Page 110 of Filthy Promises

I come with a broken cry, shuddering against him as his fingers stroke me through the aftershocks.

“Good girl,” he praises, wiping his hand on his handkerchief. “Now, straighten your clothes. We have shareholders to impress.”

I return to my seat on shaky legs, quickly fixing my appearance. In five minutes, I’ll be taking notes in a boardroom full of executives who have no idea their CEO just fingered me to orgasm in the backseat of his car.

What is happening to me?

“Do you trust me?” Vince asks, holding up a black silk tie.

We’re in his penthouse. Manhattan looms beyond, as usual. If only all those innocent people down below knew what was happening up here.

I nod, breathless with anticipation. “Yes.”

He moves behind me, wrapping the tie around my eyes. The world goes dark as he knots it securely.

“Hands above your head,” he instructs, guiding me until I’m standing in what feels like the center of the room.

I obey, feeling more exposed than I ever have despite still being fully clothed.

“Don’t move.”

I hear him step away. The sound of ice clinking in glass. Footsteps returning.

Then—cold. Shocking cold against my collarbone as he presses an ice cube to my skin.

I gasp, instinctively trying to pull away.

“I said don’t move.” His voice has that edge I’ve come to crave. “Or would you prefer we stop?”

“No! No,” I breathe. “Please don’t stop.”

The ice traces a wet path down my neck, to the hollow of my throat. Vince follows it with his warm mouth, the contrast making me shiver.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs against my skin. “Jumping atevery. little. touch.”

One by one, he removes my clothes, each new patch of exposed skin treated to the contrasting sensations of ice and heat.

By the time I’m naked, I’m trembling with need.

“Please,” I whisper.

“Please what?” He’s circling me, occasionally brushing against me so I never know where he’ll touch next.

“I need more.”

“More what?” The ice returns, this time circling my nipple until it’s almost painful.

“More of you,” I plead. “Your hands. Your mouth. Anything.”

“Anything?” The word holds danger. Promise. “What if I told you I’ve invited someone else to join us?”

My breath catches in my throat. “What?”

His laugh is dark, delighted by my shock. “Would you let me share you, Rowan? Would you let someone else touch what’s mine?”

“N-no!” I stammer, ashamed by how the idea sends a perverse thrill through me. “Just you.”

“Good answer.” His voice is closer now, his breath hot against my ear. “Because I don’t fucking share what belongs to me.”

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