"Tell me, what am I going to find if I keep going?" His fingers inched closer. Her heart raced. "Are you damp?" he furthered another inch up her thigh, "wet?" he smiled wickedly, and she gushed from the inside out. "Or, will you be drenched, sweetheart?"

Nala bit her lip. The forecast was indeed a flood warning. She wanted him to continue with this splendid tempest, to break every dam. She needed him to dip his fingers into the deep pool of her desire.

The side of his mouth kicked up, "What's wrong? Have I rendered you speechless?" he taunted.

Nala found strength from his cockiness, from the challenge in his baiting tone. "No, I'm just wondering when you're going to stop teasing me," she wielded her sexiest smile, "and finish what you've started."

He released a deep, throaty chuckle. His finger was now close to her inner flesh, a mere stroke away, "Hot and sassy," he drawled. His eyes boldly bathed her. They twinkled with a feral passion. "Don't worry sweetheart this is going to be the best night of your life," he said and nearing her aching pussy, he squeezed her thigh with the tips of his fingers pulling her heated flesh, "but you're only going to come when I say you can and not one second sooner." He withdrew slightly from the begging wetness between her thighs, possibly for another tormenting tease. She went from on fire to frosty to completely frozen as the thought came to her. Did he feel it?

Suddenly staring down the barrel of her own gun, she had her answer.

With narrowed eyes, he made an annoying clicking sound from the corner of his mouth as he turned to inspect her gun, the one he'd snagged from between her legs. She hadn't even felt him take it.

He inhaled, tilted his head, and twitched the gun at her. "Didn't your daddy ever tell you that little girls shouldn't play with guns?"

"On the contrary, it was a gift from my father." She eyed him skeptically. "And I'll appreciate you giving it back."

She waited to see what he'd do. She knew nothing about the man pointing her gun at her chest. She was still trapped, her wrists gripped by his hand behind her back. Slowly, as if it was a caress, he pressed his thigh across her legs. It rendered a groin kick impossible.

"Maybe we won't find out how wet you are sweetheart," he said regretfully. "Instead, I'm going to take a step back from you. If you move, my finger may slip. Do you understand me?"

She looked him steadily in the eye. "Yes."

She heard the safety button click. The weapon was ready to go off. She remained still. He meant business, and she wasn't going to mess around with a loaded gun. He could have it. "Guess I'll have to ask Daddy to get me a new gun next Christmas."

He released her. Slowly he moved away but kept his aim steady as he reached over to the sofa and picked up his jacket. "In my experience, a woman who straps a gun to her leg only does so for one of two reasons." He threw his coat over his shoulder. "One, she's a killer, a hired assassin." He released the cartridge from her gun and put it in his pocket. "Or two, she's an agent," he said and tossed her empty gun to her. "Until I figure out which one you are, sweetheart, I can't sleep with you. I need to know who I'm fucking. But when I find out, you can bet your sweet little ass I'll be coming back for you." He took a lethal step toward her.

She held her empty gun to her chest and held her breath. Both of his forearms, the ones that flexed so beautiful when he poured her drink, trapped her again between him and the wall.

He glared into her eyes. "But when I return for you, those sexy little moans will be turned into pleasurable, sweet, satisfied cries."