In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(77)

The hairs on her neck all stood on end. “Don’t be ugly, Sam.”

“You think that’s ugly?” he asked. “Babe, you have no clue.”

“I don’t want to,” she said. “You crossed the line a long time ago.”

“Are you going to put me in my place now? The Sveti smack-down. My dick is tingling at the thought. I love it when you’re stern, baby.”

“You’re being an *,” Sveti said. “One more comment like that, and we part company. I’ll take my chances with the Illuxit team.”

His eyes burned. “And you think I can be dismissed like that?”

She couldn’t withstand the seething heat in his glance sitting down. She got up and threw her shoulders back. “I have enough problems, Sam,” she said. “Do not become another problem for me.”

“But you’re attracted to problems. You exist to solve problems. The bigger the better. And I’m plenty big enough for you, Sveti.”

She stared at him. “The only reason we’re still in the same room is because that thing with Misha stressed you out,” she said quietly. “I was grateful for your company. I wouldn’t have had the nerve to do that alone. For that reason only, I’ll cut you some slack. But no more.”

“Thanks for the pity points,” he said. “That’s real sweet.”

The intense glow in his eyes was palpable, on her skin, in her mind. That electric tingle, that liquid melting.

The absolute inevitability of sex, about to happen.

Her knees wobbled, and her thighs clenched, and she was getting wet. She was furious with her body’s helpless animal response, preparing for sex just because a man looked at her that way. It gave him too much power. She kept her back to him as she rummaged for her toiletries. “I’m taking a shower.” She fled into the bathroom.

The hot water pounded down as his words on the plane echoed in her mind. I’m going to pound that nail, babe. I’ll pound it, and pound it. Until you’re so stuck on me, you can’t move.

It wasn’t just sexy blather to make her pant and squirm. It was literally true. She had to take back control. Before this destroyed her.

She took her time, blowing her hair dry. Some lip gloss and mascara, some scented cream. She wished she’d brought some pretty lingerie into the bathroom with her, but she would have to put her faith in the shock value of stark nudity, used as a blunt force instrument.

One last panicked look in the mirror, a few deep breaths to drag in some oxygen to compensate for when he took her breath away.

She flung her hair back and slapped the door open.



Sam turned when he heard the bathroom door open. The shirt in his hand fell to the floor, forgotten.

He couldn’t get used to how beautiful she was. His mind went into apeshit overload—bells ringing, lights flashing, steam shooting out his ears. All the blood in his body racing down to the party spot. She lifted her arms and spun, with the sinuous grace of a prima ballerina, back arched, tits out. That fierce, I-own-you-sucker glow in her eyes. Wow.

He cleared his dry throat. “Is there a point to this floor show?”

Her brows lifted. “If you have to ask, maybe it’s wasted on you.”

His hands clenched. “No,” he said. “That will never be wasted on me. Count on it.”

“That’s comforting. Certain assertions were made, on the plane, Sam. I’m holding you to them. Take off your jeans.”

He hastened to obey. Jerking the jeans down, kicking them to join the shirt. He walked over to her, higher mental functions hijacked by the power radiating from her. “So. How do you want this to go?”

She considered the question. “Make me wet.”

Whoa. Time out, while his head exploded. “Happy to comply, but I’ve never seen the bitch goddess persona. Where did she come from?”

“You talk too much. I suggest you put your mouth to better use.”

He was obscurely delighted by this, but kept his cool as he swept the mosquito netting aside. “Lie back,” he said. “I live to serve.”

“No, you come to me,” she commanded. “And get on your knees.”

He let out a low whistle. “Wow. You sure you want to play with this vibe right now? You can’t take it back, Sveti.”

“If you’re not up to it, I have a lot to do,” she said crisply. “I need to shop for a dress anyway, so I’ll just be on my—”

“No, no, no.” He was over there on his knees before he was even conscious of moving. “I’m up to anything. Always. Know it.”

Who cared. On his knees, on his back. Anything that got that sweet little * warmed up and ready for action was fine with him. He gripped her ass, stroking the warm, silken skin of her thighs with his cheek, tongue straining eagerly to probe up that tender, juicy cleft.

He pressed up her mound, to open the shiny pink secrets and leave them naked to the artistry of his lashing tongue. He wallowed, nose rubbing her clit as his tongue delved, licking and stroking and probing the magic spots that made her moan, and melt, and yield.

So good, to score that sweet, shivering surrender.

She swayed, whimpered. Her hands twisted in his hair. His senses dilated into something new, to suck up more details, more data, subtle nuances. With that inner eye wide open, he could sense the energy rising in her body, and pilot it. He could take her right where she needed to go. She was afraid, but there was no stopping it now. They tumbled through inner space . . . and oh, sweet God.