Page 26 of Always A Villain
Hechuckles. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Rolling my eyes, I swallow a reluctant smile. The ballroom’s dripping with luxury—exactly my father’s style.
Axe’s thumb rubs slow circles on my back. “So, what does one do at events like this?”
“Make small talk, act polite,” I say, scanning for my nieces. “And for you? Try not to kill anyone.”
He pulls me closer, his lips grazing my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “I can think of much better ways to pass the time.” His teeth nip my earlobe. “You look good enough to eat,” he murmurs, and I bite my lip to keep from gasping.
I should push him away, but all I see is that dark promise in his eyes. “I want you. All of you.”
“Axe...” I breathe, the ache inside me growing. He knows it; he’s practically feeding off it.
“Relax, Rory. I’m not going to fuck you here,” he says with a low laugh.
“Public places never stopped you before,” I sass back, remembering the time he fingered me at the club.
“True,” he admits, “but that was before I knew the taste of your cunt. Before I felt you come around my cock, heard you screaming my name.”
“What is wrong with you?” I whisper, fighting the heat flushing my face.
“Everything.” A devilish grin curves his mouth. “Right now, I want to bend you over the nearest table and make you scream until your throat is raw and my cum’s dripping out of you.” His hand tightens on my hip, his erection hard against me.
“You’re such an ass.” I try to sound unaffected, but myvoice trembles, betraying me.
“And you love it.” His fingers skim my lower back, and he leans in. “If I slipped my fingers into your pussy right now, would I find you wet for me, little siren?”
“Stop,” I plead as desire throbs between my legs.
“Tell me how wet you are.” His tone drips with smug confidence, the kind that makes me want to slap him—or kiss him.
“Please...”
Pulling me closer, he speaks against my ear. “Answer the fucking question, Rory. Tell me how wet your perfect, tight cunt is for me.”
The rawness in his voice unravels me. My knees go weak, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Soaked.”
“That’s my good girl.” His growl shoots straight to my core. He nips my earlobe again, then steps back, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
“Fuck you,” I snap, clearing my throat.
“Later, little siren. Save me a seat.” With a wink, he strides off, leaving me there—heart pounding, body aching, mind spinning.
I drag in a breath, tamping down my frustration. Idefinitelystill hate him.
Spotting my nieces across the ballroom—Spencer and their mom Heather close by—I walk over. The girls, mirror images of each other in matching mini ball gowns, beam and rush over to me.
“Auntie Rory!” they squeal, flinging their arms around me. I hug them tight as their giggles bubble against my chest. When they pull back, I catch Spencer’s stiff stance,his eyes distant. This investigation’s devoured him, and our conversations have become clipped and cold. We exchange a few polite words, but he’s barely listening and my gaze is already sweeping the room.
The ballroom buzzes with fake laughter and polished smiles. Banquet tables draped in silk and massive floral centerpieces sprawl across the floor, perfume and champagne masking the deeper rot beneath all the shine.
It’s all a façade—a carefully orchestrated illusion of wealth and privilege. Underneath the glamour lies a darker reality of secrets and power plays that can choke you alive.
My eyes continue to drift over the crowd, and my pulse stutters when I see two familiar faces.
Former clients.
Two men I had sworn never to see again because they refused to honor my safe word. I’m used to pushing limits, but those two crossed lines that made my skin crawl. I laid down the rules; they ignored them. And now here they are, standing in the same room as my family.
