for pause, much less question—I’ve already paused, so I know I can’t question it or Francesca will know I’m full of shit and that ‘Naomi’ is no more my girl than Claire is anymore. But kissing Izabel is anything but simple, and although I never expected to finish this mission without having to violate Izabel in some way, a kiss is the last thing I wanted. Of all the unspeakable things I could’ve been forced to do, kissing her is the worst. It’s too intimate of an act—fucking her senseless would’ve easier.
I dip my head toward her and slowly touch my lips to hers; my hand carefully wrapped about the side of her neck. I want to squeeze it, like I would any common whore like Jackie who I can fuck my aggressions out on, but I can’t. I can’t and I don’t know why. Instead, I slip my tongue into her mouth and find hers. And I can’t take it; I feel my lips slowly crushing against mouth as we drink in each other’s breath. I want—need—to pull away, but I can’t do that either. I kiss her long and deep and hard until I feel like I’m running on the fringes of my emotions; they’re tearing away at me like hands in Hell reaching out for me as I leap over the flames, trying to pull me down with them into sin, and as hard as I try to get away, a part of me wants them to take me. I want to sin. I want to kiss her.
And so I do.
And I don’t stop.
Izabel
I…I can’t think straight.
Niklas
The searing crack! of the leather striking Nora’s back breaks the kiss, and when it does, Izabel is looking at me, unblinking, her moist lips parted slightly just as mine are, close enough I can still feel her breath on my mouth.
“You’re a liar, Niklas Augustin.”
My gaze breaks away from Izabel—thankfully—to find Francesca on her throne; I look up at her quizzically.
Francesca smiles, knowing. Knowing something.
My heart is in my throat—has our cover been blown somehow? I need my gun. Fuck! I need someone’s gun. Panic chokes me from the inside and I feel my eyes searching the vicinity for a weapon though without actually moving my eyes; but on the surface I’m as cool and confident as I ever was.
“You told me you loved no one,” Francesca says and relief washes over me in a wave. She smiles, glancing at Izabel only briefly. “Your feelings for that one run deep—the kiss betrayed you.”
I smirk at her. “Believe what you want,” I say casually, straightening the lapel of my suit jacket.
“I believe you’re a good liar,” she points out, “but your ability to hide your feelings is atrocious.” Her smile stretches; her dark eyes sweep over me deviously, as if she’s picking me apart, trying to figure me out and knowing she’s doing a fine fucking job at it. Well she’s crazy—I don’t have feelings for Izabel; I’d rather…(I swallow hard and round my chin)…in Izzy’s words: I’d rather it burn when I piss.
Another crack! zips through the air.
I get up from the sofa.
“Emilio,” I call out, approaching him from behind, “why don’t you let me show you how it’s done.” It was an insistence, not a question; I reach out my hand to him for the whip and he stares at me with a deadly combination of humiliation and rage. It was my plan all along, telling him he could punish Nora for me; I wanted another opportunity to show Emilio up in front of his sister. And it couldn’t have come at a better time: I need to reverse the weakness Francesca thinks she found in me—feelings for Izabel—and I need to get the hell away from Izabel. More importantly, the heavier I step on her brother’s toes, the less inclined she’ll be to listen to his opinions; and since Emilio is closest to her and the one who distrusts me the most, it’s vital I continuously prove I’m the alpha in the room.
Nora stands facing the wall, her arms raised high above her head, her palms pressed flat against the white paint. Two angry stripes, red and swollen, lay across her back, the newest ones amid a myriad of old wounds and still-healing ones. Her long white-blond hair covers most of them. I take the whip from Emilio’s hand, ignoring the looks of hatred he’s shooting me with, and step behind Nora, the whip in my hand pressing