Page 98 of Breaking Rosalind
My adrenaline spikes, and the monitors go apeshit. I grind my teeth and force in a deep breath to slow my pulse. “I can’t control who wants you dead.”
“Give me something,” he growls through clenched teeth.
“Okay.” I lick my lips, my heart fluttering with nerves, wishing I could think straight. “Don’t be at the same place at the same time. That makes you too much of a tempting target. If you do, then wear bulletproof vests.”
“How does that help protect our heads?” he asks with a sneer.
“It’s company policy not to damage the face so the corpse will be recognizable.”
“And you get paid.” Every word drips with venom.
His eyes bore into mine, his features hardening with judgment and scorn. He acts like my line of work is lower than his.
Forcing back the sting of his judgment, I hold his gaze. Cesare Montesano wouldn’t know how it feels to be powerless, outcast, and desperate to save a child from a life of abuse.
“It must be nice to be pampered with no responsibilities apart from keeping yourself alive,” I say. “Assassins make clean kills and don’t drag out people’s pain by torturing them or peddling drugs.”
He flashes his teeth. “You think you’re better than me?”
“Murder is just business,” I say.
His lip curls. “Anything else you want to share?”
“Have you ever thought of being less of an asshole? That could slash the number of people who want you dead.”
A sadistic cackle pierces my eardrums and makes my skin crawl with dread. What the hell possessed me to provoke this maniac and goad him to subject me to further horrors?
When he walks to the sink to wash his hands, my stomach plummets, and I imagine him sewing my mouth shut.
My heart pounds as he returns to the end of the table and stands between my spread legs.
“Still want to come?” he asks.
I stiffen.
This has to be a trick.
He unbuckles the chastity belt and rubs the pad of his finger over my swollen clit. Sparks of pleasure skitter across my sex, and the muscles of my pussy tighten with need.
I’ve wanted to come for hours, if not days.
“Are you... are you serious?” I choke out. “Because if this is another of your games?—”
“No game.”
As he makes gentle circles over my needy clit, a part of me wants to sob with relief. This is a hundred times more intimate than the chastity belt’s vibrator, and I’m so sensitive that I feel every ridge of his skin.
His slow strokes detonate tiny sparks along my nerves, burning slowly toward what’s going to be an explosive climax. If he even allows me to come.
Arousal makes my heart pound, and the muscles of my pussy clench and release in sync with Cesare’s finger. I glance at the monitors and shiver as my blood pressure and heart rate climb. No matter how slowly I force myself to breathe, I can’t control my body’s response.
Inhale. Stay calm. Exhale. Don’t spike. Inhale. Exhale.
Shit.
The numbers climb toward the dreaded threshold. I hold my breath, close my eyes, and try to stem the rising tide of arousal, but it’s no use. The alarms blare, making my ears ring with the shrill sound of my body’s betrayal.
Cesare’s finger slows to a halt.