Page 114 of Safe Word

Her gaze stayed on mine, half-lidded, a thrum of something dangerous passing between us.

Then she opened her mouth. ‘It’s not… smart,’ she murmured, her voice low but lucid. I raised my chin, my interest zeroing in on her lips as they formed the words. ‘Sometimes the drug has… odd effects on me.’

It was a quiet admission, stretched.

The unrelenting tension vibrated low in my groin until a twist of nausea ripped through me – this wasn’t her, this was the effect of the drug.

She shifted slightly, and the movement drew my eyes to the lace of her stocking, peeking out from beneath the hem of her dress. I clenched my jaw, trying to pull myself back from the edge, but the strain had become a living thing, pulsing between us like a held breath.

‘I don’t want to ruin this,’ she continued, her tone firmer, though there was slight frailty in her words.

‘Ruin what?’ I asked, my mind on autopilot as I laboured to keep my hands off that goddamn lace.

‘Us.’ Her voice dipped, low and uncertain.

My gaze snapped to hers, heat surging.

She blinked slowly, then added, quieter, ‘Professionally.’

My mouth went dry.

Professionally. Right.

The word hit like ice – clean.

Necessary.

‘You should go,’ she murmured.

But I couldn’t fucking move.

Somewhere in the haze of her words, I realised I’d been leaning in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. My hand, almost absently, brushed the edge of her stocking, my thumb grazing the textured edge of the lace that mimicked the garter. Soft ruffles whispered, secret seams smiled open. The softness of her skin beneath it shot through me, my breath catching as her citrusy scent drifted around us.

‘I can’t,’ I murmured low.

Before I could say another word, the cool press of metal met the soft flesh under my chin. I hadn’t even seen her take it from under her pillow, but there it was. And the fierce change in her had the dark, feral monster in me jumping to its feet.

I held her eyes, my pulse threatening to burst out of my ribcage.

A small, matte black barrel was steady against my skin. Her finger hovered near the trigger, surprisingly steady as her body fought the haze.

Oh… shit.

She had no fucking idea what that did to me. She couldn’t have known.

Something twisted in me and flared like a beacon. She had no idea what she had just done.

No fucking idea.

This wasn’t a warning – it was a provocation, her defiance peeling back every barrier I struggled to keep away from.

My body responded instantly, heat and pressure pulling low in my core as I imagined what I could do to her. What she would fucking let me do, whether she realised it or not.

In a different setting – one where her mind wasn’t fogged – I wanted to take that gun from her hand and press it back to her lips. I wanted to let her feel the cold steel as I traced it down her neck, across her chest, lower. I wanted to claim that power back – not to dominate her, but to feel her shake beneath something far more dangerous: trust. I wanted to hear her gasping my name as I fucked her with that goddamn barrel.

But more than that, I wanted her because she wasn’t weak. She wasn’t fragile, not in the way I’d thought. Vulnerable, yes, but only momentarily. And yet, here she was, staring me down with unflinching resolve, daring me to test her.

Shame hit.