Page 32 of Altered By Lead (Undercover Sinners 2)
"I think you know."
I still. "Know what?"
The bet. He means the bet. He knows I know about the bet. But how?
He grins, nodding like I just confirmed his suspicion. "Hawke's an idiot, for the record. Were you listening or did someone tell you?"
I clamp my lips shut and fight for a neutral expression, but he just eyes me shrewdly. Holy fucking damn, how did I overlook how observant Weston is? Mother. Fucker.
"The Natalia we held captive in that church would have been stripped naked and riding my cock like it was made of cocaine right now." He cocks his head to the side, his eyes predatory as he probably pictures that. He’s right, though. Their bet is the only thing holding me back from everyone bar Arsen. Sex with Arsen doesn't count because he's a fucking psychopath.
"So now what?" I ask, unable to hide my curiosity. What's he hoping to achieve by confronting me on this?
Weston draws a pensive breath, placing the half empty vodka bottle on the bedside table then bracing a hand on either side of me. He only touches the mattress but he's so far up in my business he may as well have hands all over me.
"Now … now I want to cut a deal with you, sweetheart." A mischievous grin lights his face up, and I can't help myself, I grin back.
"What kind of deal?" Alcohol sits warm in my stomach and my limbs are all tingly. It's taking all my fucking restraint not to close that small gap between us and grab one of West's lip piercings in my teeth.
His hooded gaze takes a quick tour of my body—or as much as he can see under my baggy clothes—then returns to my face with fire in the rich brown depths. "Let me win."
I splutter a laugh, shaking my head. "Wh-what? Not a chance in hell, West!"
Even as I shut him down, a little voice in my head laughs at me, but I smother it fast. There's no way I'm falling in love with these pricks. No fucking way.
He rolls his eyes at my protest, but his smile doesn't falter. "Come on, Natalia. I'll split the winnings with you. Seventy-thirty."
"Hah!" I scoff. "You're dreaming. Unless you mean seventy to me and thirty to you?"
He chuckles and leans closer still, his warm lips just a hair’s breadth from my neck. So close I feel like my pulse is about to jump from my skin and smack him in the mouth.
"Fine," he breathes, and I stifle a moan as his breath heats my skin. "Fifty-fifty."
I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back the whimper threatening to escape, but cant do anything about the way I tip my head back and basically hand deliver him an invitation to my body.
"How much money are we talking?" I answer, and cringe when I hear how needy and lust-filled my voice is.
"Two million," he whispers, placing a teasing kiss over my galloping pulse. "Each."
"Oh, fuck." I lose the tenuous hold on my willpower and crash my lips into his with a desperate groan. Not that he's complaining. Weston meets me head on, shoving me back into his crazy soft mattress and basically climbing on top of me.
For a few moments we're all hands and lips, teeth and tongues while we strip each other in a frenzy. It's not until I'm in nothing but my saggy old lady bra and panties that my brain catches up and I push Weston back a couple of inches.
"Hold up," I pant, trying to create space between us and really just getting distracted by the hard planes of West's chest. Fucking hell, he’s cut. My trysts with Arsen have become so wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am that I never get to just play anymore. And good fucking god, don't start me on the last time I got an orgasm during sex with him. Selfish prick.
Weston's tongue swipes over his lower lip, teasing at his piercings and making my focus waiver again. Shit. What was I saying?
"Natalia ...?" he prompts, and I shake my head slightly.
"I don't—" I swallow, finding my breath. "I don't know what I was going to say."
"Does that mean I can take these ugly fucking undergarments off you now?" His hot gaze rakes down my chest, and I shrug one shoulder coquettishly. I seem cool on the outside, but on the inside, my body’s in a hot panic.
Fuck yes. Yes, get me naked!
"Hawke needs to be punished for these," Weston growls, sitting back slightly with the grayish, full coverage briefs in one hand and the shapeless, wide-strap bra in the other. "This is just ... sick."
A laugh bubbles out of me as he scowls at the garments, and it's just enough to shake my sex haze a tiny bit.
"Wait," I say again. He tosses my granny panties over his shoulder, but I halt him with a hand to his chest when he tries to kiss me again.
