Page 41 of Siren

[Image attachment: grainy, but clear enough—me, in my trench, stepping into his room.]

I closed my eyes. Covered my face. Groaned.

Another buzz.

Brielle:

Just got the pic. Label execs are obsessed. One of them just sent heart eyes.

I didn’t respond.

Because last night wasn’t strategy—it wasn’t content—and it wasn’t curated. It was him. Me. Us.

And already… it didn’t feel like mine anymore.

FOURTEEN

She hadn’t said much since we got here.

Security had swept us through a back entrance and into the private wing of the first-class lounge—quiet, exclusive, designed to keep flashbulbs and whispers at bay. Our handlers stayed close but out of sight, giving us space like they could feel the shift in our energy.

We sat acrossfrom each other, both pretending not to be rattled while the distant clink of polished cutlery and the soft murmur of boarding announcements drifted through the air—like nothing was burning beneath the surface.

But it was.

Sienna sat across from me, legs crossed, that black trench coat folded over the back of her chair like it hadn’t been peeled off her shoulders hours ago while I was on my knees. Like I hadn’t kissed her until her thighs shook. Like I hadn’t made her promise things she whispered into my mouth.

Like I hadn’t cum inside her more than once.

And now she was sipping on her tea. Calm. Composed. Like she hadn’t just moaned my name into a pillow while her ass rolled like a wave against me. Like I hadn’t fucked her again before dawn.

Like she hadn’t ridden me with her feet planted on the mattress, tits bouncing, my name spilling from her lips as I sucked them into my mouth and told her to ride my dick like she meant it.

Her hair was up again. Bun tight. But a few curls had slipped free around her temples, softening everything she was trying to harden. Her skin caught the light like honey over bronze. And her blouse… that silk clung to her breasts like it still remembered the way I’d held her after.

Too cool. Too put together. But she caught me watching.

I looked away first.

Because I had questions I didn’t know how to ask without sounding like I gave a damn. But I did. More than I should’ve.

Amir sent me a text this morning.

Amir:

Lemme find out you got trench coat pussy walkin’ out your suite like you Bond or some shit,

[Image attached]

Respectfully… you wildin.

I almost laughed. Almost. But when I tapped the image, everything in me stilled.

It was Sienna outside my suite.

Her hair slightly tousled. Lips parted.

Eyes locked on me standing in the doorway with a towel around my hips.

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