Free In For the Kill by Shannon McKenna

this was going to fuck him up. The slower he went, the sweeter the torment. Hours of kissing, playing with her tits. Then when she was naked and spread out, he’d tongue-lash that beautiful muff until she’d forgotten who she was.
    Then he’d mount up and go for a long, slow, juicy ride. On her final climax, he’d have her pussy clamped around his cock. Feeling every flutter, every squeeze, every pulse. His reward.
    And his punishment.
    His hands cupped her ass, struggling for control. He could do this. He could be a sex toy. Just service her, blow her mind, fuck her brains out, and walk away, sanity intact. He could.
    â€œA thong,” he muttered. “My God. Your ass is so perfect.”
    â€œI had to wear one,” she confessed. “Panty lines.”
    â€œOf course. Can’t have that.” He hooked his fingers in the elastic and stopped as tension gripped her. He looked up into her face.
    â€œI like the stockings,” he said. “But the rest of it comes off.”
    Her breathing was ragged, her soft mouth slightly open. Eyes dazed. She still had not unbuckled her shoes. Her knees quivered.
    Sam pried her fingers loose from her grip on the scarlet fabric. Her skirt tumbled over his shoulder, whisper soft, warm, scented. He seized her hand, pressed it against his shoulder, to steady her. Her fingers were chilly. Her nails dug into his skin. He loved their sharp bite.
    He pressed his face against her mound. Slowly, gently, breathing her in, nuzzling her. Hanging on to his self-control by a fucking thread.
    When he felt her lean in, he started unbuckling her shoes.
    He stood up when she stepped out of them, towering over her. The top of her head fit under his chin. She let her head fall back into his cupped hand with a shuddering sigh. He reached for her zipper.
    She put her hand on his. “No, you take something off first.”
    He whipped his shirt off and tossed it behind him.
    She stared at his torso and laughed. “Oh, please!”
    He was taken aback. True, he got strong reactions from the ladies when he undressed, but ridicule was generally not one of them.
    â€œWhat?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
    She gestured at his body. “Is that for real? Do you work out all day and eat nothing but protein powder and egg whites?”
    â€œI’ve had a lot of time on my hands lately.” He felt ridiculously defensive. “I’m bored out of my fucking mind on medical leave. But I’m not a gym rat. It just happened.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Nobody gets that ripped by accident.”
    Fuck it. He stood there stoically, letting her look her fill at the freak show. He was just a sex toy, after all. Sex toys were supposed to be vain and shallow, and eat protein and muscle-enhancing mineral supplements, and buy lots of tight microfiber gigolo clothing.
    If it comforted her to think he was that guy, who cared?
    She poked at his abs with a fascinated finger, tracing a vein that snaked across his belly. “You have no fat on you at all,” she said. “Just stone-hard muscle. It’s unreal.”
    He rolled his eyes and sighed. “So shoot me.”
    Her eyes darted to his scars. “Somebody’s already done that.”
    Her fingers slid up to the scar on his chest. A bullet had perforated his lung in the showdown in New Jersey, right after she’d met him, when Bruno had been fighting for his and Lily’s lives. She touched the newer scar, which was still an angry red, low on his abdomen. He’d been gut shot in the line of duty ten months ago. The injury that had stalled his career. The brush of her fingers had its predictable effect on his cock.
    â€œThis one happened last year,” he told her.
    â€œOh, I know.”
    â€œYou heard about that?”
    She frowned. “Of course I heard about it! We all heard about it! Everyone was worried about you.”
    Of course. Collective, friendly, fraternal