GUILTY PLEASURE|+18

[...]

He smirked. "I'd rather die than let you put your filthy mouth on me baby."

"Yeah? Well, " I took a step closer. "Newsflash - I wouldn't put my filthy mouth on your dick either. I don't do charity cases."

His eyes flashed, sharp and dangerous. "Great, cause I don't do pity fucks."

[...]

Santino prided himself on his ironclad control, a badge-wielding sentinel of justice who lived and breathed the rules. As the head of the FBI's narcotics division, he thrived on order, his reputation as unyielding as the steel in his gaze.

Isabella ruled her world with a swagger that was as intoxicating as it was infuriating. She moved through the club like she owned every damn inch of it, her curves daring anyone to look away. Her mouth was a weapon, spitting fire and desire in equal measure, and Santino hated how much he wanted to taste every word she threw at him.

Every encounter was a battlefield, a clash of wills where Santino's carefully constructed world threatened to crumble. He despised her reckless abandon, but beneath the hatred was a raw, undeniable need to feel her fire against his skin.

Isabella lived to push his buttons, to see that control slip and watch the man behind the badge come undone. His arrogance was a challenge, and nothing thrilled her more than making him forget every damn rule he lived by. He was a bastard, sure, but that only made her want to drag him into her chaos.

Their hatred was a show, a loud, vulgar dance that fooled everyone but themselves. Underneath the sharp words and the scathing looks, was a desire that burned hotter than either dared to admit.

They were addicted to the game, and neither was ready to stop playing.

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