Play Dirty (Wages of Sin #2) - Neve Wilder Page 0,28

could see Madi? It was the notion of Madi watching that had him sliding from the booth, saying, “Fine. One dance. Then I get the address and I’m leaving.”

Az allowed Ryan to drag him out into the sea of people, bodies coalescing together like ocean waves. Ryan’s arms went around Az’s neck, and he placed his hands on Ryan’s waist, closing his eyes and letting the beat take him, his hips moving smoothly to the pounding bass rhythm.

Ryan attempted to close the distance between them, and Az let him, his hands sliding into his pockets, smiling when he felt the piece of paper folded within. He slid the paper free, flashing it at Ryan, who rolled his eyes and shook his head before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Az was about to go look for Madi when a stranger plastered himself against his back, hooking his face over Az’s shoulder. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Az responded, a little breathless at the feel of the stranger’s hands wrapping around his hips.

Az didn’t have time to adjust because the man was suddenly gone, a muffled exclamation following in his wake, and then Madi’s arms came around him. Az knew it was him without even looking over his shoulder, and he smiled, his hands trailing over Madi’s bare forearms. Was he jealous? Good. Az arched his back, rolling his ass against Madi’s cock until he could feel the bulge forming behind his zipper.

Madi walked them toward the stage where there was no light. Before Az could ask questions, Madi’s mouth was trailing harsh bites along the column of his neck, his hands sliding beneath Az’s t-shirt.

“Fuck, motek. What’s gotten into you?”

“This is what you wanted, right?” Madi breathed into his ear, his hand fondling Az over his jeans, thumb tracing the outline of his erection behind his zipper. Az sucked in a breath, canting his hips into Madi’s palm to grind himself against the pressure. “You like that?” Madi taunted, his hand stroking Az until he was leaking through his underwear. “I think you do.”

“Fuck. Are you just going to keep playing with me, or are you going to touch me?” Az asked, looping his arms around Madi’s neck, leaving his whole body open to him.

“I could make you beg,” Madi said casually, sliding his hand inside Az’s pants. He teased over the flared head and rubbed his thumb along Az’s slit, gathering the fluid there and working it just over the crown of Az’s cock until Az bucked desperately into his grip.

Az rested his head on Madi’s shoulder so he could speak directly into his ear. “Is that what you need, motek? My submission?” He couldn’t stop the words falling from his lips. Madi didn’t speak, but his hand constricted around Az’s throbbing hard-on. “Does the thought of my begging for your cock turn you on? Is that what you need to cease this ridiculous ground rule?” Madi’s other hand trailed upward, twisting Az’s nipple until he hissed at the pleasure-pain that sent shocks along his spine. “Is it not enough I let you fuck me when nobody else can or that I surrender my flesh to your blade? Do you need the words now, too? If I beg, will you fuck me right here? Hmm? What if I call your bluff?”

Madi didn’t answer, letting Az work himself up into his tightened fist while his fingers closed around Az’s throat, squeezing just enough to make him dizzy.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Az muttered, edging toward his release.

Then it was gone. Madi was gone, leaving Az rock hard and two minutes away from coming in his jeans. Az’s hands shook as he confirmed the slip of paper from Ryan was still in his pocket before following Madi from the club.

By the time he found his way through the packed dance floor, Madi and the car were gone.

“Do you need a cab, sir?” a young man at the front of the club asked in Portuguese, sweeping his hand toward his car.

Az sighed, shaking his head. Madi was going to be the death of him. “Yes, it seems I do.”

8

Madigan

Madigan paced the living room of the villa, the wood floors cool under the soles of his feet. Even they felt like they were on fire. He unbuttoned his shirt, tossed it onto the coffee table, then ran his fingers under his nose. Azrael. Salt and spice. This was un-fucking-sustainable. Madigan had made a lot of poor judgment calls in his life, but shacking up with Azrael—no, agreeing to work with