“The conversation between your fingers and someone else’s skin.
This is the most important discussion you can ever have.”
—Iain Thomas
Fuck, I’m exhausted. I’m already unbuttoning my shirt before I reach my room.
Among planning my hit on Murphy, prepping our next pickup, and avoiding Emmy Highland, I’ve been consumed. My blood is on overtime pumping through my veins, and the pressure mounting behind my eyes is barely being held together by a thread.
I’m past due for a kill, and my body sure as shit knows it.
Doesn’t help that I’ve gone over a week with hardly any sleep, thanks to a little mouse occupying my bed. I never did figure out what the hell she was up to when I caught her trying to sneak into the basement last week, but it no longer matters. Aubrey reports that she’s been good, no shady shit, so I’m having her moved back to her old room by the end of the day.
I push the door open and stroll across the room, tossing my phone on the dresser and pressing my forefingers and thumb to my temples. Sometimes I think the pressure is thick enough to cut with a knife. I doubt a few hours of sleep will make a difference, but I can’t get any shut-eye in the guest room. The pent-up energy coursing through me is threatening to make me do something—or someone—I’ll regret if I don’t shut it the fuck down.
I resume undoing my shirt when a movement to my left stills me. I glance over to find Emmy standing in the middle of my goddamn room. Her hair is bunched to one side and cascading down her waist. A silk slip hangs on her curves, barely reaching the tops of her smooth, porcelain thighs.
Tension squeezes my muscles to the point it’s painful. I grit my jaw, my eyes narrowing on hers because if I let them wander lower, she’ll discover firsthand the reason I abstain.
“Did I fail to make your schedule clear?”
She shakes her head and starts to approach me. My expression must make her rethink because she stops and retreats a step.
“Then why are you standing in front of me at nine-thirty in the morning? And why the fuck didn’t I already know about it?” I snatch up my phone, ready to chew Aubrey out, when five missed texts highlight the screen.
Aubrey: Little situation with your claim, Master.
Aubrey: She won’t leave your room.
Aubrey: As in, she is standing in your room.
Aubrey: I really hope you get this.
Aubrey: Testing one, two, three . . .
My fingers squeeze the phone before I set it back down. Then I fix my glare on the mouse instead.
She swallows, juts out her chin, and murmurs, “I’m here to serve you.”
Fucking Jesus.
Heat flares under the surface of my skin. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I turn back to my dresser, fighting to keep my movements controlled as I pull the middle drawer open.
“Believe me, you are serving me by staying in the kitchen. Now leave.”
“No.”
Slowly, I turn back to her. “What was that?”
She clears her throat, but her fiery expression doesn’t waver. “No, sir.”
My blood runs hot, her words waking my cock without my permission.
She carefully moves forward. “I’m here to serve you, and right now”—closing the distance between us, she reaches toward me. When her fingers touch the partially undone buttons of my shirt, brushing bare skin in the process, I tense—“you look like you could use me.”
She undoes a button, then her fingers drift lower and she works on the next. I should tell her to get the hell out. Reassign her to one of my brothers. But having her this close, her exhales teasing my skin, her floral scent flooding my nostrils, black hair close enough to fist—it’s fucking with my sleep-deprived head.
“Don’t test me, mouse,” I growl softly. “You know a lot less than you think.”
Her fingers tremble against me as she moves down a button, and she lifts her blue eyes to meet my tired ones. “That makes two of us,” she whispers.
I flick my gaze between her eyes for a second. When I pull back, her hold tightens on my shirt, and I snatch her small wrists in my grip with a snarl. She shouldn’t be this damn close to me right now.
“I get it, okay?” She looks up at me with a soft fire in her eyes. My gaze narrows, registering the quiver in her voice. Both sides of her at once, the mouse and the lion, and I hate both of them for the way they set me off. “You need to rest. That’s fine. Just stay still for me so I can help.” After a moment, she adds a rushed, “Sir.”
Slowly, I release my grip, then shove my hands in my pockets, where they can’t touch her.
Her eyes scan my face. “Thank you.”
She finishes with the last button and starts loosening my cuffs. The relief in her voice makes my jaw tick. I’m many things, but selfless isn’t one of them. She should know better—if she doesn’t, she’ll learn soon enough.
When she dips her hands beneath the opening of my shirt, pressing her soft palms against my abs, every muscle in my body pulls tight. She slowly slides them up until the shirt slips from my shoulders. It sticks, my hands in my pockets keeping it from dropping fully, and she goes for my belt.
I stop her midway by a fist in her hair. She freezes. I sweep my hand around to her upper throat and force her to look at me.
“Step. Back.”
A swallow moves beneath my palm, and I drop my arm. When she backs up, I let the shirt fall to the floor, yank a pair of sweats from the open drawer, and disappear into the bathroom. Fuck. My body feels like a damn furnace. I change swiftly, tucking my knife into a drawer for good measure, and pull open the door.
Emmy’s staring at me like she’s never seen a man in sweats. Her jaw is dropped, her eyes raking over my torso like she wants to lick me. My cock twitches at the image.
Running my thumb down the side of my cheek, I shake my head and stroll to my bed. She’s still staring at me when I pull down the covers and drop on my back, finally shutting my eyes and covering them with a forearm.
After another second of feeling her watching me, I mutter, “Go.” Not that I’ll be able to sleep now with my dick hard as stone.
I sense her moving and open my eyes, keeping them partially shielded with my arm. Following her movements as she makes her way toward me, I grit my teeth. Every step she takes fuels the blood coursing through my veins. She tugs at the blanket at the foot of the bed, then gently pulls it up and over me. Discomfort fills my gut. What the hell is this?
When she turns to leave, the bottom of her slip snags on the bed frame, revealing a tight, round ass and tiny G-string.
Shit.
My throat tightens, my skin burns, and the energy pulsing through my veins spikes so fast my vision blurs.
I blink, and she’s tugging at the snag.
Another blink, and she’s twisting around, her bare, plump ass facing me head on.
Another blink, and my hand is wrapped around her throat, pulling her slowly toward me and onto the bed. I never claimed to be a predator, but right now she’s certainly the prey.