Shame doesn’t flood through me.
Desire does.
It’s such a foreign, unknown concept, I welcome it, allowing fantasies to evolve in my mind. I imagine what it would feel like to pull Cove’s jeans down, smack his pale ass, and then press the head of my thick cock between his cheeks.
“Take your shirt off,” Wex says, snapping me from my daydream.
I crack my neck. My eyes never leave Cove, but I keep Wex in my peripheral. Cove slowly tugs off his cut like it’s a striptease, his antagonizing grin aimed my way.
“Keep it up, Baby Prospect,” I warn, my voice a low growl. “You tease the dragon and you’re going to meet his fire.”
He shivers, which only seems to wake my dick up even more. My mouth goes dry when he peels away his T-shirt, revealing more of his bare flesh. He sits down in the chair and leans back. Without shame, I boldly rake my gaze down over his slightly muscular chest. There isn’t a hair to be found on his young chest, though there is a golden trail of hair below his navel that leads beneath his jeans. The slight bulge in his jeans tells me he doesn’t hate me nearly as much as he thinks he does.
I lean against the wall on my shoulder and pull my knife out so I have something to do with my hands rather than run them over Cove’s silky flesh. The tip of my blade is sharp and stings when I press it a little too hard into the palm of my hand. Crimson dots my skin, slowly growing in size. As Wex sanitizes Cove’s nipples, a dark rage rolls in like thunderclouds, swallowing up all peaceful sense.
“Perfect little nipples,” Wex praises, tugging at the pebbled skin with gloved fingers. “Sometimes I love this job.”
With a perverted grin, he readies himself to pierce Cove. The moment the needle pushes through the tender skin, Cove whimpers, clearly not expecting the pain of it.
“Fuck,” Cove hisses. “That fucking hurt.”
Cove
Holy shit.
The blinding, burning pain ripping across my chest is almost too much. I barely contain the surprised mewl. Gritting my teeth and fisting my hands, I try to ignore the searing pain and prepare myself to repeat it. Waiting for Wex to move on to the next nipple is torturous.
Something silver glints in my peripheral and I’m distracted by the man standing there. Dragon is a psychopath, but fuck does he look so damn good sometimes. Okay, all the time. And seeing the starved way he devours me with his narrowed green eyes is enough to make me squirm, remembering last night in great detail.
We were drunk…but goddamn did it feel good.
His strong, powerful body pinned my own down as he ground his naked cock against mine. It was equally horrifying because of who it was and the single most exquisite moment of my entire life. The lust won out as I eagerly chased my orgasm. However, the second reality came crashing in, the shame swept over me like a tidal wave.
Sick, sick Cove.
You liked blowing your kidnapper and you secretly like the man who would have raped and murdered you had your sister not sacrificed herself.
Guilt swarms in like a cloud of angry bees. I want to swat it away and blank out my mind, but the pain that’s now stabbing through my other nipple keeps me trapped in Dragon’s smoky haze.
Wex says something to me, explaining how I keep the piercings clean, and I attempt to pay attention, though it’s hard with Dragon practically setting the small room on fire with just one hot look.
“Uh, what?” I croak out, meeting Wex’s pervy stare.
“I said it’s natural to get aroused,” Wex drawls out, licking his cracked lips and then lowering his voice, “but if you need help taking care of this”—he boldly rubs his gloved palm over my erection in my jeans—“lose your guard dog and I’ll make sure it’s good for you.”
I go to shove his hand away, but it’s a fruitless effort because Dragon pounces like a lethal panther, lost to his own madness. He tackles Wex off the stool, sending them both crashing to the floor, instruments clattering all over the place. Dragon wails on him, punching him with the power of a god.
Oh, fuck.
He’s not punching.
Stabbing.
He’s fucking stabbing.
All I can do is stare in shock as Dragon drives deep holes into the struggling slob’s chest, stomach, and neck, blood spurting up in a vicious arc when he slices through an important artery.
Katana slides into the room, his sharp gaze quickly analyzing the situation. I expect him to haul Dragon off, but instead he crosses his arms and calls out to Nees in a bored tone, “Change of plans.”
Nees peeks into the room and groans. “Did I call it or did I call it, K?”