Page 138 of The Contract

And it’s driving me insane.

Elena’s voice is soft, barely above the hum of the city outside, but it rips me out of my spiraling thoughts.

“Are you okay?” Her fingers graze my knee, a light, gentle touch. “You’re sweating.”

I blink, forcing myself to breathe, to register where the fuck I am—who I’m with.

Her.

Marcus and James.

Not in my office with her on her knees. Not in my penthouse, with her moans echoing across my home. Not in my damn fantasies, where I’m sinking inside her, claiming her.

I clear my throat, forcing my body to relax, my grip loosening from where I hadn’t even realized I was clenching my own knee.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I manage, my voice steady, controlled.

Her brow furrows slightly, but she doesn’t push.

She’s still watching me, though. That calm, steady focus in her gaze—like she can feel the way my pulse is hammering beneath my skin.

I want to cover her hand with mine. Just… sit there, touching her, feeling that warmth, the way we had at the opera.

But Marcus and James are here, and I know she wouldn’t want to play into the performance of this contract any more than necessary. They know what this is.

And yet, she’s relaxed around them.

She enjoys their company. Genuinely.

Especially James.

They hit it off that first night at The Scallop, when we had dinner with Calloway, their easy conversation filling the space between my own careful, measured words.

That feels like a lifetime ago now.

Like we’ve been in this contract for years, not just a little over a week.

Three more days.

That’s all the time I have left with her.

Three more days until she walks away from The Black Ledger, until she takes her money and finally builds the future she’s been working toward.

A future that, until recently, I hadn’t pictured myself in.

Now?

I want to be there.

I want to be included in the future she’s carving out for herself. I want to see her bakery open its doors, to watch her build something that belongs only to her.

But more than that—I want her to be mine.

Not just for three more days but for as long as she’ll fucking have me.

Marcus mutters a curse under his breath, sharp and low, slicing through the easy rhythm of conversation.

I glance over, instantly on alert.

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