Hey, lovelies, it’s WIP Wednesday again and we’re back with more from my upcoming release ‘Early Sins’ the prequel for ‘Lethal Sin‘. I just premiered the cover yesterday, so make sure to check it out! If you’ve already read ‘Lethal Sin’ you may have been a little curious about Camille’s sordid past, about how she got involved in the assassin game, which ultimately puts her on the path to collide with Mateo in the first book. I was so caught up in Camille’s story myself that this prequel started flowing out. I’m not sure when I’ll have it finished (hopefully out before the end of August), but at this point in the book Camille and Smith have been together around two years, she’s got some kills under her belt, and their sparring sessions are a little more intense now that she knows what she’s doing. Of course, this means the sexual tension between the two is a little more intense as well!
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“Giving up so soon?” he taunted.
“You wish.” Twisting, Camille pushed herself up from the floor and ducked his first attack, countering with a hard hit to his diaphragm. She caught his attempt to grab her, and lifted her leg between them to kick him back. With little air left in his lungs, Smith stumbled back and landed flat on his ass. He coughed from the floor, and she stayed back, having learned that the fight was never over unless he said it was. “Need a break?”
“Ha. A few kills under your belt and you think you’re top dog now?” Smith flipped to his feet and stood, the smirk at his lips one she knew all too well by now. He was about to make it much, much harder to put him on the ground.
This will be fun.
“Nine. Nine kills, Smith. That’s more than a few.”
“Your first two don’t count.” With a lunge he snagged a knife off the coffee table and swung at her, and she jerked backwards to avoid it.
Fuck. He was not playing around tonight.
She paced him, making him follow her around the hotel room so she could get the meter of his steps, measure when he was comfortable taking a swing with the blade. The next time he thrust, she blocked with her forearm, and grabbed his wrist, driving her thumb into the tendons until his grip went slack. With a twist she ripped the knife free from his palm, and threw it. It tumbled end over end, and then buried its tip in the headboard of the bed.
“Yes!” Camille cheered, and then he tackled her, his shoulder slamming into her stomach just before she hit floor and all the air left her lungs. An instant later he was hovering over her, both of her wrists pinned, his weight distributed at the top of her thighs so she couldn’t counter.
“What did you forget?” he panted, his breath brushing over her cheek.
“I forgot to put you on the ground after I disarmed you.” The words were automatic because she was too distracted to consciously respond with his weight on top of her. Smith was barely inches above her, the warm smell of his skin, his sweat, his aftershave, floating in the space between them – and his mouth was so close. Just an inch or so, and she could…
Before she could stop herself she had lifted her face to his, and their lips met. It was a kiss, warm and soft, and he pressed her back to the floor, nibbling at her lip as it continued and there was no stifling the quiet moan that escaped her as they tentatively deepened the kiss. With a brief brush of tongues, Smith suddenly jerked himself back, sitting up on her hips, and then he threw himself backwards. He landed gracelessly a few feet away, and she sat up, staring at him as if she could mentally confirm that it was okay, that she wanted it, but her tongue was tied up in the knots he’d made of it when he’d kissed her back.
“Session is over,” he said and shoved himself off the floor. A moment later he was shut in the bathroom of their hotel room, while she was still sitting, stunned, beside the coffee table.
His touch was a phantom on her skin, his lips a ghostly memory across her own, but she stayed where she was and memorized it. The taste of his lips, the salt of his sweat, the incredible gentleness of his touch combined with all the raw power of his body, of what she knew he was capable of – she had to memorize it because it was probably the last time he’d ever touch her like that. “Shit…”
—
It took so long for Camille to make a move, and she’s so damaged that this scene broke my heart to write it. What happens next is even worse, and what’s after that… worse. WHY do I like torturing all of you and myself at the same time?! Well, I’m a masochist, so that explains me, but GAH. I always put my characters through the ringer before they can find their way. Hope you’re enjoying the ride! There will be more on #SatSpanks and #WIPWednesday each week until I finish this beast. In the mean time, enjoy these other authors below…