Page 54 of The Contract

I couldripthat fucking dress open.

Spill herperfecttits into my hands. Into my mouth.

I’d suck one deep, my tongue flicking against her hardened nipple while she rode me, her thighs gripping my hips as the limo carried us throughmycity.

Driving her to orgasm.Pleasuringher like no one else ever could.

She’d arch for me. Whimper for me. Her fingers fisting in my hair, holding me to her breast as Ibit downjust enough—just enough to pinch and send herspiraling.

And she would sound sofucking beautifulas she called out my name.

My name.

Her body clenching around me, pulsing, tightening,milkingevery last drop of pleasure from me as she shattered in my arms.

The thought alone is enough to send meover the edge.

A guttural groan rips through me as my orgasm crashes over me, my cock jerking, pleasure rolling through every muscle, the scent of her thick in my lungs.

I barely manage to grab a handkerchief from my dresser before I spill into it, my strokes slowing, dragging out every last wave of bliss.

Her name slips from my lips.

Quiet.

Reverent.

Wrecked.

"Elena."

She hasno idea.

Nofuckingidea what she does to me.

If she knew—if she evensuspectedhow deep she’s sinking into me?—

Would she use it against me?

Would she push me just to see how far I’d let her go?

Would she press her lips to my ear, whisper my name in that same breathless way I remember, just to watch me unravel?

Or worse?—

Would sheexploitit?

Would she look at me the way so many have before—calculating instead of captivated?

Would she realize that my desire—thisobsessionclawing under my skin—makes me just as vulnerable as the men who have spent their fortunes trying to claim her?

Would she test how far she could bend me?

How much deeper she could sink her nails into me?

Not just for the contract.

Not just for theten-million-dollar payout.

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