“Come here, Lily,” I said.
She frowned slightly but moved to stand beside me.
“Sit,” I said, gesturing toward my lap and the erection that had only barely relented.
“Are we going to…?” She trailed off, the faintest blush staining her brown cheeks.
“Maybe later. But first, we talk.” Though my physical desire for her was stronger than I’d ever felt for anyone, I was curious about her, wanted to know more about this woman who had affected me so. Somehow, I knew that these moments spent learning her would make our physical connection that much deeper.
“Okay,” she said tentatively.
Then she sat next to me, resting most of her weight on the leg she had planted on the floor. I anchored a hand on either side of her waist and lifted her to my lap, chuckling when she exhaled a surprised-sounding sigh. She held herself rigid but loosened when I centered her over me, the warm wetness of her sex against my stomach, my cock nestled between the curves of her ass.
“Legs around,” I said as I sat up, leaving space for her to link her legs behind my back. Once she settled, I exhaled at the sensation of her pussy against my stomach, my cock nestled against her spread sex, the awareness that we were so close, close enough that with a few movements I could be buried inside her, making my rethink my patience. But we’d talk first, and, I again rested against the headboard.
“Does this hurt?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Good.” Her comfort mattered to me, which was just another sign of how dangerous she was.
We sat silent, face-to-face, her weight, warmth, and wetness making it nearly impossible for me to ignore the need to bury myself inside her. I hardened against her, smiling when she lowered and pressed into me, though the need to take her rose up stronger. I pushed it down, though. There would be time for that, if and when I got my answers, but I was honest enough to admit that Lily above me was a monumental test of my self-control.
“So…um, we’re talking?” she finally said.
“Yes,” I replied.
We both laughed, and then silence reigned for a few moments longer before I said, “What’s your favorite color?”
“Purple,” she replied.
I looked around the room, noticing there wasn’t a hint of purple anywhere. There wasn’t much of anything with personality. None of the artifacts or personal touches I would have expected in her home.
“I haven’t had a chance to decorate,” she said, her gaze following the path my eyes and hand had previously traveled.
“When’s your birthday?” I asked.
“Shouldn’t you know? You’ve seen my license, after all,” she replied, lifting a brow in teasing displeasure.
I chuckled. “I do. It’s June nineteenth.”
“Good memory,” she said.
“It comes in handy,” I said.
“I’ll bet.”
She went silent again, and I met her hooded gaze, saw her interest—and her suspicion. Lily understood at least some of what Clan Constantin was, who I was, so her suspicion was understandable, smart even. I should have been used to it by now, and in a lot of ways, I was. But I hated seeing it in her, now, when I was close enough to slip inside her, after what we’d already shared today. I changed the subject.
“Hobbies?” I asked.
“Crime. Or rather, the study of crime,” she said immediately.
It seemed Lily had other ideas about changing the subject. She was probably curious, had every reason to be, and I shouldn’t begrudge her that, but I had no intention of going down this road with her.
Ever.
She watched me, and I could see she was waiting for a response.
“Interesting hobby,” I said blandly, trying to convey a nonchalance I didn’t feel.
“I never got good at quilting,” she said, a faint smile lifting the corner of her mouth.
I did the same, but my spirits were dampened, the single word bringing the world I had momentarily left behind back in full force.
“For some people, crime isn’t a hobby, Lily. It’s a business,” I said, hoping the statement was more of a nonanswer than an answer but still contained more than a kernel of truth to be enough for her.
“Or a way of life,” she interjected.
I nodded. “So why is crime, or rather, the study of crime, your hobby?” I asked, both curious and anxious to hear her answer, even though I wanted to change the subject. I wouldn’t go into this, but I was still learning a lot about her from this conversation, and I wanted to learn even more.
She glanced off, seeming lost in her thoughts. “It’s just a question I’ve wanted to answer for years.”
“What question?” I said.