In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(94)

She went still. “Sam—”

“You can’t expect me to deal with that guy. It’s too much to ask.”

“It was embarrassing,” she admitted. “I’ll make it plain that I’m not interested sexually. It’s just a matter of being extremely clear.”

“I could make it clearer,” Sam offered. “With my fists.”

“You just have to trust me,” she said quietly.

“You are not the problem! He is! That guy wants to f*ck you!”

“You think all men want to f*ck me,” she snapped.

“That would be an accurate assessment. But that guy thinks that he can. He’s sure that he will. And touching you in front of me gets him off. That is sick, sociopathic bullshit. You shouldn’t be exposed to it. The guy’s a prick, Sveti. You cannot work for him.”

“Sam, you’re exaggerating the problem—”

“You think we’ve got problems now? If he puts his hand on you again, I’ll tear his head right off his neck. I’m not speaking figuratively.”

She was openmouthed. “Ah . . . you’re scaring me, Sam.”

“Good,” he said roughly. “Then we’re starting to communicate.”

“Listen to me,” she said. “No harm will come to me if I just go have breakfast at the Villa Rosalba.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Why go there at all? What for? What do you think you’re going to accomplish? You think you’ll wander freely in the conte’s house, poking through his stuff? You think after six years that you’ll find some trace of your mom there? You’re dreaming!”

“That’s not the only reason,” she protested. “I want to see the atrium, and Atlas, and the maze. Her bones are in the mausoleum! I want to pay my respects. Is that so hard to understand?”

“And I’m supposed to nod and smile while he gropes you?”

“No! I expect you to trust me to handle the situation in my own way!” she yelled back. “I’m not an idiot, Sam!”

He laughed bitterly. “Idiot, no. Babe in the woods, yes.”

“You’re wrong.” She sat up very straight. “You’re being irrational. I understand your feelings, but I won’t be controlled by them. I’m sorry it makes you angry. Bottom line? It’s not up to you. This is my decision.”

“That’s your final word?”

“In this case, yes.” She stretched to snag the gauzy canopy so she could slip out of her side of the bed, as climbing over Sam’s big body to get to the draped tent opening did not feel like a good idea right now.

His big hand pressed against the small of her back, pinning her down, and he rolled on top of her. Oh, God. He was so long. Dense, hot.

She went still. “Sam?” she said hesitantly. “Not a good time.”

He slid his thigh between hers, opening her. “Last night you said this was mine. You were very specific about what’s mine, and what is not and never will be mine. But I can lay claim to this, right?” His hand slid up her thigh, stroked her cleft. Wet from last night’s excesses.

“I said a lot of things last night,” she said. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Shhhh.” He pushed her hair aside and licked the birthmark on her neck, a slow rasp as his thick cock prodded her wet folds. He forged inside, in a slow, slick glide. “I want what’s mine. It’ll probably be the only satisfaction I get today, so I’ll take it while I can.”

His voice was cool, but his body was so hot, and his solid weight grinding against her, that slow, deliberate penetration, made her limbs go liquid. Her lungs jerked for air, shuddering as he slid his thick cock slowly deeper. Rocking, sliding, swiveling. So deep.

She dragged in more air. “But you’re angry. And cold. I don’t like that. I don’t want you inside me when you’re like that.”

“I’m not this way by choice,” he said. “You’re not the only one ripping your heart out, offering it up. I’ve been doing that since we hooked up. Your answer’s always the same. You don’t like me angry and cold? Fine. If you want me to bounce for joy, you know what to do. Are you going to do it?”

“I . . . I . . . Sam, that’s not—”

“Of course not. I know you’re not. I’m just making do with the crumbs that I’m offered.” He slid his hand lower until his finger found her clit, caressing it as he f*cked her harder, and deeper.

She pressed her face to the pillow, muffling the strangled sounds, canting her hips to meet each slick, hard stroke like an eager little love slave. She loved it and she hated it. How could it feel so good when she was this angry? “You manipulative son of a bitch,” she choked out.

“I might be a son of a bitch, but I’m going to make you come so hard. You love the way I touch you, even though you don’t want to love it. Just like you don’t want to love me.”

“Goddamnit, Sam!” She writhed and struggled beneath him, but every move just seemed to stroke his big cock against every shivering sweet spot inside her, driving her wild. “Stop talking that way!”

“Not until you come.” He worked her with terrifying skill and timed it just right. Letting go just as she took off, so that he was pumping his essence into her as she bucked and thrashed and wailed.