Page 62 of Connor's Claim

“I don’t even know how to use this.”

“Easy. It’s already set up. Hit that button.” He pointed to a pedal on the counter, attached by a wire to the gun and to the wall socket the other way.

I pressed it, and the buzzing started again, vibrating my fingers.

“You’re crazy for wanting me to do this.”

“I’m crazy for a lot of reasons, sweetheart.”

I breathed through my nose, then accepted the challenge. “Take your shirt off, then. I don’t want it in the way.”

Connor released me and tore his shirt off in one easy move, then returned to surrounding me. The warmth of his chest thrilled my back.

He tapped the hilt of a broken knife on his forearm. “Practice outlining that.”

“How hard?”

“Work it out.”

I leaned closer, and Connor took another delicious squeeze of my breast again.

I hovered the needle over his skin, suddenly scared. “I don’t want to mess this up. It’s a permanent scar.”

“Everything ye do to me fits that description.”

“Be serious.”

He pinched my nipple. Hard. I gasped.

“Focus, Everly. Every time ye stall, I’m going to ramp up what I’m doing to ye. Put your mark on me.”

His touching me more didn’t sound like a threat, but I concentrated on the design on his skin. There were several knives together in a display, the hilt of the broken one morefaded than the others. As lightly as I could, I touched the needle to his skin. Pierced it. I danced the gun back.

“Good girl. Mark my skin.”

“But…”

“It’s a very fine needle so ye cannae go wrong. Keep going.”

I moved in again, drawing the tip down in a straight line, concentrating on getting it right. “Am I doing okay?”

He groaned and kissed my shoulder, his fingers of both hands flexing, one set on the polished counter and the other on my skin.

“Don’t stop.”

I took a breath and started again, moving to the other side of the knife. Connor’s fingers landed on my hip, and I jumped.

“You’ll make me mess up.”

“Then concentrate better.”

His hand moved to my waistband, then without warning, he yanked down my leggings and underwear and palmed me between the legs. I moaned, my eyes closing. He speared over my soaked centre, his gruff sound of need boosting my throb of desire.

Instantly, I wanted more, no matter how much we’d already done, but also I was embarrassed by how wet I was for him. A glance spared for the tall window not ten feet away sent another spike of panic and lust through me.

“Why have ye stopped?” he asked.

“I…I…”