the way his entire body tenses as I work my tongue along his length. His breathing becomes ragged, small gasps escaping despite my order. I can feel him fighting the urge to move, to thrust, his muscles coiled tight with restraint.
The power I have over him right now is intoxicating. This man, who faces down Russian mobsters and Triad enforcers without flinching, is trembling under my touch, completely at my mercy. The jealousy that started this burns hotter, transforming into pure possession.
I pull back slowly, letting my lips drag along his shaft before releasing him completely. He makes a desperate sound, his hips jerking forward seeking contact.
"I said to be quiet," I remind him, looking up at him from my knees. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with need. "You don't get to make demands. You don't get to move. You take what I give you."
I return to my work, taking him deeper this time, establishing a rhythm that has him gasping above me. His hands are still pressed against the brick wall, knuckles white with the effort of staying still. I can see the war playing out across his face - the desperate need to grab my hair, to control the pace, warring with his desire to obey.
The image of him laughing with Yichen flashes through my mind again, and I suck harder, more possessively. Mine. He's mine, and I need him to understand that completely.
"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible. "Adriana, I’m going to — "
