Page 72 of Ruthless Arrangement

When I rejoin Lea in the living room, she’s standing by the windows, silhouetted against the city skyline. The position is vulnerable, back turned, attention elsewhere, a silent signal that she trusts me.Another artful move in our ongoing game.

“Everything alright?” she asks, turning as I approach.

“Just business,” I reply, moving to stand beside her. The view from here encompasses much of what I control; properties, businesses, territories. “Moretti’s retreated for now, but it won’t last. Men like him only understand escalation.”

She nods, eyes tracking moving boats on the lake below. “What does he want? Territory? Money?”

“Power,” I answer. “Like everyone in this city.”

“Including you?” she asks, turning to face me.

I smile, trailing a finger along her jawline. “I already have power. What I want is command.”

Her pupils dilate at the touch, a physiological response she can’t fake. “And what’s the difference?”

“Power is the ability to influence outcomes,” I explain, voice dropping lower as I step closer. “Command is ensuring those outcomes unfold as you’ve designed them to. Power can be shared. Command is absolute.”

Her breath quickens, whether from my proximity or my words, I can’t be sure. The line between her performance and genuine response has blurred, making this interaction all the more intriguing.

“And which am I?” she asks boldly. “An outcome to influence or a design to control?”

Her eyes gleam with that infuriating cockiness, like she thinks she’s got me wrapped around her finger. After last night and this morning, she’s still playing her game, thinking she can outsmart me, The Diplomat, with her journalist’s tricks and that wicked smile. She’s about to learn what happens when you taunt a man who breaks men for breakfast.

I laugh, amused by her directness. “That, piccola, depends entirely on your next move.”

“You’re looking tense, Nico,” she purrs, leaning back against the floor-to-ceiling window. “What’s wrong? Not used to a woman who can keep up with you?” Her tone is all challenge, her lips curling like she’s won something.

My jaw clenches, anger and desire twisting into a dangerous knot. “You think you’re in control, piccola?” I say, my voice low, a warning she doesn’t heed. “You think you can prance around, tease me, and I’ll just roll over?”

She shrugs, her smile smug. “Maybe I just know what you want. And I’m good at giving it.” She runs a hand down her chest, popping a button on her blouse, exposing the black lace of her bra. “Admit it, Nico. You’re obsessed.”

The audacity of her words snaps my restraint. My hand runs up her neck, fisting in her hair, yanking her head back. She gasps, her bravado faltering, but her eyes still spark with defiance. “You’re gonna regret that mouth,” I growl, my lips brushing her ear. “I’m gonna fuck that cockiness right out of you, Lea. You’ll be begging by the time I’m done.”

She tries to laugh, but it’s shaky. “Big talk for a man who?—”

I cut her off, slamming my mouth against hers, the kiss brutal, all teeth and dominance. She fights back, her tongue battling mine, her hands clawing at my suit jacket, but I’m in charge. I spin her around, pinning her against the window, her cheek pressed to the cool glass. The city stretches out below, oblivious to the war we’re waging. My hands grip her hips, grinding my hard cock against her ass through her jeans, letting her feel what’s coming.

“You think you’re so clever,” I snarl, my voice rough. “Playing me like I’m some mark. Let’s see how cocky you are when I’m done with you.” I grab the waistband of her jeans, ripping the button open and yanking them down her thighs with a force that makes her yelp. The denim pools at her ankles, and I tear it off, leaving her in her blouse and black lace panties, her legs trembling.

“Spread your legs,” I order, kicking her feet apart until she’s spread-eagle against the window, her hands braced on the glass. She’s exposed and vulnerable, the Chicago skyline framing her like a fucking masterpiece. I step back, admiring the view: her ass round and perfect, her pussy barely covered by the lace, already wet for me. But she’s not getting pleasure yet. Not until she’s paid for her arrogance.

I reach into the desk drawer, pulling out a pair of scissors, the metal glinting in the light. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t move. “What are you—” she starts, but I silence her with a look.

“Shut up,” I say, my voice cold. “You don’t get to talk unless I say so.” I kneel behind her, sliding the scissors under the edge of her panties. The cold metal brushes her skin, and she shivers, her breath hitching. With one swift cut, I slice through the lace, then the other side, letting the ruined fabric fall to the floor. She’s bare now, her pussy glistening, her asshole winking at me, and fuck, I’m so hard it hurts.

“Such a pretty little liar,” I murmur, standing and running a hand over her ass, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. “But you’re gonna learn your place.” I unbuckle my belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a slow, deliberate hiss. Her eyes follow the movement, and I see the mix of fear and anticipation in her gaze. Good.

I fold the belt in half, gripping it tightly. “Three lashes,” I say, my voice a dark promise. “Take them without a word, and I’ll reward you. Scream, beg, or cry, and you get nothing but my handprint on your ass. Understand?”

She nods, her jaw tight, her eyes blazing with that stubborn defiance. “I can take it,” she says, her voice steady despite the tremor in her legs.

“We’ll see,” I growl, stepping back. I raise the belt and bring it down, the leather cracking against her ass with a sharp snap. Redness blooms instantly, and she bites her lip, her body tensing, but she doesn’t make a sound. Fuck, she’s tougher than I thought. “One,” I say, my voice rough with approval.

The second lash lands harder, the sound echoing in the room, and her fingers curl against the glass, her knuckles white. Her ass is red now, the red stark against her skin, but she stays silent, her breathing ragged. “Two,” I count, my cock throbbing at her resilience.

The third is the hardest, aimed at the sensitive spot where her ass meets her thighs, and she jolts, a muffled whimper escaping before she clamps her lips shut. I pause, watching her tremble, but she doesn’t break. “Three,” I say, tossing the belt aside. “Good girl. You earned your reward.”

I’m on her in an instant, my hands gripping her hips, my cock freed from my trousers and pressing against her dripping pussy. “You’re so fucking wet,” I growl, teasing her entrance with the tip. “You loved that, didn’t you? Getting punished like the slut you are.”

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