What would he do if I said yes? With the reminder of the blood that surely still dripped down my kitchen cupboards, I was going to let that curiosity go.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll tell you, and then you can tell me how many women you’ve screwed. It’ll be like show and tell”—I feigned a pout—“without the showing, sadly.”

He wasn’t amused in the slightest.

I tried to imagine him with other women, what it would look like. I couldn’t picture him making out on a couch. That was my favorite: kissing, rubbing, grinding. Getting so worked up there was no return.

My next words were soft and sensual. I wished I could say it was all for the game, but even the thought of pressing my mouth to this man’s sent a shiver through me.

“Do you kiss, Officer?”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t respond. He only watched me with a dry, half-lidded stare that conveyed I wasn’t worthy of a single word from him.

My heart pattered to an awkward beat.

I never had preferred large men . . . but, God, I wanted a taste of this one.

His eyes narrowed as I slid from the island and walked toward him. Stepping close enough to feel his heat, I grabbed his glass and took a sip.

I suddenly wanted to know how this man fucked—if his OCD tendencies came to the bedroom, or if it made him even dirtier.

I stepped on each of his shoes and then rose to my tiptoes. With a shot of vodka on my tongue, my lips hovered close to his. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to bite and lick. My breasts brushed his chest and heat shot straight to my core. When his lips parted, I let the liquor trickle from my mouth to his. Pure lust erupted inside me so violently I grew dizzy. I ran my hands up his abs, curled my fingers into his chest, as if I could claw my way through his shirt. He was so hard and warm, and smelled so good I could get lost in him.

Sliding a hand up his neck and grabbing a fistful of hair, I pushed the rest of the liquid into his mouth with my tongue.

Hot. Wet. Exhilarating. My stomach swooped and dived, stealing my breath. I knew without a doubt that sharing a sip of vodka with this dirty fed was the most thrilling thing I had ever done.

Butterflies on fire fluttered through my veins as his tongue slid across mine. With a rough sound from deep in his chest, he sucked the alcohol from it. And then he bit my lip hard enough I yelped and fell back a step.

My lips tingled.

My heart pounded in my ears.

I couldn’t catch my breath.

“You’re playing with fire, sweetheart.” His voice was black velvet set out to freeze.

I secretly loved it when he called me sweetheart. It was rare, but every time he did, there was this rough lilt to it I couldn’t place. And it always rolled down my spine in the same way: electric.

His gaze was so cold it gave me chills, and in some careless, terrifying manner I’d never seen from the strait-laced fed, he dropped his tumbler to the floor. It shattered across the tile, sending a tremor through me.

I eyed the shards of glass and muttered, “That’s going to be a mess to clean up.”

“You couldn’t survive me, Gianna.” It was just a statement of fact. “Nothing fragile ever does.”

Staring at a piece of glass that was so close to my feet it reflected my sparkly nail polish, the broken tumbler took on another meaning.

It was me, after this man was done with me.

The panic attack he’d witnessed two years ago was suddenly loud between us. And, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the last he’d ever see.

My mind was spinning, and I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “You killed Charming.”

He didn’t blink at the nickname. “He’s not the first.”

“And won’t be the last?” I mused. “What about me, Officer? Would you kill me?”

I held my breath as he stepped forward, lightly grasping my throat.

“It would make my life a lot easier,” he drawled, caressing my fluttering pulse with a thumb before pressing down on it slightly. His hand on me, rough, and covered in the blood of all his enemies—and most likely innocents—shouldn’t affect me the way it did. But I was burning up, and I needed more. So much more.

Nonetheless, he stepped away from me.

I turned to follow him with my eyes as he walked around the island. “I know you probably already feel awful about it, but you missed my birthday this year.”

“Awful,” he agreed, his voice dry.

“See, I knew it. But that’s okay, because you can make it up to me now.”

“Ah.” A small smile pulled on a corner of his lips. “You want your present.”

Of the physical sort, yes. I wanted my clothes off. I wanted to drop to my knees and make this man feel good. I wanted his hands on me, his head between my legs. And if I survived all of that, I wanted him inside me. I knew it would be the best sex I’d ever had.

My eyes must have conveyed my thoughts, because his gaze darkened. “I’m not one of your admirers. I’m not going to hold my dick and pine over you, just waiting for the day you might choose me. If I fuck you, Gianna, nobody else ever will.”

My stomach dropped, and I almost choked on my next breath.

“If you don’t get your ass out of my apartment while you still can”—his voice drifted to a dark rasp—“there’s no going back from this.”

A shiver rolled down my spine.

He would tie himself to a relationship with me just because we’d had sex? Why? I was sure he didn’t apply the same stipulations to his other women, or surely, they’d all agree animatedly. Maybe he was just trying to scare me, but regardless, I wasn’t going to underestimate him this time, not now that I knew he was his own man and that he could easily hold my future in his palm if he wanted to.

I didn’t want another man controlling my life, especially one who hated that he was even attracted to me.

A piece of glass cut into my foot, and I winced but quietly made my way to the door. “This has been riveting, but, honestly, it’s a little intense for a first date. I’m going to have to be more particular about who I swipe right on from now on.”

His narrowed gaze fell to my feet. “You’re bleeding.”

I laughed with an angry edge. “Don’t get me started on blood, Allister. You’re buying me a new rug.”

“Stop.”

I ignored him. “By the way, I had to convince Shaniqua I was your girlfriend and that I thought you were a cheating bastard. Hope that’s okay.”

Before I realized he was so close, he grabbed me by the waist from behind and picked me up. It felt like I was a Pollyanna doll being tugged around. “Put me down, Allister. I don’t sleep with feds.”

“If I decided I wanted you, sleep is not the word I would use.”

He set me on the bathroom counter, and for some reason, a rush of nerves shot through me.

“Why don’t you want me?” I asked. “Is it because your good looks would pale beside mine?”

His eyes were lazy and unamused as he reached behind me and opened a cabinet. His arm singed as it brushed mine. His body heat overwhelmed me. And his deep, masculine scent made my head dizzy. My limbs felt heavy and light all at once, my skin buzzing like a live wire.

Out of breath, I watched him set a bottle of peroxide, a cotton ball, and a Band-Aid next to me.