Page 11 of Nine of Swords
A teasing smirk plays at her lips. “Oh. That. You were a real charmer,” she taunts me. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words? Because if they did, they were probably lying.”
“You’re changing the topic. Look, just do this for me.” I lift my upturned hand off the bed a bit and over in her direction. “Put your hand here. Just for a minute. No need for words or my charm, or lack thereof while you do that one thing. Then, I want you to tell me what’s what. If you tell me I’m the only one feeling this, whatever this is, I’ll leave you alone.”
I see her lips pout as she seems to contemplate whether or not to oblige me. “You realize this isn’t kosher, right? I mean, not that I want you to be, but you’re my supposed bodyguard. What you’re suggesting… it’s kind of unprofessional.”
“There was nothing professional about my being in your bedroom, in your bed, sharing ancient history about our lives before shit went down at your place. I came in here because you saw me passing by your doorway and invited me in, remember? And the rest was just… it was what it was. We talked, we laughed—”
“Then I kind of cried,” she adds, and breathes out a chuckle. “And maybe you threw up in your mouth a little bit when I did.”
“No. I didn’t. But you’ve got to admit that talking about it all was somewhat cathartic.”
She nods slightly. “Well, true. You’re not wrong.”
“So, like I said, take my hand. Let’s just see what’s what. Or tell me to leave now and I won’t cross the line for the rest of the time I’m assigned to you. Trust me, I know how to keep things strictly professio—”
I feel her hand in mine before I finish my sentence. Her small, slender fingers lace between my thick, large digits, clasping our palms tightly. Heat and electricity pulse out from wherever our skin connects, and as I look at her face, her eyes slip closed and her posture softens, her body relaxing as her head tilts slightly away from me, exposing more of her gorgeous neckline and the swell of her breasts and exposed cleavage. I’m hard as slate that very second. I’m just lucky that my dick is tucked nicely into my stretchy boxers under these thick sweatpants that I normally like to wear before stripping down to my bare skin to sleep. She lets out a shallow breath, betraying what sounds like desire, pleasure, need, longing, or all those emotions rolled up into one. She doesn’t need to say another word. I know she feels it too.
But just like she mentioned, I’m the one who’s on the job. I’m the one who need to keep my wits about me and remain professional. If anyone’s going to cross any lines, it’ll have to be her. She has to want this. She needs to beg for it.
“Tell me you don’t feel that, Sydney,” I demand in a low, raspy whisper.
“All right. There’s… something.”
I slowly lower our locked hands, letting the back of her hand rest on my knee. “Good.”
10
Blade
“So… now what?”she asks, and I hold my tongue, avoiding an answer, waiting for more from her.
That’s when I notice the very subtle way her body turns toward me. Only her leg nearest to me moves, parting slightly, showing more of her bare inner thighs. And I start to wonder if she’s wearing anything under this blouse. The hem of it rests at her upper thighs, not revealing much, except for the hint of a triangular line where her thighs touch and meet her mound. My mouth starts to water as I imagine what she must taste like. Honey, maybe. Or fruity. Definitely sweet and sinful.
“You’re staring,” she adds, shifting a little in her spot. “I’m really not great at… all of this.”
“Tell me what you want,” I say in a low, growling demand and lick my lips. Her little movement gave away something critical. I can smell her need. Her scent. And it wasn’t there before now. I know because every one of my senses is highly attuned, trained to detect the slightest of differences around me. Sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch. What it tells me is that not only is she not wearing any panties, but that the simple connection of our hands, our proximity, our sitting on her bed, our earlier conversation, it all has made her wet with arousal.
It’s unmistakable.
And I fucking love that I’m the cause of it.
“Tell me,” I growl.
“I don’t… just don’t leave,” she says, her voice meek and syrupy. Her words are so few but so full of lust that I’m tempted to read between the lines, to make assumptions. But I won’t. Not in this particular scenario. She needs to make her desires known. Because right now, she’s forbidden to me. I’ll only cross the line if she crosses her own subconscious line of propriety. If she makes it known in no uncertain terms that she’s all in on. That she wants this. That she wants me.
“That’s not enough, Sydney. I want to hear the words,” I demand.
She sits there silently, her mouth slightly parted, with unspoken words begging to be formed and released. Not wanting to press her any further, I let go of her hand, get to my feet, and start heading for the door. If she wants this, she will eventually move past her hesitation. Maybe not tonight. And I’m a patient man. So I’ll wait for as long as this assignment has us thrown together, or as long as my irrational urge to fuck up my career by sleeping with my client’s ward continues. Whichever lasts longer.
“Please stay. Yes… I want this. I want you, Blade.” Each word she utters is softer and more sultry than the last, finally making her wishes brutally clear. She tells me in a soft and sweet voice laced with sinful intentions.
She might not realize what she has consented to, but she’s about to find out.
All I can hope for is to learn that my instincts about her are right. That behind all that posturing and strength, that underneath all those protective layers, all that willfulness, all that attitude, what this thirty-three year old man will find is a twenty-four-year-old girl who isn’t just willing to bend to my will, but is eager to submit to the right dominant alpha male.
She could probably mask it to most people, but not to me.
All I know is that the second she called my name as I passed by her bedroom door, she showed me all her cards. Inviting me in here might’ve started off as an innocent intention, a means for her to open up about what she’s been through and why it’s so hard for her to trust me. But then again, probably not. She was practically naked when my name was uttered on her lips. And oh, that sound. My name. Coming from that sweet, mouth that’d look perfect moving up and down my shaft. Or facing up as her head hangs off the bed, ready to let me deep throat her.
