Still Not Love
Faye’s Point of View (our heroine)
I’m still mulling my career prospects when a new shape catches my eye. I suck in a deep, trembling breath.
There. It’s him.
The driver’s side door of the lead SUV opens, and even the way the door opens reminds me of those meticulous, careful movements, like he’s aware constantly that his own body is a blade and with the slightest wrong movement, he could destroy an innocent bystander.
It’s an instant slug to my gut. Something between hate and sad and longing.
Even dressed for the weather in black gloves and a thick jacket over his suit, he’s neat and crisp and so perfectly put together. That subtle air of menace around him always reminds me exactly why girls always love those sinister, elegant, wickedly sadistic movie villains.
It’s not just that he looks like he could kill a man with his pinky finger.
It’s that he looks like he could twist your body up into a million knots without even trying, and then smile in that slow, serpentine way he has as you explode into stars everywhere and completely fall apart. He could be Lucifer himself, fallen angel and master of hell. Or maybe just the quintessential bad boy.
Unfortunately for me, the way my lungs pull tight and the heat in the pit of my belly, tells me far too well how true that is.
James Nobel is dangerous in more ways than one.
He’s a complete and utter demon in bed, and he’ll make you develop kinks you didn’t realize were possible. My toes scrunch and I’m instinctively biting my lip.
I had no idea, until one fateful night on a training mission, that I apparently have a thing for lying naked and vulnerable under a fully-dressed man in a three-piece suit, while he strokes every inch of my body, slips his fingers inside me, works me into a fever, and then leaves me breathless and hovering on the edge.
Refusing to bring me over the edge until I admit in broken, gasping whispers that I need him, crave him, can’t live another second without his fire.
He’s got such sensitive hands, too. Hands that can play a woman’s body the same way he plays piano keys…and he used them ruthlessly.
Until I came completely undone. Always after I thought I’d gotten under his skin and broken his control.
Instead, I’d only learned he was just as good at controlling my body as he is at controlling his own.
Leave a Reply.