The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,44

“You asked for my services. I assumed you were prepared to pay for them.”

“You don’t need the money.” I was chest-to-chest with her now, and here it was again, that faint ginger smell mixed with flowers and honey that gave me déjà vu of things and places I’d never experienced.

I’ll do things to you you will never forget.

“Neither do you. So pay up. I’ll be seeing you at Thanksgiving dinner. You can pay me then.” Ash smoothed her dress, which was now stained in Becker’s blood.

Right.

The world still turned on its axis, and our families continued to play nice with one another, oblivious to my vendetta. Other than Troy, who knew better than to ever let it slip.

The Fitzpatricks were hosting a Thanksgiving dinner next week. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but for all the wrong reasons, and none of them had anything to do with their cook’s stuffed turkey.

“Now if you excuse me …” Nix ducked under my shoulder, trying to slip away. I pushed forward, pinning her in place against the wall. If it wasn’t for the slight quivering of her chin, I could have sworn she was cool as a cucumber. But that small shake betrayed her, and I seized the opportunity to tilt said chin upward, forcing her to look at me.

“How about a kiss?” I coaxed, my palm sliding from her wrist to her waist, down the curve of her firm ass, squeezing as I pulled her closer to me. I didn’t like the power shift between us and wanted to remind her who was the boss. I felt her thighs shaking against my sprawled fingers, ready and wanting, shivered into me as I gathered her close. Her body was soft, smooth, feminine. With hidden curves I had no business thinking about and was paid to ignore.

Her heat radiated between our clothes, and I stifled a groan, yanking her braid, extending her neck and forcing her to look at me.

“Would a kiss be a sufficient form of payment?” I murmured, my lips gliding down the side of her neck.

She said nothing, her heart slamming against mine erratically, begging for more.

Rearing my head back, I crashed my mouth against hers punishingly, resenting her for my need to taste her—and myself for yielding to temptation.

It was a brutal kiss, with teeth and claws and tongue, designed to humiliate her, to remind her which one of us was in control.

Aisling’s lips molded over mine immediately, compliant and soft. She moaned gently, her tongue meeting mine thrust for thrust, like we were fucking each other, her fingers curling around the collar of my shirt, drawing me closer. I bit her lower lip until I split it open, her warm, metallic blood trickling into my mouth. She tensed but didn’t break the kiss.

Break the fucking kiss, Aisling.

Show me I’m too much for you.

I sucked on her blood, pulling her entire lip into my mouth, and she let me, the little monster that she was.

“You taste like an ashtray,” she purred into my mouth. Viper-like, her words dripped venom while she still devoured me hungrily, not letting go.

“Maybe so, but you taste like an easy lay, my least favorite flavor of woman.” I chuckled darkly, putting more pressure on her lips, kissing her harder, tasting her blood and her tears and her anguish and enjoying all of them because they were mine.

So fucking salty. So fucking sweet.

I was hard. So hard, I knew I was in real danger of taking her on the surgical table she had used just minutes ago to stitch up the two morons on my payroll. I tore my mouth from hers, brushing my thumb over her cheekbone. She stumbled forward, losing balance. I let her fall on my chest but didn’t help her right herself.

“Now we’re even.” I shoved the wallet back into my pocket, surprised to see that despite feeling her tears earlier, her face was dry and calm.

“Oh, you thought a kiss would be your payment as opposed to the eleven grand you owe me? Oh my…” she clutched the pearls on her neck, twisting them exaggeratedly, like her mother would “…my apologies, Mr. Brennan. I don’t accept sexual favors as payment. That would be my father’s specialty, and I very much doubt he’d be interested in what you have to offer. I would still like the money at Thanksgiving. What’s the common interest your loan sharks use? Forty-five percent? That suits me. Now, have a good rest of the day, Mr.