Page 41 of Lethal Torture
Close the fucking window, Luke.
Except there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’m going to, and I fucking know it.
Zinaida’s hand slips down from the pillow and over one hard nipple. She rotates the vibrator with the other, driving herselfmercilessly toward release, biting her lip as she races to the finish line.
I want to stop her. Want to wrench the damned tool from her hand and replace it with my mouth, and then with my cock. I want to make it last far longer than the sprint she’s on.
It’s the fact that she’s in such a rush that makes me absolutely certain she isn’t putting on an act for my sake.
Zinaida knows how to mess with people. If she wanted to fuck with me, she’d be staring into the mirror and taking her sweet, agonizing time torturing me.
She’s doing this becauseshe needs to get it out of her system before she walks out of here.
Because she fuckingknowsshe won’t be able to pull off the iron maiden act when she’s desperately turned on.
And no matter what I just told her, or the strict rules by which I always operate, the truth is that Zinaida has just unwittingly played the one game that might actually fucking break me.
If she’s writhing on the bed, nearing orgasm in less than a goddamn minute after our encounter, it means that mask of hers isn’t anywhere nearly as impenetrable as she’d like me to think.
I sensed it that night in the Viewing Room, even if I refused to let it get to me.
I saw it when her nipples hardened the moment I pulled her against me this morning.
I caught it in the heady scent of her arousal that lingered in the air as her ass sashayed away from me.
And, yes, I knew it when she bent over in front of me, even if I refused to acknowledge it at the time.
But now, watching her race toward orgasm for the second time in as many days, knowing that gasping, trembling bundle of desire is only a few short paces away, I’m as fucking hard as rifle steel and closer to losing it than I’ve ever been in my life.
And I can’t look away. Even if I wanted to.
The vibrator withdraws slowly, gleaming wet, then plunges deep inside. Her other hand slides down her body, and my mouth goes dry as she finds the point that takes her to the edge.
Zinaida turns her head into the pillow, biting it to muffle her screams, and her whole body arches up as the first spasms hit. I can almost feel the fierce grip of the convulsions as she trembles and shakes on the bed, her hand coming up to clench the pillow, her hair tangled across it like a mermaid underwater.
Her eyes fly open.
Oh, fuck.
For a minute I think she’s staring at me deliberately. Then I remember that the camera is trained on the mirror and realize she’s looking at herself.
She flushes, bites her lip, and turns away from her own reflection.
But in the brief, unguarded moment before she does, I see the woman behind the brilliant sapphire eyes, the ocean beneath the surface calm.
And what I see is so velvet dark, so fucking powerful, that I feel like I’m going to drown in it.
Then she whips her legs over the bed and stands up, the elegant lines of her body smoothly reasserting themselves from the trembling chaos of a moment before.
When she looks in the mirror again, the storm has completely disappeared, as if it was never there.
I shut the screen down and cross the floor, opening the glass doors onto the terrace. I suck the freezing predawn air into my lungs, slowly mastering the raging beast of lust that’s ripping through my every cell.
You can still back out, Luke.
I should.
Get out of this contract, away from Zinaida and back into a fucking war zone, as fast as I can.
