"Tell me, what am I going to find if I keep going?" His
fingers inched closer. Her heart raced. "Are you damp?" he
furthered another inch up her thigh, "wet?" he smiled
wickedly, and she gushed from the inside out. "Or, will you
be drenched, sweetheart?"
Nala bit her lip. The forecast was indeed a flood warning.
She wanted him to continue with this splendid tempest, to
break every dam. She needed him to dip his fingers into the
deep pool of her desire.
The side of his mouth kicked up, "What's wrong? Have I
rendered you speechless?" he taunted.
Nala found strength from his cockiness, from the challenge
in his baiting tone. "No, I'm just wondering when you're
going to stop teasing me," she wielded her sexiest
smile, "and finish what you've started."
He released a deep, throaty chuckle. His finger was now
close to her inner flesh, a mere stroke away, "Hot and
sassy," he drawled. His eyes boldly bathed her. They
twinkled with a feral passion. "Don't worry sweetheart this
is going to be the best night of your life," he said and
nearing her aching pussy, he squeezed her thigh with the
tips of his fingers pulling her heated flesh, "but you're
only going to come when I say you can and not one second
sooner." He withdrew slightly from the begging wetness
between her thighs, possibly for another tormenting tease.
She went from on fire to frosty to completely frozen as the
thought came to her. Did he feel it?
Suddenly staring down the barrel of her own gun, she had
her answer.
With narrowed eyes, he made an annoying clicking sound from
the corner of his mouth as he turned to inspect her gun,
the one he'd snagged from between her legs. She hadn't even
felt him take it.
He inhaled, tilted his head, and twitched the gun at
her. "Didn't your daddy ever tell you that little girls
shouldn't play with guns?"
"On the contrary, it was a gift from my father." She eyed
him skeptically. "And I'll appreciate you giving it back."
She waited to see what he'd do. She knew nothing about the
man pointing her gun at her chest. She was still trapped,
her wrists gripped by his hand behind her back. Slowly, as
if it was a caress, he pressed his thigh across her legs.
It rendered a groin kick impossible.
"Maybe we won't find out how wet you are sweetheart," he
said regretfully. "Instead, I'm going to take a step back
from you. If you move, my finger may slip. Do you
understand me?"
She looked him steadily in the eye. "Yes."
She heard the safety button click. The weapon was ready to
go off. She remained still. He meant business, and she
wasn't going to mess around with a loaded gun. He could
have it. "Guess I'll have to ask Daddy to get me a new gun
next Christmas."
He released her. Slowly he moved away but kept his aim
steady as he reached over to the sofa and picked up his
jacket. "In my experience, a woman who straps a gun to her
leg only does so for one of two reasons." He threw his coat
over his shoulder. "One, she's a killer, a hired assassin."
He released the cartridge from her gun and put it in his
pocket. "Or two, she's an agent," he said and tossed her
empty gun to her. "Until I figure out which one you are,
sweetheart, I can't sleep with you. I need to know who I'm
fucking. But when I find out, you can bet your sweet little
ass I'll be coming back for you." He took a lethal step
toward her.
She held her empty gun to her chest and held her breath.
Both of his forearms, the ones that flexed so beautiful
when he poured her drink, trapped her again between him and
the wall.
He glared into her eyes. "But when I return for you, those
sexy little moans will be turned into pleasurable, sweet,
satisfied cries."
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