Page 24 of Fuse

“Depends.” I nudge her crotch with mine. “Are you in the visual too? Like this?”

“Hmmm.” She lets me lean her back a little, going at her neck again with my mouth as I glide a hand in for an eager cop at her breast before softly venturing, “That…errrm…depends.”

I still my ravishment. Even stop my fingers from fully yanking at her nipple as I was originally planning. “On what?”

“On whether Angelique’s there with us too.”

I drop my hand all the way. Rear back to explore her face in full. “You’re serious.”

It’s definitely not a question. She nods anyway. Bites at her lip even harder.

Hell.

She’s not just serious. She’s nervous.

“I think we need to talk about some boundaries, Reece.”

Perplexed grimace. Really perplexed. “About Angie?”

“About Angelique. Your ex-lover. And the fact that with her cover now made, she’s a recognizable fugitive from the Consortium too. And the fact that a member of our team, still in their captivity, is responsible for that—which makes us responsible for that. But with responsibility, there are rules. And with this responsibility, they’re my rules.”

She straightens, possessing the pride of an Amazonian even with pink handcuff marks on her wrists and dampened curls between her thighs, reminders of the multiple orgasms I’ve just ordered her to have.

Dear fuck.

I’ve never been in more awe of the woman.

Of any woman.

Chapter Six

Emma

Why does the expression on the man’s face make me yearn to forget this fungus of a subject and just haul him back into bed with me? Only this time, he’ll be the one on the bottom. Maybe even wearing the handcuffs…

But fate, with its sick sense of humor, lets a distinct group of sounds break into our sanctuary. They’re coming from the dining room and kitchen. Laughter. First Lydia and Joany together—but then joined by Angelique.

Right. The subject. And the fact that it can’t be put on hold.

But even before the glaring reminder, Reece turns our embrace into a handclasp. He maintains the hold while pulling me into the small sitting area adjacent to the bedroom. “While your rule-making la reine mode makes me want to lay my ‘scepter’ into your palm in a dozen ways, maybe it’s best that we get away from the bed.” As we pass the closet, he scoops my satin bathrobe off the hook just inside and then thrusts it at me. “And that you get into this as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

My comeback is automatic, perhaps even natural, given the growl beneath his words. At once, he casts back a look that’s almost censuring, upending the energy between us once again. “Ohhhh, no you don’t.” Then emphasizes the flip by laying me down onto the Craftsman-style couch—before sinking to his knees on the floor next to me. The muscles of his shoulders visibly bunch as he folds my hands between his. When he lifts his gaze again, its steady, steel-colored strength wraps around me. “You are my queen, Emma Crist. Your rules are my commands. Let’s hear every single one of them.”

Well, damn it.

I open my mouth because I owe him that much, not because any words will follow. I’ll get there, just not at the moment. Not as I work my mind around the sight of my strapping superhero of a man kneeling before me in his kick-ass leather pants and nothing else, the beautiful physical embodiment of the words he’s already given me without hesitation or constraint.

Holy shit.

I love him so.

“Damn it.” The oath falls out of me just as the soft tears do, seeping even as Reece ducks his head over and under, leaning in like everything else in his world has fallen away. So of course, my tears get heavier and harder.

“Okay.” He extends the word a little, vocalizing obvious confusion. “Is that a good ‘damn it,’ or…”

“Both.” I sniff.