Page 5 of The Wrong Monster

I stalk after her, a fire in my blood now that can’t be dampened.

I want her. And whether she decides to fight back or not, she’s mine.

“I think there’s some kind of misunderstanding,” she breathes, eyes darting to her discarded purse, which is behind me now. It’s still well out of her reach.

She’s in the kitchen, and I back her further into the suite, until it truly does turn into a cat-and-mouse game.

She darts around the loveseat, but I’m faster and catch her around the waist. When my fingers lace into the tight pull of her ponytail, she lets out a little gasp. It’s obviously of desire and not pain.

I steal another kiss, this one more demanding. My lips slant over hers to devour that gasp and a whimper slips from her parted mouth. Taking the opportunity, I taste her, tongue pressing hers before I pull back and suck her bottom lip.

Breathing heavily, she practically begs, “Let me just get my purse⁠—”

I shake my head, thumb running under her jaw. My other hand pressed to her lower back where I feel the heat of her body and her taut muscles.

She wants this just as badly as I do. It’s as clear as those blue eyes blitzed out from just a kiss. A kiss that felt like a galaxy opening up.

“Men like me don’t give anyone the opportunity to pull a weapon.” The sentence grinds out, and it’s almost embarrassing how hoarse this want has me. Her hands are at my hips, not pushing me away but holding me there, the heat of my erection between us, her breasts practically spilling out of the tight top confining them.

For a moment, I think she’s going to argue. Instead, she catches me off guard by pressing up on the balls of her feet and kissing me.

Despite the fact that she’s smaller than me, almost delicate if not for the muscles beneath those tight clothes, she goes to battle over this kiss. Her hands fist in the tails of my shirt and her tongue sweeps across my teeth before I can catch up.

“Blyat’, woman.”

Hands on her waist again, I lift her and turn her, walking her back toward the bedroom. She’s so focused on getting the upper hand in the battle of lips, tongue, and teeth that we’re through the doorway in moments.

She stops only when she feels the mattress hit the back of her thighs.

“What—”

We part, and she takes the room in with a sweep of those misty eyes. She’s panting, as am I, but she doesn’t panic or make a move to run.

Slowly, I reach up with both hands, hook my fingers under the straps of her top, and yank them down.

Her breasts spill out, bouncing tantalizingly. Her nipples are pink-brown and perfect; they harden immediately.

Teasingly, I cup both breasts and flick my thumbs over her nipples. She makes a frustrated, desperate sound, swaying toward me. Her fingers are at my waistline, digging below it, looking for that heat that I can feel pounding through my veins and in my head, devouring me.

“I don’t need to know your name,” I rumble, more fire now. My hand falls to hers, wrapping around her wrist.

Her eyes are glued to mine. I want to pull her to me, feel her breasts crush against my chest, peel the rest of these ridiculous clothes off of her tight body and fuck her until we can’t form a coherent thought.

“But I can promise you that you’ll leave here satisfied.”

The handcuff clicks around her wrist.

Chapter 3

Matilda

As the handcuffs click into place around my right wrist, the first thing I establish is that I’ve officially met the wrong criminal.

Fantastic.

Somewhere in this very hotel, my actual informant is probably wondering why I never showed up. Little does he know I’m handcuffed to a stranger’s bed, floors away.

And the worst part?