She nodded, mortified that he’d accidentally stumbled on one of her tawdrier fantasies and played into it without realizing he had.
“You weren’t supposed to like that, young lady,” he whispered next to her ear, sending shivers up into her hairline. “Are you some sort of pervert?”
“Maybe you did it wrong, sir.”
He chuckled darkly and grabbed the back of her hair in a painful grip, almost making her drop the small bag of ice. “Maybe I just didn’t make it hurt enough.” He opened the bag of ice and put a cube of it into her mouth. “You lie about so many things, it makes me wonder if you’re secretly some sort of experienced hard-core masochist.”
Seriously? He was calling her a liar? He was the one who was trying to pass himself off as a computer repair guy instead of admitting he was a car thief—if he was one.
The insult had stiffened her spine, but she couldn’t really call him out on it, because he wasn’t wrong. She didn’t consider herself a liar, but in this situation she was one. It wasn’t that she had any regrets about misleading suspects to get information out of them, but their relationship had gone past that point. Now she was just a woman who wanted a man, but knew if she told him the truth about who she was, he’d end things. Did he suspect?
What a mess.
She couldn’t salvage any of this. They couldn’t have a relationship, and she couldn’t arrest him. It was bad enough that he could tell the court they’d had many kinky sexual encounters—and there were so many witnesses—thereby ruining her professional reputation.
The ice in her mouth was smooth, and she explored it with her tongue, deciding that maybe it was best if she didn’t respond to his accusation. He didn’t seem to expect one anyway, because rather than waiting for an answer, he walked to the bathroom and washed his hands.
When he came back, he shoved two fingers into her mouth and took the ice cube. He kissed her again, the warmth of his tongue against hers a sexy contrast. Ice touched her neck, then slid a cold path down her skin to her nipple, which went rock hard under the smooth, frigid assault. He took another cube from the bag in her outstretched hands, and noticed her arms were shaking with the effort of holding them out for so long.
“Here.” He took the bag from her and put it on the coffee table next to her leg. “Put your arms down before they fall off.”
She gave a short laugh, and gasped again when he leaned down and closed his warm mouth over her frigid nipple. Sharp teeth bit down just as her nipple had warmed and started to ache. She squealed, and buried her still-stinging hands in his hair. He moved the ice over her skin, licking and sucking and chewing on her left nipple until she was wriggling and squealing. She wanted him to stop, both because it hurt and she was in imminent danger of coming, but had no idea how he’d punish her if she disobeyed by talking again. She struggled to remember her safeword, but when she opened her mouth to say it, the ice cube slid under her panties and between her legs, bumping over her clit.
Her screech rang through the room, and his responding groan freed her nipple from his torturous mouth. He fucked his frigid fingers up inside her, and she wasn’t sure if the last bit of ice cube had been pushed in with them. The cold sheathed in her heat completely messed with her mind. His other hand tapped at the butt plug through her underwear, jarring it, pressing it deeper.
Helplessly, she squirmed through another orgasm, fucking herself on his fingers, clinging to his shirt so she didn’t fall.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Fingers aren’t good enough for you?”
“Please, Atlas,” she whimpered.
“Please what?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Please fuck me. I need you.”
“And here I thought you didn’t like anal,” he mocked, tugging at the base of the plug, turning it inside her, then plunging it back in deep.
She choked, struggling against the invasion of his fingers and the buzzing in her ass, but he held her in place. “No! I don’t like it. Please fuck my pussy instead,” she begged. “I need your cock instead of your fingers.”
“Forget what you want,” he said, his voice full of menace. “What do you think you deserve?”
“Deserve?” she repeated. “I don’t know. Why don’t I deserve it?” She scanned through various ideas on that theme.
“Because you’re a bad girl, Mila. You lie to me.” He sighed, as if he felt sorry for what she was making him do. “When you stop lying to me, maybe you’ll get what you want.”
“What did I do? What am I lying about?”
His fingers slid out of her, and his gaze met hers—hard. Cold. He smiled, and the smile was all evil and teeth.
“I told you before, sweetheart . . . I’m not a stupid man.”
He picked her up and put her facedown on the bed. Something cold touched her wrist, and for a moment she thought it was an ice cube, until she heard the telltale click. He looped the free cuff around a bar on the metal headboard then shut the cuff on her free wrist before she could think.
Fear and adrenaline spiked through her. What the hell was she supposed to do? Play dumb? Ignore the fact that he’d somehow found her handcuffs and used them to secure her to the headboard? Oh god, he knew she was a cop. Was he going to kill her?
She started to hyperventilate, and his heavy, warm hand spanned her back.
“Shhh.”