Page 53 of Reaper's Desire

Brat.I feel a surge of desire heat my veins as I look at her. She's fucking fearless. That's not to say I haven't seen her scared, but she faces it all down anyway.

She drives me fucking insane.

We train for two hours straight, and it's the sweetest torture I've ever experienced. I show her how to throw a proper punch, my hands on her waist and shoulder, guiding her through the motion. I demonstrate defensive stances, adjusting her position with my hands on her hips. I teach her how to break free from holds, which means grabbing her, restraining her, and feeling her body struggle against mine.

Every touch is agony. Every moment of contact reminds me of Ibiza, of how she felt wrapped around me, of the sounds she made when she came. And every second that passes reminds me of the ticking clock we're on.

"What if someone grabs you from behind?" I ask, moving behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. "Your arms are trapped. How do you get free?"

She struggles against my grip, and I hold her firmly. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough that she can't break free easily. Her body is warm and solid against mine, and I can feel her breathing quicken. "Stop fighting my strength," I say, my mouth close to her ear. "You're smaller than me. You can't overpower me. So you use technique instead."

Isabelle huffs impatiently. "What technique?"

"Drop your weight. Make yourself heavy." I feel her body go slack in my arms. "Good. Now drive your elbow back into my ribs. Hard."

She does, and I let out a grunt of surprise. She didn't hold back. I feel my cock twitch, and suppress a groan. I've never been a masochist, but apparentlyanytouch from Isabelle turns me on, even if it's violent. "Good," I say, releasing her before she canfeel me getting hard behind her, for the umpteenth time over the last two hours. "Again."

We run through the scenario several more times, and each time she gets better, more confident. But each time I touch her, each time I pull her against me, the tension between us ratchets higher. The wanting becomes more unbearable. I feel like I'm being made to pay for every sin, here in this overheated room with the most beautiful woman I've ever seen wriggling against me while I tell my cock to stay soft.

"What if someone pins you against a wall?" she asks. There's no twitch to her lips, so she could be serious, but I have a feeling this is another trap. Like the necklace. Still…

This is a bad idea. I know it's a bad idea. But it's a valid question.

I back her up against the wall, placing my hands on either side of her head, caging her in. I can feel my heartbeat pick up as I do, and I see her pulse leap in her throat. "Like this?"

"Yeah." Her breathing is faster now, her pupils dilated. "What do I do?"

"You have several options. You can strike my throat, my eyes, or my groin. Or you can use my momentum against me." I lean in closer, demonstrating how an attacker would press their advantage. "If I'm leaning into you, you can drop down and slip out to the side."

But I don't move back. And she doesn't try to escape. We're inches apart, my body pressed against hers, both of us breathing hard. I can see her pulse fluttering in her throat, feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"Julian," she whispers.

My muscles are wound tight. My hands are inches from her. I could touch her so easily. Be inside of her in seconds. "We should stop."

Her chest heaves. "I don't want to stop."

"Isabelle—"

"I want you." Her hands come up to rest on my chest. "I want you so badly I can barely think straight. And I know you want me too. So why are we still pretending?"

Because I was hired to kill you. Because I was told I have less than a day to decide whether I'm going to put a bullet in your head. Because touching you now, when I should murder you, would be the cruelest thing I've ever done.

"This is a mistake," I say, but I don't move away. She feels like a magnet, pulling me in. Like dragging myself away from her would rip the skin from my body.

Her hands slide up to my neck, pulling me closer, and I can feel my control slipping. Every defense I've built, every wall I've erected, every reason I've given myself for keeping my distance—it's all crumbling under the weight of wanting her. I lean in, my forehead resting against hers, my hands moving from the wall to her waist. "If I kiss you, I won't stop."

Her forehead crinkles. "Good."

"Isabelle—"

"Stop talking." She rises up on her toes, closing the distance between us, and her lips brush against mine. The touch is electric, sending a shock of heat through my entire body. I make a sound low in my throat, a growl vibrating in my chest, and my hands flex against the wall.

God, she tastes fucking sweet. I hold myself rigid as her mouth traces over mine, my cock stiff again, every cell in my body protesting the distance between us. Her tongue dips into the seam of my lips, trying to deepen the kiss, and I can feel the imagined press of her soft breasts, the grip of her legs around me, the heat of her pussy on my cock like a phantom touch. Like everything I could have had if I just shifted a few inches closer.

"Please," she begs against my lips, and I groan, giving her exactly what she wants. My open mouth for her to plunder. Mycock jerks as her tongue slides against mine, and I feel more pre-cum leaking down my shaft, my balls tightening dangerously. "Julian," she breathes. "Please."

My muscles tremble with the force of holding myself back. My hands fist against the wall, trying not to grab her. If I touch her, I'll fuck her. I'll fuck her for hours, until we're both spent. My deadline will be up before I finish with her. We might both die fucking, because I won't know if someone comes through that door until it's too late…