Page 10 of Ruthless Sinner
Like clockwork, around eleven Marco showed up. I wasn’t even aware of him coming in the door. It just felt like he was suddenly there, sitting in front of me while I finished up my routine.
He wasn’t getting comfortable in the chair and sprawling his legs out like he had before. He’d been teasing me then. He’d spent a month watching me, practically drooling over me, but carefully avoiding doing anything other than that—simply letting me know through the bulge in his pants how much he wanted me. That all I had to do was approach him, and he was all in, as I’d learned last night.
Now, though—now he was sitting with his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, his gaze dark and intense as he watched me hook a leg around the steel pool and lazily spin around it. He looked amazing, I had to admit. There was a rakish five o’clock shadow highlighting his jaw, his black hair was artfully mussed like he’d been running his fingers through it, and as usual he was wearing clothes that were clearly designer but also clearly casual.
He looked every inch the playboy. And I’d be lying if I said everything about him didn’t turn me on. This was probably something I should’ve mentioned to Johnson. Or the bureau shrink. Or anybody. But I’d always been drawn to… bad boys.
Sure, there was some psychological mumbo jumbo behind it. Me, the straightlaced, top grades, FBI agent always dating the risky guys who rode motorcycles and had a loose relationship with the law. I’d even tried dating another FBI agent to—I don’t know, cure myself of that dangerous attraction? Of course Jared had been painfully boring and also painfully inconsiderate, the kind of man who thought only about himself, so that plan was a bust.
But the fact was—Marco was exactly the type of man I’d have an ill-advised hookup with, and that might be more of a problem than I’d anticipated if I was getting turned on dancing for him.
His heavy-lidded gaze bore into me. There was no longer any of the lazy, come hither looks he’d given me for a month. Now he looked like a growl was trapped in his throat, like he was a wolf after prey. That prey being me.
I shivered at his determined demeanor. It looked like I wouldn’t have to do much to convince him to pick things up where they’d been left off last night.
I finished my routine as the current song ended, and went to get a drink of water from the bar, acting like I hadn’t really cared whether or not Marco was watching me. But suddenly, I could feel the heat of him behind me, smelled his Dior cologne, and paused.
My stomach swirled with awareness. Most men who wore expensive cologne… the cologne wore them, instead of the other way around. Marco’s choice actually suited him.
I finished my drink, took a deep breath, then turned around to face him. “You know, sneaking up on a woman is a dangerous thing to do.”
Marco raised an eyebrow. “I’m used to danger. Mind if I borrow you for the rest of the night?”
I preferred the term…use one another. It had a more impersonal ring to it and made me feel better about the whole… having sex with a mark kind of thing. But Marco already insisted on sayingborrow, like my time was mine and he was just taking some of it for himself, and giving it back. Like nothing was truly being taken from me.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“Handsome, if you can pay, you can borrow meeverynight,” I replied flirtatiously.
“I’ve already paid and reserved our room,” he said, giving me a smile that was pure, confident sin laced with a hint of danger.
I probably should’ve been more concerned about that danger element. I was seeing up close a harder edge to him than I’d seen before, evidence of the violent Russos I had heard so much about in my research of his family—but instead I just felt the thrum of anticipation.
He took my hand and nodded at the bartender, leading me back to the Swan Room. It was the private room with the brightest lights, and once again I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. I felt far more seen and exposed than I would’ve liked.
The moment the door closed behind us, Marco pressed me against it and took my face in those big hands of his—far more carefully than I would’ve thought, like I was something precious—and then he kissed me.
It was passionate, but not the kind of raw, uncontrolled passion I expected from him. It was soft and searching and sensual. It was our first kiss, I realized. We hadn’t kissed at all last time.
No, last time had felt a lot more like I’d expected—rough, demanding, sexual. After a month of Marco making it clear he wanted to fuck me, after a month of him staring at me, he’d ordered me to blow him and then he’d fingered me to orgasm. That was the kind of dirty, filthy things that happened in these private rooms. Not… not this.
Being a stripper, I was one step up from a prostitute if I was being honest here, but that wasn’t how Marco was kissing me. He kissed me like he wanted only me, that I was all that mattered to him in this moment.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. Partly because I had to for my role, and partly because, well… he was a damn good kisser. Make that anamazingkisser. He slowly deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue between my parted lips, coaxing me into sliding my tongue against his, and I felt my body melting in spite of myself.
Marco slid his arm around my waist, pressing me up against him, and I immediately felt how hard he was. The memory of that hot cock in my mouth surged through me, along with all the dirty things I hadn’t let myself think about last night in the shower or in bed, lecturing myself to keep a firm line between me and my mark… all of it fell away and all I could think about was howgoodit had been.
Especially the idea of that thick shaft moving inside of me.
I wanted him to fuck me. Of course I did. He was sexy and if I was going to get anything for myself out of this job it might as well be a good orgasm that didn’t come from my own hand.
Would it really be so bad to let myself enjoy this, and him?
Marco groaned encouragingly, nipping at my bottom lip and then continuing the kiss as I pressed myself completely against him, the long line of my body fitting against his broad, muscled one.
He really was all muscle, firm everywhere, no give to him. It occurred me that those broad hands currently oh-so-gently cradling my face could also crush my throat without even breaking a sweat. This was a violent man, raised in violence, and I was at his mercy.
All that gentleness would vanish if he knew what I was, who I was, and my true purpose here.
