Page 691 of One More Kiss

While I struggle to act detached, he lowers to his haunches, collects his shorts, and rises. Then, without a word, he saunters further into the room and disappears around a corner.

In the space he’s given me, I realign my impure instincts. He’s a murderer and a professional lie detector, apparently. I’ve nothing to hide, except for the fact he turns me on—even if I detest his intentions.

That alone makes me hate him even more. I was sent here to serve Elias, and now an unhealthy part of me wants to do those very things with his son.

“Carina,” his voice calls to me with a firmness I know I shouldn’t ignore.

I pad in the same direction as the sound of running water, passing a comfy sitting area by vast windows and finding him in a floor to ceiling granite bathroom, his face impassive.

He’s washing his hands under a waterfall faucet, the lever so clean it shines like liquid silver. Behind him, a pair of rain shower heads sprinkle water within a wide open cubicle, meticulously covered in glassy black mosaic tiles. Fluffy white towels are presented on floating shelves beside the deepest freestanding bathtub I’ve ever seen. Under the babel of rushing water, a far-off melody catches my attention. I glance over my shoulder to the inset flat screen with touch buttons for song selections. The ambience is nothing short of high living.

I stand before him, bare, yet warm from the notable heat under foot. Watching him quietly watch me, sets me on fire. His chest is silky and solid. Those powerful thighs of his, so thick and muscular. And his substantial cock is a stony masterpiece. Together, they all form one hell of a package that regrettably creates a villain. A man I shouldn’t crave like I am.

I despise him for conjuring such a wet heat between my thighs and for testing my self-control. I’ve never felt anything like this before, so terribly wrong but so very exhilarating. And even if I had of, I wouldn’t admit to it.

Without a word, he strolls to me, cuffs my wrist, and leads me to the modern vanity. I catch my reflection in a large mirror built into the wall.

Our reflection.

His flawless appearance and my purplish bruises. My petite stature next to his imperial form. Quite the unmatched pair.

He spins me around, my ass hitting a stone basin. I'd understood torture was his method of extracting the truth. Yet I never dreamed it would be like this, forbidden desires and wild inhibitions. Just the two of us, baring all. My biggest challenge is being vulnerable to his dark temptation.

Tomás reaches for a steel box on the counter, flips the catch and retrieves a pair of latex gloves. I go rigid, my spine locking in a jolt.

“No way… you’re not serious. You wouldn’t. You can’t… I won’t let you… this is fucked up… you’re fucked up,” I say in a rush, throwing my hands up as a barrier.

I’m so tense, even my eyelids fix open. He continues to squeeze his large hands into the stretchy gloves, linking his covered fingers and rolling his wrists.

“You’re a pervert!” I hiss when he slots his hands under my armpits and effortlessly heaves me onto the charcoal countertop.

His thighs brush between mine—skin to skin. The simple touch like an inferno, exploding through my veins with raging heat. The unusual combination of lust and hostility plays havoc with my sensibilities.

I’m hooked on the tingles vibrating inside me. For the first time in my life, I’m finally alive in my own skin. Like the beast that lives inside of him is calling to me, awakening urges I've only dreamed about.

Unfortunately, I appear to exist within his darkened abyss rather than the glorious sunshine.

“Don’t touch me.” I scowl at him, puffing out my chest and crossing my arms.

Inky eyebrows drift high. “Those goosebumps tell me you love my hands on your skin.” He nods to the obvious prickles on my arms, caused only by his sonorous hoarse voice and that body of his presented before me like the god of seduction.

“I don’t,” I lie with a dismissive grunt. “I’m just cold. Whatever warped challenge you have in mind, forget it.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

Heat flames my cheeks. “Violate me with those horrible gloves on.”

“Violate you?” He muses. “I don’t need to violate any woman. They always want what I give them. And I’m starting to think you’ll have to beg me.” The half-smile he offers flips my belly.

My mouth waters, my core clenches, and I shift from buttock to buttock. “Never.”

He cocks his head, running his tongue over his lower lip. “So I can’t do this…” His hand slides under my knee, scoops the injured leg higher and sets my foot on his tensed abdomen. The gentle movement reveals my private parts. Such subtle exposure, done so slowly that I could be fooled into thinking he’s not abominable. Rather than taking a look, his expression remains blank, drawn to the cuts lining my shin bone.

He leans sideways, grabs a square packet from the container and rips it open with his teeth. Extracting a clinically scented wet wipe, he dabs the crusty wound. I quake. Not from the biting sting, but from the benign manner to which he carries out the task.

This version of my stark-naked captor is utterly perplexing. I’ve never truly lusted after a man. Not like this. Not in such a way that my dignity is torn to tatters and my sanity questionable.

Yet, at this moment, I’m speechless. Devastated by his tender act of pressing gauze over the cleaned cut and gently securing it to my skin with tape.

The mishmash of this new found benevolence, his rocklike cock proudly on display, and such a haughty disposition, bends my mind.

Once he’s done, he lets my foot drop, simultaneously diminishing all contact. He systematically peels off the gloves, turns them inside out, and drops the balled up mess in the trash.

“Thank you,” I whisper, unsure if it’s appropriate to thank the man holding me prisoner in his bedroom.

Long ebony lashes lift, bringing earthy eyes in line with mine. “Don’t thank me.” He tidies the area, closes the box, and studies his handiwork in the disconcerting silence. “Tonight, you’re in my bed,” he says like it’s in order. “I don’t want my sheets covered in your blood.”

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