Page 65 of Dangerous Vows

I grip her waist, my patience wearing thin as my cock springs to life. “Say it.”

Her fingers graze my chest, teasing, testing. “You love this.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. She’s right. “I love watching you lose control.”

Her breath catches, but before she can throw another sharp remark at me, I crush my mouth to hers.

And she lets me.

I was hard the minute she walked through the door. I quickly pull down her pants, bend her over the desk, and unzip my slacks. She grabs the sides of the desk to brace herself as I impale her with my cock. I want her pregnant and swollen with my child. The thought excites me more than anything. The possibility of us and a future sends me over the edge, and I have the most intense climax of my life.

Late in the night,the club is packed, the bass pulses through the floor and vibrates beneath my feet. I nod at the men who work for the family as they pass, offering brief greetings, which only serves to irritate Amara further.

“You know, not everyone needs a personal audience with you,” she mutters as she walks past me, balancing a tray of drinks with effortless ease.

“They’re showing respect.” I’m the one who entertains the eccentricities of political figures—and certain underworld players—who keep the city moving without so much as a hiccup.

She huffs. “They’re wasting time.”

Before I can respond, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, glancing at the message from Matteo.

Julia intercepted a cryptic message. Things are heating up between Miloš and Stefano.

Something is happening. I feel it in my gut. And I’m never wrong.

I fire back a message.

I don’t like this. Keep digging.

Matteo replies almost instantly.

Keep your head on a swivel.

I exhale, pocketing my phone just as Amara walks back over, her eyes narrowing as she saucily says, “Now you look like someone just pissed in your drink.”

I glance at her, my mind still working through the message. “Something’s happening.”

She frowns, setting her tray down. “What kind of something?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know yet. But I don’t like it.” My eyes beseech hers for a clue. But when I try to read her, I can’t. Her face remains free of emotion.

Is she developing a poker face?

What is she hiding?

My thoughts are a minefield as I circle the club. My stomach growls, and if I’m hungry, I know Amara is starving.

I walk to my office and order us both a steak Oscar from the family restaurant for a late dinner. I text her when it arrives.

Dinner.

I’m busy.

I’m your boss, and you’re eating with me. Now.

Bully.

I resign myself to the fact that there is a war of information going on inside this room as well as the one with our enemies.

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