Lace and Bullets: A Hitman Romance (15 page)

“I haven’t found a woman who shares my…interests. That’s all.”

“What, like music? Art? Bad video games? There are a million women in Miami, there have to be a few.”

“None that I’ve found.”

“Hmph.”

“Your turn. Why no boyfriends?”

She didn’t know why she wanted to spill the truth so badly. Maybe his deep blue eyes were really made of magic. Whatever the reason, she longed to confess. To let him know how dirty and wicked she could be.

An ache spread from her core and she squeezed her muscles, squirming on the couch to relieve the pressure. Setting her plate down next to Tate’s, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.

“I can’t find a guy who…you know…does what I want.”

“I don’t understand. You mean you want a personal assistant for a boyfriend?”

Jessica grabbed a pillow and tossed it at her stepbrother. “No, you jerk. In bed. I can’t…I haven’t…oh, god, this is so embarrassing!”

She buried her head in between her knees and silently begged him to let it go.

The couch shifted next to her and she felt his hand brush her arm. A bolt of pleasure shot through her from the contact and she pulled her head up to look at Tate. His hair had fallen across his face, but his eyes peeked through—blue and clear and bottomless.

“You can tell me, Jess. I won’t laugh. Really.”

“Right.”

“No, I mean it.” He stroked his thumb across her arm, raising gooseflesh in his wake.

She couldn’t believe she was going to say it. But he’d gotten under her skin and if he…
Oh, hell. What’s the worst that could happen?

“I, um…I like it when guys are in control. You know, ties and cuffs and that sort of thing. Without it, I can’t…you know, get there.”

Tate stared at her, eyes boring into hers for what seemed like forever. Closing the gap between their bodies, his chest brushed against her legs, heat radiating through his thin cotton shirt and over her skin. His fingers tightened around her wrist, holding her still as a breath caught in her lungs.

And then it broke. Whatever spell she’d been under dissolved and Tate pulled away as if he’d been burned. He stood and grabbed their plates, walking around the couch as he made his way to the kitchen.

He dumped the food in the trash and put the dishes in the sink without saying a word. When he’d finished, he headed straight for his bedroom door.

“I’m beat. There’s a stack of sheets on the side table and an extra pillow. Enjoy your night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jessica watched him walk into his bedroom and shut the door.
What the hell just happened?
She hugged her legs tighter, squeezing so hard she winced. He’d been just like all the rest—one confession, one breath of the truth and men ran away. Finding women who didn’t need what she did. Women who didn’t crave someone who could own them, please them, make them beg for it.

No matter how much she tried to be average—to be the girl satisfied with sweet and plain—she wasn’t. She needed it strong and intense and full of passion. And for a moment, she thought Tate did too.

Too bad she was wrong.

S
he knocked
on the door and waited. Nothing. So she fished out the spare key Tate had left on the bar and let herself in. She still couldn’t believe he’d snuck out before she woke up, leaving her a scribbled note and an extra set of keys.

Didn’t DJs work nights? She shook her head and walked into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a box of leftovers. Her stomach growled as she fished out a fork from the drawer and dug in. She didn’t even bother heating it up.

The shoot ran long and she’d skipped breakfast and lunch in an effort to look as toned as possible. It was her first major gig—a four-page spread in a national fitness magazine with a photographer who made careers. All she had to do was show off the hours she’d spent at the gym and she’d be one step closer to making it. One step closer to having a career.

She should be thrilled, bouncing up and down and popping some champagne. But all she could think about was Tate. How he’d stared into her eyes when she’d told him her secret. And how he’d turned on her and run away.

It didn’t make sense. If he’d been grossed out or shocked, he could have just said so. Unless it hit him deeper. Struck a chord. Jessica finished the box of leftovers and wiped her hands.
What secrets are you hiding, stepbrother?

Walking out of the kitchen, she made her way down the hall, standing at the door to his bedroom. She had no idea when he’d be back. But she could take a quick glance, poke around in his room for a minute without getting caught, right?

Pushing the door open, she slipped inside, taking in his huge four-poster bed with thick, square posts and crisp gray sheets, the simple dresser in matching dark wood, and a mirrored closet lining the entire far wall.

It screamed masculine and elegance and Jessica wanted to slip underneath the covers and breathe it all in. She never knew Tate had such a cultured side—that he cared about details and craftsmanship and style. She’d always thought of him as frozen in time, stuck as a rebellious teenager.

He’d changed way more than his body. She walked around the bed and ran her hand over the dresser. Did men keep their secrets in the top drawer? One way to find out.

She pulled it open and chuckled to herself as rows of boxer briefs and socks came into view. It seemed so naughty to rifle through his underwear, trailing her fingers over the cotton, imagining her hands running over his firm muscles instead.

Pushing his things to the side, she explored the back of the drawer, hunting by feel but coming up empty.
Huh. Nothing.
She shut the drawer and turned around, worrying her lip with her teeth as she thought about where else to look.

Glancing at the bed again, she spotted it.
Bingo
. The mattress sat on a platform with drawers. Jessica kneeled on the floor and pulled the first drawer open.
Oh my god
.

A wave of arousal washed over her as she stared at her stepbrother’s secret stash. Knotted ropes dyed in deep reds and blacks, leather cuffs with metal buckles. With trembling fingers, she reached out and picked up a rope, pulling the smooth silk knots through her hand.

She could imagine the cord wrapped around her wrists, pulling tight and rendering her helpless. How would it feel to have a man in complete control? Someone bigger, stronger, tying her down and fucking her. Tate.

Her breath came in little gasps and she parted her lips to get enough air.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be in here
.

Panic bubbled up inside Jessica and she set the rope back in place. But she couldn’t get up. She couldn’t will her legs to work and propel her out of the room and away from his secrets.

All she could see was Tate, shirt off, ripped abs heaving as he tied her to the bedposts. The lust in his eyes as he slipped a blindfold over her head.

The feel of his hands sliding up her naked thighs—teasing, tempting, torturing her until she begged him for it. Crying out as he spanked her naked ass. Screaming in ecstasy when her shoved her legs apart and made her his. Coming around his cock as he fucked her senseless.

God, it was so damn wrong. She shouldn’t be thinking of him that way. What would her mother think? Or her stepfather? It was shameful. Wicked.

But all she felt was fire and clawing desperation. The first man who’d ever shared her passion—her need for more than just a guy on top of her grinding away—and she couldn’t have him. It was so unfair.

Jessica groaned and ran her fingers over his stash, pausing as she brushed over a folded strip of satin. A blindfold. She pulled it out and the black fabric slipped through her fingers, caressing her naked skin and drawing out a moan.

Without stopping to think, she held it up to her face, slipping it over her eyes and tying it behind her head. Blackness. Silky, smooth blackness turned off the world and heightened her senses.

The carpet pricked her bare knees, the air conditioner hummed in the background and her breathing scraped the humid air. Her nipples pebbled beneath her cotton dress, rubbing against the fabric and turning her reckless.

She wanted the rush of sex in the dark. Of foreign hands using her body and taking her places she’d never been. Her clit throbbed for release and she ran her hands down her sides, bunching up her dress to slip her fingers beneath her panties.

Slick heat greeted her, her wetness soaking through her underwear before she’d even touched herself. As she slid a finger through her folds, grazing her swollen clit, she moaned out loud.
Oh, god.
If only Tate could be there. Touching her, tasting her, making her come.

She rubbed herself in tiny circles, flicking her clit again and again as she rocked her hips. Reaching out in her blindness, she grabbed ahold of the bedpost, rising up onto her knees as she shoved her hand deeper to thrust inside her empty channel.

Mmm
. Would Tate use his fingers to get her off? Would he slide between her legs and yank her panties to the side, thrusting his tongue inside her, lapping at her greedy little clit until she came?
Oh, yes
. Over and over she rubbed herself, imagining Tate all over her. Owning her. Claiming her. Bending her to his will.

“Oh, Tate!” She came on a groan, calling out his name as the blackness flashed blinding white and she glimpsed heaven.

T
ate stood
in the doorway to his bedroom, watching his stepsister come apart.
Fucking hell
. At first he didn’t know she was home—the living room was empty and he assumed she was out. But then he heard her. A tiny moan from behind his bed.

He stalked down the hall, ready to curse her out and get his life back, when he saw her. Blindfolded and gripping his bedpost as she fingered herself beneath her panties.
Jesus
.

She bucked her hips into her hand, mouth open and panting, tongue darting out to lick her lips as she moaned. So fucking sexy with her auburn hair twisted and caught beneath the blindfold.
My blindfold
.

Her cheeks glowed pink with desire and she rubbed herself with abandon—hard and fast in jerky circles as she dug her fingers into his bed. He’d never seen a woman so alive and free.

He’d gotten a few girls to submit for a night—let him tie them up, blindfold them, give them orgasms all night long. But after one time, they never came back. Always finding an excuse, claiming it didn’t turn them on. But not Jessica. She’d done it to herself. Shutting out the world with a strip of blackness, submitting without anyone else in the room.

When she’d told him her secret—that she had the same dirty fetish he did—he’d lost his mind. Leaning into her, running his hand up her leg, ready to take her right on his couch. But then reality crashed in. She was his stepsister.

No matter how much he wanted her tied to his bed and coming all over him, he couldn’t have her. Not ever. She needed to get out of his room and out of his life. He took a step toward her, ready to interrupt her solo fuck session, when she groaned.

“Oh, Tate!”

He stalled out—frozen mid-step as her orgasm ripped through her. She was imagining him. His dick throbbed inside his pants and he ground his teeth together to keep from groaning. It wasn’t just the kinky toys or the blindfold around her eyes. It was him. Panic hit him like a semi truck.

“What are you doing in here?”

Jessica shrieked and ripped the blindfold off, blinking him into focus. “Oh my god. Tate.”

“That’s my name. Apparently you like using it.”

His stepsister blushed crimson and swiveled her head back and forth, searching for something to say. He wasn’t going to give her the chance.

“So you’ve found my dirty little secret, I see. Now you know why I’m single.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and unfocused as the last of her pleasure ebbed away. “Me too, Tate.”

He frowned and crossed his arms. “You need to get out of here, Jessica. You shouldn’t be in my room, going through my things.”

“I’m sorry. I know it was wrong. But, Tate, don’t you see? We want the same things. We…need the same things.”

“So?”

She frowned and stood up, walking toward him on shaky legs. “Don’t you feel it? The connection between us?”

“Yeah, it’s called family.”

“Not that, you asshole.” She walked up to him and grabbed his hand, placing it on her racing heart. “This.”

Her skin warmed his hand and her heart thudded into his palm. If she were any other woman…

“Jessica, we can’t. No matter how much I want you, I can’t. You’ll always be my stepsister. You’ll always be off-limits.”

“Why? It’s only a label. We didn’t grow up together. You’re not my brother. Just like your father isn’t my father. He the guy my mom married when I was seventeen. And you were already on your own. Living your own life.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything.”

Tate pulled his hand out of hers and turned away. “Not for me. I’ve got to go.” He walked into the kitchen and she followed, reaching out and grabbing him by the arm.

“Don’t run away from me. From us.”

He spun on his heels, grabbing her by the arms and propelling her backward. Her back bumped into the wall and he let her go, stepping forward as he snaked his hands down her naked skin.

Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her arms up, hooking one over the other and pinning her to the wall. He held her with one hand, his muscles flexing as she squirmed in his grip. She couldn’t break free even if she wanted to. Not unless she kneed him in the balls, and he couldn’t see her doing that.

Separated by inches, her heat hit him in waves and he could smell sex all over her. His dick throbbed in his pants and he bit his cheek to keep from kissing her. “Is this what you want, Jessica? You want me to slam you up against the wall and fuck you?”

She answered on a breath. “Yes.”

With his free hand, he reached out and cupped her breast.
Mmm
. High and round and firm on her chest, he could fondle her tits for days. Stroking her nipple, he worked her until she mewled beneath him.

“You want me to rip this dress off you and take you right here? Is that it?”

“Please, Tate. Yes.” She thrashed her head back and forth, moaning as he rubbed. Damn, she was beautiful. And she wanted him to own her. To hold her down and take her the way he imagined.

He slid his hand lower, running over her thigh and behind her to grip her ass. With a single jerk, he pulled her off the wall and crushed her pelvis to his, grinding her belly against his raging erection.

“You feel that? That’s how bad I want the same thing.”

“Then take me. I’m begging you.”

“No.” He let her go and backed away. Her arms stayed where he’d trapped them, stuck up on the wall with invisible strings.
Damn
.

Turning around, he strode to the front door, grabbing his keys on the way.

As he turned the doorknob, Jessica called out after him. “Why are you leaving?”

“Because someone has to.”

“No. Stay. Talk to me, Tate. Please.” He glanced back at her and the sight shot a pang of regret through his body. Her pouty pale lips open and breathless. Her cheeks flushed with lust. Her arms still pinned to the wall. Sometimes life could be so cruel.

“I’ve got a gig. Don’t wait up.”

He opened the door and walked out, shutting it behind him with a slam.
Fuck.
Tate staggered to his car, barely noticing the world around him. He slumped into the driver’s seat and collapsed over the steering wheel.

He’d taken it too far. Pushed them both into dangerous waters. But he couldn’t help himself. His cock throbbed in his pants and all he could see was her lips forming his name and her eyes begging him to take her.

He couldn’t move without pain shooting through his groin and if he didn’t get some relief he’d never make it to his gig. Raising his head, he glanced around the parking lot. No one was around. He shouldn’t even be thinking it, but he couldn’t help himself. Not anymore.

Unzipping his pants, he shoved his hand beneath his waistband and took his dick in his hand, wrapping his fingers around his thick shaft and stroking up and down. He imagined Jessica, leaning over in the passenger seat and licking his swollen tip, her lips sliding down his shaft as he held her head.

Up and down he pushed her, forcing his cock deeper down inside her mouth, groaning as her pretend throat convulsed around him. He imagined reaching over to stroke her clit through her panties while she bobbed on his spit-soaked shaft.
That’s it baby, work me harder
. It might be wrong, but he had to get her out of his system. One way or another.

Faster and faster he rubbed himself, pumping away the guilt and shame until he grabbed a gym towel from the back seat. A few jerks more and he came into the towel, hot sticky cum soaking the terry cloth and leaving him empty.

With a heavy sigh, he put himself back together and started the car, easing out of the parking space and away from Jessica. A full night DJing and he could forget her. Erase her hot body from his mind and go back to his normal life. The one without her blindfolded and on her knees, orgasming beside his bed.