Page 33 of Ruthless Silence
When I come, I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, choking back his name. My body shudders with the intensity of it, legs trembling as wetness coats my fingers. The music below shifts, softer now but no less hungry, as if he felt my release through the floorboards.
But even as I tremble through the aftershocks, I know it's not enough. Not nearly enough. My body craves more than my own touch. Craves him. Each time I give in to this need, it only grows stronger.
15 - Dante
Ten days. Ten days of careful distance, of maintaining control, of playing the patient guardian while we both burn.
The study door slams open with enough force to rattle the weapons on my wall. Ana stands in the doorway, chest heaving, green eyes wild with fury that makes my cock instantly hard despite myself.
"Enough!" The word tears from her throat, accent thick with rage.
Before I can react, she grabs the crystal paperweight from my desk and hurls it at my head. I duck, the heavy glass shattering against the wall behind me. Crystal fragments rain down like frozen rain.
"Ten days of this torture!" She storms closer, switching to signs that slash through the air. "Ten days of you watching from that chair. Ten days of your patience driving me insane!"
I remain seated, fingers steepled, watching her rage with the same calm that's apparently been destroying her. But underneath, my control strains against its leash. She's magnificent like this: flushed, trembling with anger, ready for war. My cock throbs against my zipper, already imagining her trembling for different reasons.
"You have something to say?" I type on my tablet, keeping my expression neutral.
She laughs, bitter and sharp. "Something to say? I'm drowning in things to say!" Her hands move in violent signs: "Fight me or… or do something! Stop this waiting!"
The desperation in her signs, the way she stops herself from saying something cruder, makes my breath catch. She's never been so blunt about what's building between us. My cock goes rock hard at her demand, at the choice she's throwing at my feet. I have to adjust myself under the desk, the pressure almost painful.
I stand slowly, and she takes an involuntary step back. Good. She should be wary. Ten days of restraint have worn my control tissue-thin.
"Careful what you demand, stubborn little killer," I sign, moving around the desk with deliberate calm.
Her chin lifts in that defiance I've come to crave. "I'm not afraid of you."
I stop just out of reach, close enough to smell her jasmine perfume mixing with the sharp scent of her anger. My hands move with careful precision: "You should be. Especially now."
Her hand cracks across my face with enough force to turn my head. The slap echoes through the study, sharp and final. The sting radiates through my jaw, nothing compared to the torture I've endured, nothing compared to the night they took my voice. But from her? From my would-be assassin wife?
Something inside me snaps.
Not breaks. Snaps. Like a rope pulled too tight finally giving way.
I grab her wrists before she can strike again, my fingers wrapping around the delicate bones with controlled force. Using her momentum against her, I spin her and pin her back against the door. The wood rattles in its frame as I press her wrists above her head, trapped in one of my hands while my body cages her completely.
"Is this what you want?" I ask with my eyes, my gaze, my entire body, still pinning her wrists with my hands.
"Yes," she breathes, eyes blazing with triumph and desire.
I crush my mouth to hers.
Our first kiss is nothing like kisses should be. It's violent, desperate, ten days of suppressed hunger exploding in a clash of teeth and tongues. She tastes like rage and espresso, like promise and threat combined. The kiss aggravates my scarred throat, phantom pain shooting through damaged tissue, but I swallow the discomfort.
She bites my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and the copper taste makes me growl without sound, but she feels the vibration in my chest pressed against hers. The pain shoots straight to my cock, making me grind against her involuntarily. She gasps at the contact, feeling how hard I am, how much I want her.
Her hands fight against my grip on her wrists, not to escape but to touch. When I don't release them, she makes a frustrated sound against my mouth that nearly undoes me. My free hand tangles in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. She meets my violence with her own, tongue stroking against mine, teeth nipping, taking as much as she's giving.
I lift her without breaking the kiss, her legs wrapping instinctively around my waist. The position brings her core against my cock, and we both groan at the contact. Even through my pants and her underwear, I can feel her heat, her wetness. She grinds against me, untutored but desperate, and I have to think about Hadley shipping manifests to keep from coming in my pants like a teenager.
Three strides to my desk. I set her on the edge and she tries to pull me back, but I need more. Need everything.
My hands sweep across the mahogany surface, sending everything crashing to the floor. Contracts scatter like white flags of surrender, the Hadley agreements worth thirty million flutter down like snow. A crystal inkwell explodes against the hardwood, spreading black across important documents.
"The contracts," she starts, eyes following the papers.
