Page 45 of The Contract

And God help me, I do.

With him.

In a somewhat abandoned alley with no less than a dozen of his men lurking just around the corner.

But none of that matters, because right now there’s only him. The friction, the rhythm. Why does he have to feel so fucking good?

He controls every movement, guiding my hips, my sensitive clit sliding against his thigh in exactly the right way.

And God, how I need this.

My eyes drift shut as his tongue glides along my collarbone, kickstarting my body. It takes over, chasing the release.

His teeth nip at my neck, triggering a tsunami of sensation—a riptide of emotion so intense, it shreds me into a million pieces and stitches me back together all at once.

My whimper disappears into his mouth, tender kisses softening the intensity, guiding me gently back down to earth.

Trembling, my body slumps back against the wall, knees weak, fingers clawing desperately into his abs, I gather every ounce of strength left in me.

“I. Hate. You.” The words pant out, stronger, harsher—a final, stubborn truth I cling to, even as the echoes of pleasure trace each word.

Dark ice frosts his gaze. “I. Don’t. Care.”

His mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss is teeth and heat and raw, merciless need. Darkness and sin and the devastating truth—I crave him more than air.

And I have no choice. I melt into him.

When our lips eventually part, his voice dips achingly tender, a gentle tug at the tangled knot in my chest, unraveling me inch by inch.

“Now tell me, Pom. Tell me who hurt you, and I swear on my sister’s life, they’ll never hurt you again.”

My eyes search his, drowning helplessly in confusion, grief, longing…

Pom?

The nickname rolls off his tongue like it matters.

Like I matter.

But we both know the truth.

I don’t.

“Is there a problem here?” A cold voice slices through the moment, fracturing our bubble like shattered glass.

CHAPTER 12

Riley

My gaze snaps up.

A lanky figure approaches, all awkward angles stuffed into an ill-fitting suit and a loose blue tie.

Dante stiffens, every muscle locked, jaw tight. The D’Angelo mask snaps into place, transforming him back into the asshole.

The man who just gave me a public orgasm vanishes.

“Not a word,” Dante breathes.

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