Flawless Ruin

Then, just as quickly, he withdraws them.

“Upstairs, now,” he commands me, voice hoarse as he slowly licks them clean. “I want you naked and tied to my bed in the next thirty seconds flat.”

And that’s an order I can’t refuse.

The trip to the penthouse is probably the longest one in my life. The elevator stops on the lobby level, and a group of foreign, well dressed men step inside. They don’t look at us, as they’re so busy engaged in a conversation in a language I don’t recognize. But they instantly take up much of the elevator.

Caleb pulls me closer, and—out of sight—slides his hand under my dress. He runs his finger over me, and when I move my feet apart slightly, he finds his way beneath my panties. I can see his face in the mirror across the way, his wicked smile when he sees me open my mouth and gasp as he lightly rubs his fingers over me. He probes further, inserting a finger into me again, then two. I’m so wet I can feel the juices dripping down my thighs. When the elevator dings and the doors begin to slide open, I’m rocking back and forth, ever so slightly, on his fingers.

He pushes the Door Close button and turning to me even before they’ve fully shut.

“Remind me to move to a building with a fucking dedicated elevator.”

I groan, throwing my head back so he can kiss my neck. His lips graze my throat, and I gasp as his fingers shoot fireworks of pleasure through my body. “My God. Don’t stop this. Please.”

“I have no intention of stopping,” he growls possessively. “Not until you’re wrapped around my cock.”

When elevator doors ding open again, we’re at his penthouse level, and he already has my skirt up around my waist. He lifts me up and, cradling my ass, carries me through the foyer, into his dark penthouse.

Finally, we’re alone.

I grab his collar and make quick work of the buttons on his shirt as he continues to trail kisses down my throat. I can’t wait to get him naked, to feel him thrust inside me.

Where he belongs.

“God, I can’t get enough of you,” Caleb is groaning, devouring my mouth, my throat, my breasts. I throw my head back in delight, lost in the moment. “Get that dress off. Now.”

I reach for the buttons, but that’s when I hear a noise across the dark room.

Someone clearing their throat.

I freeze.

“Never let it be said I’m not a gentleman,” a voice drawls. “Much as I’d appreciate the view.”

“What the fuck?” Caleb demands, flipping on the lights.

There, sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, is a familiar, chilling face. Nero Barretti. He’s flanked by two heavy-set guys, who look like they mean business.

And he has a pistol on his knee.