Page 113 of Cursed
I nod as she turns back to her work. What we’ve built hangs in delicate balance—her freedom against my hunger to command. For the first time, I find myself willing to ease my grip, to search for the fragile space where we might both survive intact.
The security footage arrives minutes later. I forward it to Sadie’s laptop and set mine beside hers on the dining table. Side by side, we study the grainy images of three men trying to breach our warehouse’s northeast entrance.
“They’re avoiding the main security cameras,” I note, tracking their movements. “But they don’t know about the secondary system I installed after the Peterson heist.”
Sadie’s fingers fly across her keyboard. “Look at their approach pattern. That’s military training—specifically Russian special forces. The leader moves exactly like?—”
“Dmitri Volkov,” we say simultaneously.
“Orlov’s enforcer,” I confirm. “I thought he fled.”
Sadie splits her screen, running facial recognition on one side while accessing databases on the other. “He should have. TSA has no record of him leaving, but—wait.” She pulls up banking records I couldn’t access. “Someone’s been making regular payments to a shell company that routes through to a property management firm in Brighton Beach.”
I lean closer. “Cross-reference with known associates.”
“Already on it.” She smirks. “Three properties match. One’s two blocks from where your shipment arrives tomorrow night.”
I take her chin between my fingers. “You’re brilliant, little butterfly.”
“We make a good team.” She closes her laptop. “I should go. Jolene’s waiting.”
“Take Knox’s driver,” I repeat, my tone sharper than before. “And wear the tracker bracelet in case your phone’s signal is spotty again.”
Her expression hardens. “No. We discussed this. I’m not wearing a tracker to lunch with my friend.”
“This isn’t negotiable, Sadie. Not with Orlov’s men out there.”
“Everything is negotiable,” she counters. “That was our agreement.”
“Fuck the agreement!” I slam my palm on the table. “You think Volkov won’t use you to get to me? You think?—”
“Stop it.” She interrupts. “That’s not you now—that’s the old Landon, the one who thought safety meant keeping everyone under his thumb.”
I step closer, towering over her. “And what if something happens to you? What then?”
“Then it happens,” she says softly. “But I can’t live in a cage, even a gilded one.”
The fight drains from me. “I’m scared,” I admit. “Every time you walk out that door without me, I’m fucking terrified.”
Her expression softens. “Landon...”
I pull her against me, claiming her mouth in a desperate kiss. She melts into me, moaning against my lips as I back her against the wall.
When we break apart, she’s breathless. “Why do you have to kiss me like that when I’m about to leave for lunch?” She presses against my hardness. “Now I’m wet and aching, and Jolene is waiting.”
“I could do with some lunch myself before you go,” I say, my voice dropping to that low register that always makes her pupils dilate. “Right here.”
I sink to my knees before her, my hands already sliding up under her skirt. The position should feel foreign to me—Landon Blackwood doesn’t kneel for anyone—yet with Sadie, I can’t get enough of tasting her. Before her, I rarely gave pleasure this way; it was always about taking. And yet, watching her come apart on my tongue has become an obsession.
“Landon,” she protests weakly, “Jolene is waiting?—”
“Let her wait.” I hook my fingers into her panties and drag them down her legs. “Spread your legs for me, little butterfly.”
She complies, leaning back against the wall as I lift one of her legs over my shoulder. The scent of her arousal makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper, but I ignore it.
“You’re already wet for me,” I murmur against her inner thigh. “So fucking perfect.”
I trace my tongue through her slit, savoring her sharp intake of breath.
