Page 12 of Souls and Sorrows

My brows arch, and she turns her head to the side, not meeting my gaze. I’m technically breaking the clause for the first time ever, and I’m not really sure why.

Something about being compared to such evil brings out the worst in me, I suppose.

Without saying anything else, Lenny walks out of the kitchen, and a few seconds later, the chime of the elevator echoes off the vaulted ceiling. I stand in place longer than necessary, staring at the space she no longer occupies.

My headache is marginally gone, but at what cost?

Eventually, I drag myself away from the room. The narrow back hall opens up to a private, semi-secluded spiral staircase, and I take the steps two at a time, aware that Lenny’s unannounced visit has thrown a severe wrench in my routine. Closed doors pepper the walls at the top of the stairs, and I head for one at the very end, slipping into the master suite and then farther into the bathroom.

Stepping into the sleek black-tiled shower, I let the rainfall faucet spray down the length of my body, massaging aches I didn’t realize existed until now. Droplets of water pelt against my skin and run down my nose. Propping one hand on the wall next to the handle, I take my dick in the other and pump slowly.

Meticulously, like I haven’t done it in ages and am relearning the ropes.

Pinching my eyes shut as tiny webs of pleasure skirt along my shaft, I lean my weight into the wall, letting my mind drift. Flashes of warm, wet flesh erupt across my vision as I tighten my fist, and electricity tingles along my spine, spurring me on.

Hazel irises, wide and glassy, stare up at me above a soft, slightly upturned nose and bow-shaped mouth. Her lips part for me, enveloping my crown as I move faster, harsher, tugging while I imagine feeding my length into the awaiting hole.

The tip of her tongue prods my slit, tasting, and I feel myself unraveling. The thread stitching every ounce of my self-control together unspools, caught on my depravity as I picture shoving myself into her throat and staying there. Feeling her struggle for air around me before unloading my seed so deep that only surgical efforts could remove my remnants.

I come on a staggered breath, spilling into my fist as if it were the young Ricci girl instead. My eyes pop open, exhaustion from the sudden exertion clinging to my limbs like waterlogged carcasses, and I shake my head to dispel the images.

Ariana Ricci is a goddamn nightmare—that’s for certain. I spent the formative years of law school poring over every detail of her father’s trial, and the rest of his life because of the similar circles our families ran in, so the adage is not new to me. The general public just finds her alarming and unsettling, and I can’t say I feel differently.

Whether that’s because everyone thinks she’s secretly doing her father’s bidding while he rots in prison or just because of some primal, untapped part of me finds her desirable, I can’t tell.

Whatever the reason, when I finally make it to Cupid & Associates a while later, I push thoughts of her as far from my mind as they’ll get. She might have plagued me since our little run-in last night, but she will not occupy my mind any longer.

I have no interest in entertaining chaos.

A knock sounds on the door of my office as I’m reviewing a green energy initiative between one of the local water companies and an industrial plant up the coast. My assistant, Zephyr, watches through the glass wall, tugging on the end of a spirally black curl as she cradles a neon-orange mug with her free hand.

I ignore her, and she enters a moment later, stopping in front of my oak desk.

“You look…”

Pausing, I lift a brow, glancing at her from my peripheral as I adjust my wire-rimmed glasses.

She purses her purple-painted lips. “Tired?”

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“Well, I’m trying to find a nice way to say you look like shit.” Her brown cheeks darken with the hint of a blush, and she drags the tea bag from her mug and takes a sip. “I take it, your birthday went well?”

Annoyance bubbles right beneath the surface of my skin. Gritting my teeth, I just stare at her. “Did you need something?”

“Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll just get the deets from your brother next time he comes in for lunch.”

“Do we need to have another discussion about you prying into my personal life?”

The main reason I hired Zephyr Corentin when I made senior associate was because of our natural rapport; she’s a no-nonsense person with an impeccable work ethic, and I admire her drive and dedication to the law.

But I think she’s a bit lonely, which means, sometimes, she interrogates despite my resistance to small talk. I should introduce her to my sister. They’d likely bond over what a miserable sack of shit I can be.

“It’s not prying when Palmer offers hot gossip, free of charge.” She shrugs, setting her mug down and grabbing the stack of folders tucked beneath one armpit. Plucking one, she tosses it to me. “Citium requested to push back the deposition, and Cupid wants a meeting with you sometime soon at Anteros.”

“What the hell did Citium push back for this time?”

She makes a face. “Their CEO had a Brazilian scheduled.”

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