Page 137 of The Contract

Trapped.

And fuck me sideways, I want her.

Annoyed she’s here—annoyed that one look has me instantly pussy-whipped—I snap out a rough, clipped, “Leave me.” Because, goddammit, I need my head straight, and right now my dick’s hijacked every last thought.

“But sir, the girl?—”

“I said go.”

“Yes, sir.” His footsteps retreat, each step a ticking clock in my skull.

“Wait.”

The footsteps halt immediately.

I grit my teeth, forcing out a command. “Take her home.”

“But your uncle?—”

I fire a dark, vicious glare over my shoulder.

Chio nods. Silent. Dutiful. Accepting the order like a blade under the nail.

“Yes, sir.”

My fingers clamp tighter around the cold steel railing as molten heat knots low in my gut.

Like a horny teenager faced with Aphrodite rising naked from the fucking sea, I can’t decide if I should fall to my knees and worship her—or just jerk off to her right here.

Somewhere in the hazy background, my booze-drenched brain registers the obnoxious clatter of heels.

I ignore it, but delicate hands invade anyway, sliding possessively over my back, fingers tugging softly at my hair. The nauseating cocktail of cheap perfume and bubblegum hits me full-force, utterly failing to disguise bottom-shelf vodka and—Jesus fuck—pastrami.

“You’re still so tense,” what’s-her-name purrs as my gaze stays locked on the only woman worth seeing tonight.

And maybe that’s my problem.

I’m fixating on a girl who’s too young. Too pure. Too tangled up with my sick fuck of an uncle.

And too overflowing with pouty lips and perfect tits for her own good.

And mine.

Because if I keep staring a second longer, there’s no telling what depraved shit I’ll do.

“I’m as ready as you are, D,” the woman whispers eagerly, her hand drifting south, palming my dick straining violently against my slacks.

It’s also obvious she remembers my name about as well as I remember hers—a trait I’ve come to appreciate in one-night stands. Though, sadly, it’s been a while.

Because the only woman I actually want—the one I’ve wanted far too fucking long—is Riley.

Not that I can ever admit it.

But the way she’s staring up at me now—huge doe eyes, plush, fuckable lips—means I’m either fucking her, or fucking her out of my system.

And considering I’m about to willingly march to my death for my family, I deserve something to take the edge off.

Given the warm body currently excavating my ear with her tongue and handling my cock like she’s gunning for employee of the month at a dairy farm, I’ll grit my teeth.

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