of me, deep until you whimper my name. Make you forget your own name. And when I’m done, we’re done.”
When I’m done with my job, he means.
Not if I can evade you.
I feel him shift behind me but am unprepared for the feel of him slamming up inside of me, in one fluid movement filling me to the hilt with his beautiful cock. I moan loudly, my moistness easing the friction of his thrust. Still, the walls of my channel strain to adjust around his thick girth. My memory of him only a shadow of how he really feels deep inside me.
He withdraws slowly, and then slams me into the mirror from the weight behind his thrust.
I swear to God, I see stars.
Flexing his hips, he pulls back, then grinds back into me, withdraws before he hammers into me, pulls back, then takes a kill shot by slowly sliding into me. Inch by inch until each and every nerve sings out with joy.
“Jaxson,” I half whisper, half moan. Our eyes connect. It’s like being thrust into the past, to another time, another place where we reveled in each other’s pleasure. When we couldn’t get enough of each other. The feel, touch, smell of him. The warmth of his body against mine. His naughty grin. His trust. I can’t even ask the question, “What happened to us?” Because the answer is clear: I didn’t show up. I risked his life—suffered . . . agonized . . . over the loss of his life, too—and that special bond that only he and I shared is dead.
I’m sorry . . . so sorry.
I choke back tears as his features harden. “You bitch,” he grunts, pulling out of me completely and releasing my body and my leg to settle back on my feet.
That word feels like someone waved a magic idiot wand in my face.
“That all you got?” I taunt, foolishly.
“Sweetheart, we haven’t even gotten started.” He reaches out, grabbing me by the arms and twirling me around. The wind is knocked out of me as he spins me around and slams me into the mirror.
With one hand, he pins my wrists overhead to the mirror. I feel his legs between my thighs, spreading me open. The tip of his cock rubs against my folds, then all holy hell breaks out.
Fast and furious, he thrusts into me. Hard. Deep. Aggressive. Over and over, while I watch him grit his teeth, grunt, and close his eyes, blocking me out from what’s going on inside his head.
There’s nothing but my panting and his occasional grunt. The cold glass pressing against my girls, the ache building in my core, and him, taking me like he promised. Fucking me like a madman. Driving me insane with lust.
And I take it. I take all of him.
“Oh. Oh,” I gasp as the relentless pace he’s set begins to stir up an orgasm from somewhere deep inside me. A slow-building one, soon to register on whatever is Paris’s equivalent of the Richter scale.
But Jaxson beats me to it. With the next thrust, he shoves into me so hard I come up on my toes. Then he pins me in place, rooting me from deep inside my body, and then with a low, snarled “fuck me,” comes.
I thrust my hips backward, as my climax mounts. Aching for his thrust, his taking me up that steep cliff until I pass over to the other side.
Then he withdraws, leaving me freaking hanging from the rafters.
“What the hell?”
“I’ll give you a five-minute start.” He slaps me on the ass. “Then it’s back to business.”
“You asshole,” I say between clenched teeth. The ache between my thighs is unbearable. If he hadn’t given me a five-minute head start, I’d be finishing off what he initiated. Show him how I’ve no problem getting off without him.
Lesson learned.
I kick aside my panties and gather up my boho dress, ripping the frill from the hem to use it to secure the destroyed material in place.
Jaxson moves beside me as he pulls his pants back on. His T-shirt fits snugly around his chest, unwrinkled despite being wedged between the two of us. But I ignore him, deep in contemplation about whether or not to stick around to kick his ass. Or at least die trying.
I quickly gather my things and toss them into my suitcase. For a second I contemplate my satchel and the contents inside it—namely the gun. Consider shooting him in the leg and slowing the chase. But he’s