Chapter 23 #2
I nod, trying to stay composed. Trying to ignore the stares from the rest of the table. Trying to act like the knife in my heart didn't just twist a little more.
“It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s not. Even though it never will be.
“You think this Ethan guy has someone else’s money?” Emilio asks.
“No idea,” I say. “But I’d like to know if he was sitting on a pile of cash.”
“Rafe okay with you asking?” He jerks his head in Rafe’s direction. “Without running it by him first?”
“Rafe doesn’t control me,” I growl, throwing Rafe a challenging look.
Rafe grunts but doesn’t stop me.
“Fine,” Emilio says. “But don’t expect to find much. Those Red Hook guys stuff most of their cash up their noses or into their veins.”
“Just look into it,” Rafaele says, low and dangerous.
“Got it.”
Emilio walks away. We watch him leave in silence, and it doesn’t take him long to disappear into the room as if he was never there in the first place.
I turn to Rafe.
“Are you mad?”
“About Ethan?” he asks. “Or about you looking like this?”
His eyes are burning into me, like I’m the only thing he wants to look at. Like maybe this dress was the best idea ever.
“Both?” I say, feeling a heat rise to my cheeks.
He leans in and speaks low, just for me, his breath warming my ear.
“You look too fucking good, Sloane.”
Like it’s an insult.
“This was your idea, you know,” I say. “The dress. The heels. The entire city block of clothes.”
He drops his voice.
“I own that dress, Carter,” he says. “Don’t forget it.”
A shiver runs through me at the way he says it. As a promise. Like he’s ready to take me right here, right now.
The drinks are strong, the kind of cocktails that could knock a girl into another life, the life Rafe seems to think is mine.
The bartender gives me a look like he knows it too.
Like he’s seen a million of me. I want to shake him.
Rafe wants to do worse. He downs his whiskey in a single shot and jerks his head toward the stairs. I follow, breathless.
We go up to a private lounge, with a view of the whole club, and he locks the door behind us, his eyes on me like a wolf on its prey.
“What do you do here?” I ask, looking around.
One wall is entirely glass, overlooking the throng below. Black glass, dim lighting, plush velvet couches, expensive whiskey, weapons probably hidden in the wall.
I can see his whole world from above, but he’s just watching me.
“You want to know what I do here? What I own? You. Right now.”
I kick out a hip, feeling the fabric pull across my body.
“You don’t own me, Rafe.”
“First timers don’t get to come up here,” he says. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
I cross my arms and ask, "Then why’d you bring me here?"
Rafe steps closer, gritting his jaw as he looks down at me.
"Because I don’t want anyone else looking at you," he replies.
I glance out through the one-way glass.
"Too late for that. A few men noticed the dress," I say.
He steps in, crowding me against the glass.
"Every single man in that room noticed the dress. And I’m still deciding who’s going to pay for it," he says.
I tilt my chin defiantly.
"You don’t get to be jealous," I tell him.
He is dead serious as he responds:
"I’m not jealous. I’m possessive. Don’t confuse the two."
There is a beat, and I find myself breathless. He doesn’t touch me, yet, but his voice drops lower.
"I brought you up here to remind myself I still have control," he says.
"And?" I prompt.
He finally touches my waist, his grip firm.
"I don’t," he admits.
I lean into him as his hands slide up my back.
"Then stop pretending," I whisper
His mouth is against my neck now.
"You have no idea what you’re doing to me," he murmurs.
"Show me," I say softly.
We collide. His hands are on my hips, my back against the glass, the bass from the club vibrating through the wall.
He growls in my ear, "Let them dance. Let them drink. Let them wonder where you are."
"With you," I whisper.
"Damn right you are," he replies, dragging his mouth down my collarbone.
His mouth crashes into mine, no hesitation, no restraint. One hand fists in my hair, gripping just enough to tilt my head the way he wants it. The other curls around my waist, dragging me against him like he can’t get me close enough.
“You don’t get to disappear into crowds anymore,” he growls against my lips. “You don’t get to put yourself in danger. You belong to me now.”
I open my mouth to argue—he takes advantage of it, tongue sweeping in, kiss brutal and claiming. My knees nearly give out. He catches me without missing a beat.
His jacket hits the floor. He reaches inside the low neckline of my dress, palming my breast.
“Every time you walk into a room,” he murmurs, mouth hot against my collarbone, “you make it harder to breathe.”
I gasp as his mouth trails lower. “You… never… say stuff like that.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t think it,” he says, his hands sliding up my thighs, under my dress. “You think I haven’t imagined this a hundred times?”
He lifts me onto the edge of the velvet chaise, spreading my knees apart with a dark look that makes me tremble.
“I’ve thought about you like this,” he says, dropping to his knees. “Looking down at the club like it’s yours. But it’s not. You’re mine.”
He lifts my hips gently and rolls my panties down my legs. My breath catches as he pushes my dress higher, dragging his mouth up the inside of my thigh. I’m already shaking when his tongue finds me. Slow at first, then deeper, darker, until I can’t remember my own name.
“Rafe—oh my God—”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t rush. He’s focused, relentless. Like worship. Like punishment. Like both.
When I come undone, he holds me through it, hands firm on my hips, mouth still devouring me, my cry swallowed by the bass thumping from the dance floor below.
He stands then, still fully clothed, fire in his eyes. Wordlessly, he pulls me to my feet and leads me to the glass. Slowly, he slides my dress up over my head, then undoes my bra until I’m standing before him completely naked.
“Say it, Rafe,” I demand, losing my mind.
“Going to fuck you so hard,” he says, his voice low and ragged.
The cool glass is on my back, his body hot against mine, and I’m a frenzy of wanting him.
I kiss him, a raw and daring kiss, and it sets us both on fire.
“God, Sloane,” he groans.
I unbuckle his belt, undo his button, and slide open his fly. His cock is huge and eager, and when I hold it in my palm, my man moans.
“What else?” I taunt, feeling the madness in my voice. “Say it.”
“Going to make you scream,” he says, desperate and relentless.
A soft whimper spills from my lips.
“Turn around,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Hands on the glass.”
“Someone might—”
“They won’t see. But you will.” His voice is pure sin. “You’ll see everything. While I take you apart.”
I obey.
He pushes into me, one hard thrust, and I lose it. He’s inside, hot and perfect, and I’m so full of him I can’t stand it. He makes me mad with need, the way he doesn’t hold back. The way he gives me all of himself.
“Rafaele!” I cry, suddenly wishing everyone downstairs could hear me call his name.
“Fuck,” he growls. “You feel so good.”
The glass is cold on my palms. His hands are fire. When he pushes into me, it’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Say it,” he grits out against my shoulder. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp. “I’ve always been yours.”
His rhythm turns savage. One hand slips up to my throat, not choking, just holding. Anchoring. Marking me.
“Good girl,” he growls. “Now let them dance. Let them drink. Let them know who you fucking belong to.”
He takes me harder, wild and unrestrained. The glass is vibrating with our bodies, our madness, our everything. We’re out of control, and I’ve never wanted him more. He drives me to the edge, past the edge, to the place where I’m about to fall.
“Oh god,” I say, gripping him, ready to explode. “Rafe!”
“Come for me,” he demands. “Come hard, princess.”
I do. I shatter, everything a blur of heat and wildness.
I come apart in his arms, shaking, laughing, losing my mind.
He takes me with him, one more thrust and he’s gone too.
He groans, low and deep, holding me tight, holding me up, keeping me his.
We come down, breathless and raw, and I’m not sure I can ever have enough.