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I tease myself, dragging my fingertips over my stomach to my pussy. I spread my legs and circle my clit lightly. Delicious tingles start low in my stomach. I want to take my time with this, to really work off my stress.
My phone rings.
I open my eyes. I’m not even sure when I shut them. “I should have put the damn thing on silent.” I ignore the call until it goes to voicemail . . . and then the phone immediately starts ringing again. “Motherfucker.”
I grab it with my free hand and curse even harder when I see UNKNOWN as the caller. Now’s the time to put my cell on silent or even turn it off. I don’t do either.
Instead I answer. “You’re interrupting.”
His slow chuckle makes things low in my stomach clench. I could pretend it’s because I’m still circling my clit, but that’s not entirely the truth. “Do you think you deserve an orgasm after how you’ve been acting, baby? Fucking mobsters and ru
I circle my clit faster. What the fuck is wrong with me that his almost-threats make this hotter? “As if you’re not just as bad as a mobster.”
“You’re right. I’m worse.” Another of those delicious low laughs. “Why don’t you let me fuck you instead? I’ll do a better job of it.”
My curtains are closed. There’s no way he should be able to see what I’m doing. He’s bluffing. “I’m not fucking myself.”
“Not yet,” he agrees easily. “Stop teasing that clit and give your needy pussy your fingers.”
Again, my fear rises. Again, it makes my desire deeper, hotter. “Are you watching me, Wolf?”
“Always, baby.”
Either he’s bluffing . . . or he’s got cameras in my room. It’s possible. Probable, even. He was here to leave the ring, so he had the opportunity. Bastard. “You’re a creep, you know that?” I put my phone on speaker and drop it onto the bed next to me. I could blame this on the whisky, but I’m barely buzzed. No, it’s danger I’m drunk on. “You want to fuck me, Wolf? Come do it.”
I roll over onto my stomach and knees, the new position putting my ass in the air. It feels extra vulnerable, which makes me work my clit harder. It’s not enough, but I knew it wouldn’t be. I slide two fingers into my pussy, almost shocked at how wet I am.
He hasn’t responded. I’ve startled him. Good.
My orgasm is close, flirting with the edges of my awareness.
“You want me to fuck you, Red?” His voice is different. Even more ragged. I think there’s an accent, but I can’t be sure. “You want me to give that pretty cunt all the things you’ve been too much of a good girl to ask for?”
I finger myself harder, faster. This isn’t real. He’s not here, for all that his presence saturates the room. “Big words for a guy who isn’t even in the room,” I gasp.
“Give your clit some love, baby.”
Without having any intention of obeying, my fingers move from my pussy to my clit. I’m so sensitized, it’s almost too much. “Fuck.”
“That’s right. Come for me, Red. Say my name when you do.”
I can’t give him that. I won’t. My orgasm rises and crests, and with my last little bit of willpower, I moan, “Luke!”
A beat of silence. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“Prove it.” I roll onto my back. It was a good orgasm, but it wasn’t enough. I’m not satiated in the least. My body is one throbbing knot of desire, and my fingers aren’t going to get the job done, no matter how many times I come. Damn it. I drag in a rough breath. “Did you put cameras in my bathroom, too, Wolf?”
He makes me wait for his answer. “No.”
I shouldn’t trust him, but strangely, I do. He hasn’t lied to me yet. “Goodbye.”
“Red.”
My finger hovers over the red button to hang up, but I hesitate. “What?”
“Let’s stop playing this coy shit. Friday. Eleven. The Broken Tree. The first guy who talks to you will be me. I want you in that bathroom with your skirt up and my cock buried inside you within five minutes.”
I can barely breathe. I may have fucked Rafe under nearly identical circumstances, but I could at least pretend I didn’t know he was a murderer. Wolf has blood on his hands, and he’s not even trying to convince me otherwise. “Now who’s playing coy? Friday is days away, and I just whetted my appetite. Who knows what I could get up to in the meantime.”
“You know what happens if you let someone else touch what’s mine.”
“You keep saying that as if I’m a sure thing. I’m not.” Probably.
He laughs harshly. “Yes, baby, you are. The only question remaining is how many people you’re going to get killed while you pretend otherwise.”
“I’m not meeting you.”
“See you Friday. And leave the panties at home.” He hangs up.
“Mother . . . fucker.” Am I breathless at his audacity or because the thought of obeying makes my pussy clench?
I don’t know.
The ache in my body only gets worse as I mentally play through the scenario he painted. Of his rough voice in my ear as he picks me up and sets me on the bathroom counter. Of his possessive touch as he flips up my skirt and fucks me like he owns me. I hate it and love it in equal measure, but it gets me so hot, I can barely stand it.
I spread my thighs wide. “If you’re watching, Wolf . . . enjoy the show.” I don’t stop for a very, very long time.