Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [94]
Trace looked down at himself, then dropped his head back in loathing. God, he hurt. A deep, sexual hurt.
As if he’d indulged in hours of foreplay, his entire body throbbed with the need to ejaculate.
Helene stepped over him, one stiletto-clad foot at the outside of each of his knees. She’d unbuttoned her blouse to expose her breasts, and had hiked up her skirt to the top of her thighs.
The bawdy stance showed her lack of panties and her long bare legs. “Finally regained your wits, I see. I figured a guy in your superb shape would recover quicker, and you did.”
Trace stared at her, his hatred palpable. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He gasped as she leaned down and teased one finger along his rigid shaft. His back bowed, his breath hissing in.
“Nice. Very, very nice.” Positioning herself on her knees between his thighs, Helene licked her lips and bent to brush her cheek along his dick.
“Stop it!” Trace tried to rebel, to reject her, but he couldn’t move more than a few inches either way. “You sicken me, Helene.”
“And yet—” she held him in her soft, hot hand “—you’re so hard for me.”
“Hard from whatever you had in that needle. Not for you. Never for you.”
She smiled and, still holding him in one hand, stroked her nails over his bare chest. “I have a thing for hairy chests. How did you know?”
“Stop this.” He hoped he sounded calmer than he felt. Even though she only held him, her hand still, her fingers not too tight, he felt on the verge of exploding. “Helene, listen to me…”
“I can’t wait to taste you, Trace. All of you. I want you to come in my mouth. What do you think about that?”
Succinct, to the point, Trace said, “I’ll kill you.”
Smiling, Hell stroked her fingernails along the inside of his knee. “Murray won’t like that.”
“He won’t like you sucking my cock, either.”
“So maybe we won’t tell him about that.” She leaned down and licked the inside of his thigh.
At the touch of her hot, moist tongue, Trace almost lost it. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth and thought about Priss.
Helene ended the lick just short of his testicles. “You know, if Murray found out about any of this, he would take it out on both of us.” Using her thumb, she teased the head of his cock.
It was maddening, and Trace knew if she didn’t stop, he’d come. And then he heard a sound, faint but distinct.
Someone had just entered the connecting room.
Damn, damn, damn.
Had Jackson left Priss alone? Was that exactly what Helene had wanted? Maybe she’d had someone follow Jackson after all and knew that Priss would be vulnerable—
Helene lifted her head. “Did you hear something?”
Trace was relieved to see her looking genuinely surprised by the possible intrusion. “Yeah, I did. It was me complaining.” He spoke loud enough to cover up any more telltale noise from the other room. “Stop and think, Helene. If you do this, Murray will find out—”
“Shhh.” Putting a finger to his lips, she cocked her head to listen. “Be quiet.” She stood and went to the table for his gun.
No. “First you think to rape me, and now you plan to shoot someone?” Attention divided by his bodily needs and his compulsion to keep others safe, Trace’s voice sounded more raw than usual. “You said it yourself that we don’t want the police involved. But if you fire that gun, no way in hell will you keep them away.”
“True.” She turned thoughtful, and then lifted his stun baton instead, hefting it in her hand, testing the weight of it.
Trace cursed low. It wasn’t easy to focus with blood burning through his veins, his skin on fire and his cock twitchy, but he tried.
“That’s not much better, Helene. You could still kill with that, and if you leave behind a victim—”
“You mean other than you?”
Hard-jawed, Trace nodded. “Yes, other than me. Murray won’t easily accept a mess of yours that he has to clean up.
“Perhaps.” She came back to crouch over him.
Though the nearness of that baton left