Page 30 of Leather & Lies

In his study.

I hate him.

Don’t I?

12

Jackson

She’s lefta single light on in her bedroom. I pause in the doorway, letting the shadows conceal me as I watch her prepare for tonight’s outing. Her elegant fingers work efficiently through damp hair, weaving it into an intricate braid that will leave her neck exposed.

I move silently into the room, and her shoulders stiffen, the slight tension betraying her awareness of my presence.

“The black dress.” I keep my voice mild, though we both know it’s not a suggestion. The silk hangs in her closet where I placed it this morning, along with several other dresses. A thin pretense of choice.

Tonight, I want to show off my hellcat. This weekly poker game had been going on for a decade—the men are friends, ex-lovers, and comrades in arms. I wanted them to see what I’d captured, to admire her, and to envy me for having tamed her.

Her fingers still on the braid. “I was thinking the blue?—”

“The black.” I step closer, inhaling the clean scent of her shower gel. “You’ll be stunning in it.”

She meets my eyes in the mirror, that familiar defiance sparking gold in her hazel irises. But her hands reach for the black dress, and my cock hardens at this small submission. I’velearned to savor these moments when she chooses to yield, even as her spine remains steel-straight.

The silk whispers against her skin as she steps into it. My surveillance cameras have captured every inch of her body, but nothing compares to watching her dress in person. The fabric clings to her curves, the neckline just low enough to showcase my marks. When she reaches for a scarf, I intercept her hand.

“No.” I draw her back against my chest, fingers splaying possessively across her throat. “I want them to see exactly who you belong to.”

Her pulse quickens beneath my touch. “They already know,” she says, voice steady despite the rapid flutter beneath my fingers. “The whole county knows.”

“Then tonight,” I murmur against her ear, “we’ll make sure they understand why.”

Her breath catches as my fingers tighten fractionally on her throat. In the mirror, I watch a flush spread across her chest, disappearing beneath the silk. My other hand slides down her side, mapping the curve of her waist, her hip.

“You’re going to behave tonight.” I keep my voice conversational, even as my hand dips lower, bunching the fabric. “No smart comments. No challenging their business decisions.” My fingers find bare skin, and I smirk at the discovery that she’s already wet. “No matter what they say about the smaller ranches they’re acquiring.”

She tries to twist away, but I hold her firmly against me. “You expect me to sit there while they?—”

“Yes.” I slide one finger inside her, my other hand still locked on her throat. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do. Because you belong to me, and I’ve decided to show you off tonight.” Another finger joins the first, and her head falls back against my shoulder. “And if you’re very, very good, maybe I’ll let you come before we leave.”

Her pussy clenches around my fingers, and I have to fight back a groan. She’s so responsive, my hellcat. She thinks I don’t know she touches herself in the shower, relieving the ache from weeks of edging, but fuck—my control is beginning to fray around the edges.

“What if I’m not?” The words are barely a whisper, but I catch them. Catch the way her hips rock against my hand, seeking more.

I withdraw my fingers abruptly, leaving her gasping. “Then I’ll bend you over the table in front of all of them.” I step back, adjusting my suit jacket. “And we both know how wet that thought makes you.”

The color in her cheeks deepens, but she doesn’t deny it. Progress.

“The car leaves in five minutes.” I move toward the door, then pause. “And Shiloh?” I wait until she meets my gaze in the mirror. “Don’t even think about putting on underwear.”

The drive makes me think too damn hard. About the other men who’ll be waiting. How they’ll look at her. They’ll see the same thing I saw years ago—raw talent wrapped in a deceptively delicate package.

My hand finds her thigh in the darkness of the truck, fingers kneading possessively through silk. She doesn’t pull away. Another small victory. Through the tinted windows, the lights of Salvation blur past.

“Lucas has been asking about your methods with that mustang.” I feel her tense under my palm. “Seems he has a similar case.”

“Burning Bridge?” Her voice stays professional, but I catch the slight tremor. “That horse was ready to kill someone.”

“And now he’s worth six figures.” My hand slides higher, bunching silk. “Lucas noticed.”

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