If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

broken glass under his feet.
    She smiled at him and rubbed herself harder. “You want to fuck me in here?” she whispered, batting her lashes at him, giving him what she must assume was a seductive smile.
    He smiled back and slipped a hand into his pocket. He needed a rubber. And a gag.
    “Yes.” He leaned in, kissed her, taking pleasure in it, giving her pleasure in return, smiling inwardly as she stilled, then sighed and shuddered against him. She whimpered in pleasure, and that pleased him.
    All the while, her hands ran all over him and he let her do just that. When he pulled a rubber from his pocket, she grabbed it from him and put it on him, although he was careful to catch the wrapper, tucking it inside a zippered pocket, keeping it nice and safe.
    Couldn’t leave any fingerprints lying around after all. After he dealt with the wrapper, he found a thin pair of gloves, balled them up in his fist, so she wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t see.
    She curled her hand around him, started to stroke, but he stopped her by reaching down, cupping her. She wasn’t wet enough, not yet. Oh, he couldn’t have that. A bit of finessing, a bit of patience … and a few more kisses and she was mewling into his mouth, shaking and rocking against him, desperate, all but begging. He made certain she came before he did anything else.
    That was one of his favorite parts.
    Now it was almost time for the next favorite. He pulled his gloves on, quickly, quietly, kissing her to keep her from paying attention. Although she was so strung out, and still riding high on the orgasm, she might not have noticed anyway.
    When he leaned back, her lashes were low, shielding her eyes.
    He reached up, stroked a hand down her cheek. Then, as her lashes started to flutter, he fisted a hand in her long golden curls and slammed her head back against the brick, once, twice, three times.
    Hard—hard enough to stun her and as she sagged against him, silent, he slipped the gag into place. Once that was done, he glanced around once more.
    Dark, damn dark.
    She moaned, her head slumped against his chest. He steadied her, lifted her. Waited until she roused before he did anything else. It just wouldn’t be much fun unless she was awake. Who wanted to fuck a motionless stick?
    Her lashes lifted and he saw the moment fear began to slide into her eyes. That was when he pushed inside.
    She didn’t start to fight right away though.
    She was still confused, thanks to the drugs in her system, and the blows to her head probably weren’t helping. To aid that confusion along, he stroked her clit and murmured, “I love a bad girl who likes to play games.”
    She blinked and looked delightfully confused over the gag and as he started to pull out, she tightened aroundhim—a startled, harsh moan ripping from her behind the gag.
    She reached up, tried to pull it away. He caught her hands in one of his, slammed them over her head. Watched as that flicker of fear bloomed into something larger. She tried to pull away.
    “No, Katia … it’s part of the game.
My
game.” He laughed as she started to struggle in earnest.
    Watching her, he rested a hand on her neck, lightly at first, as he peered into her clearing eyes. No longer clouded by lust, no longer clouded by pain, and even the lingering effects of the drugs she’d been tossing back were clearing. Adrenaline could do that.
    It wasn’t fun, though, to let it end too fast. He let her have one hand free, resting his own on her neck.
    He squeezed and watched as she reached up, raking her nails across his hands. Or trying to. She felt his gloves and freaked out. He chuckled as she started to fight. And that really did it for him. As his cock swelled and his balls drew tight, he wedged his forearm against her neck and whispered, “Didn’t your mama teach you not to talk to strange men, Katia?”
    Her name was Kathleen Hughes, not Katia.
    But Kathleen was such a boring name … such a good girl name and she was so tired of people thinking she was a good girl.
    She was twenty-four, damn it. Living on her own, having a good time, living her own life, living her own life and having fun. Tired of people expecting her to do what
they
wanted, tired of people expecting things of her, or even just being disappointed in her when she fucked up.
    That was what she would have said if anybody had asked a few hours earlier.
    So what if she was a little bit miserable lately? So what if she was missing her mom? Missing Jared,