Chapter 23
I shouldn’t have touched her.
Shouldn’t have laid my hands on her—spanked that firm little ass and watched her cheeks bounce with each strike. I shouldn’t have stared so long at the flush of red I left behind… or felt the sharp bite of pride at the sight of my handprint. My brand.
I sure as hell shouldn’t have wanted to tear those panties off and devour her.
But I did.
I wanted to lick that wet cunt until she sobbed my name, until she forgot why she was mad, until there was no brat left in her—just need.
It’s been twenty minutes.
And I haven’t moved from my chair.
The Ledger security app glows on my second monitor, and I’m watching it like my fucking life depends on it.
The green dot labeled S. Knight is almost home. She’s moving fast, storming her way up that building like she’s ready to burn it down.
I know exactly what she’s about to do.
So I press a button under my desk. My door locks with a muted click , and the monitor to the left blinks to life.
The cameras weren’t just installed inside her apartment—though the ones routed only to me? Those are hidden. Exclusive. Private.
But there are others. Ones wired through the building.
Visible cameras mounted in the lobby and elevator—obvious, for the sake of deterrence.
Then there are the others —discreet angles at the ends of halls, in stairwells, two positioned directly across from Sienna’s unit.
I won’t take chances.
Not with Lorenzo.
Not with her.
If someone comes for her, I’ll see it before they get close.
And when I do?
I’ll kill them.
She appears on the monitor now, storming down the hallway from the elevator, heels sharp against tile, fury rippling off her in waves.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous when she’s pissed.
She fumbles with the lock, her shoulders tense with impatience, and I watch her mouth move as she curses it under her breath.
My cock throbs against the confines of my slacks, straining— aching .
The moment the door opens, she throws it shut behind her and marches down the hallway with intent.
She’s not even trying to cool off.
She’s going straight for relief.
Her hands go to the hem of her dress, yanking it over her head in one smooth pull. I groan, grabbing the base of my cock and squeezing hard to fight the rush that follows.
Black lace bra. Matching panties. Garter belt cinched to those damn stirrups holding up her sheer black stockings.
She kicks off her heels and unclasps her bra.
Her breasts bounce free—perky, flushed, nipples already tight.
I reach for the drawer on the right side of my desk, tugging it open without breaking my gaze. My earbuds are exactly where I left them. I pop them in, syncing them to the audio channel I never use.
Until now.
Until her.
Until this .
The instant I hear her sigh, a guttural sound leaves me—somewhere between relief and agony. My fist strokes up the length of my cock, slow and tight.
She grabs the vibrator. The purple one I saw on her nightstand the night I dropped her off. The same one I imagined in place of my tongue.
She plops onto her bed, scoots to the center, and spreads her legs wide.
My heart slams against my ribs. I stroke harder.
The vibrator buzzes to life—and her moan?
Her moan breaks me.
Loud. Unashamed. Wrecked.
My hips jerk off the chair as my grip tightens. Pre-cum leaks from the tip, and I swipe my thumb over it as her legs tremble on screen.
Her free hand clutches the sheets, her back arches, and she moans again—louder this time.
God, I want her mouth around my cock. Her body writhing under mine. Her nails clawing into my back as she begs for the orgasm I’ve been denying her for weeks.
This pressure I’ve been building in her?
It’s building in me too.
We’re both strung tight, twisted up in this game.
But only one of us is going to win.
And it’s not going to be her.
She doesn’t even take her panties off.
Just slides the vibrator beneath them, moving in tight, quick circles over her clit. Her thighs twitch as she finds the rhythm she needs, and I can see her hips flexing, chasing that first orgasm like she’s been on the edge for hours.
Because she has.
Because I put her there.
I grip my cock tighter, stroking up the shaft as her body jerks—hips bucking—and a sharp moan rips from her lips. Her thighs tremble violently, her cunt pulsing beneath the lace as she cries out her release.
And fuck, it’s beautiful.
I throb in my palm, my cock hard as stone, but I don’t come. Not yet. I know her.
And she’s not done.
Her hand slows against her clit, breathing ragged as she tosses the vibrator—still buzzing—onto the mattress beside her. Her chest heaves as she slides her panties down, finally baring herself.
I growl low in my throat, pumping my cock with a harsh stroke. “Fuck yes, baby.”
She kicks the panties to the end of the bed, and I curse again. “Show me that pretty pussy.”
Like she heard me, she spreads her legs wide—glistening, pink, swollen, soaked . My mouth waters.
God, I need to taste her. To bury my face between her thighs and suck her clit until she cries like she just did.
She grabs the vibrator again and slides the slick bulb down her slit. Teasing herself. Testing how close she is. Her hips twitch when she touches her entrance—fuck, I bet she’s so tight—but she doesn’t push it in. Just glides it back up and presses it to her clit again.
This time, she turns the dial higher.
Her back bows instantly, her body jolting with a raw, almost pained moan. “Fuuuck.”
It’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
One hand flies back, bracing on the headboard behind her as she rides the second orgasm with her legs trembling in their stocking-clad sheath. She can’t keep them still—friction, need, electricity still running through her.
And me?
I’m right there with her. Grunting. Groaning. My hips flex into every stroke as precum drips from the tip of my cock, my balls drawn up tight.
But she still wants more.
Still isn’t satisfied.
My little Angel has nothing but sin in her mind.
She shifts—up onto her knees now, thighs spread wide, her body open like a fucking invitation to Hell. One hand stays behind her for balance, while the other works her clit with brutal, desperate determination.
Her breasts sway with every grind of her hips. Her garters bite against her skin. Her head tips back as she cries out to the ceiling, lost to her pleasure.
“That’s it, Angel ,” I pant. “Fucking ride it.”
I want her on my face. I want her grinding that perfect pussy over my mouth while I taste every goddamn moan she makes.
She starts to shake.
She’s close.
And I fall with her.
My cock jerks violently in my grip as the orgasm crashes through me. “Fuck?—”
Her voice explodes from the speakers.
“Fuck! Fuck you. Fuck you, Lucian! ”
The sound pushes me over the edge.
My cum spills hot and thick over my fist as I growl her name, breath ragged.
“Yeah,” I mutter darkly, smirking at the screen, still stroking the last of it out of me wiping the tip of my dick with a tissue. “I’m going to fuck you, little rabbit.”
My heart is still hammering in my chest when she suddenly… looks up.
Directly into the camera.
Her eyes lock onto mine like she knows .
Like she knew the whole time.
Her expression is flushed, glowing from orgasm—but that smirk?
That smirk tells me everything.
She cocks one brow, smug and dangerous. Then she lifts the vibrator to her mouth and?—
Licks it.
Long. Slow. Eyes locked on the lens.
My jaw drops.
My cock twitches.
And I whisper?—
“ Fuck me. ”
* * *
I was watching her sleep when the call came in.
My little angel curled into her sheets, the fire burned out for the night. Her hair a messy halo around her face, one leg kicked free of the blanket. Lips parted, chest rising slow and even.
She definitely knows where at least two of the cameras are.
How the fuck she found them, I don’t know. But Jaxon’s getting an earful when I get back.
The alert was urgent .
One of my men. Wouldn’t say what. Only that it was a client.
And that I needed to come now .
So here I am.
The wind sharp with salt and steel.
The full moon casting a ghostly sheen across the industrial wreckage of the shipyard.
“This better be good,” I bark, voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls of the warehouse surrounding us.
In the distance, a cargo horn bellows—low and haunting.
The waves slap against the concrete wall in lazy rhythm, but the metallic scent riding the breeze isn’t ocean or rust.
It’s blood .
My men stand silent, solemn. They part when I approach.
I don’t need to get close to know he’s dead.
Bloated. Pale. Drifted in on the current, tangled in the ropes off the dock. He’s been in the water for days. Skin gray, swelling in strange places.
But I know it’s a man.
And I know which man the moment I see the ring.
His wedding band.
Mateo.
Fuck.
The logo on his shirt confirms it—embroidered right over his heart. The crest of his produce empire. One of the quiet clients. The loyal ones. The ones who never asked for more than discretion, and in return, got my protection.
Mateo never wanted to be caught in the middle of this war.
He asked to be released from his contract—quietly, respectfully.
And I told him to stay. Promised he’d be protected. That I had it under control.
I was wrong.
I step closer, my jaw clenched, my men falling silent behind me.
They don’t need to follow.
This is my mess.
Mateo didn’t go easy. His body tells the story.
The deep bruising. The defensive wounds etched along his arms. A long, vicious gash carved across his stomach—messy, painful, cruel.
He suffered.
But it’s his face that stops me cold.
Or what’s left of it.
A whiskey bottle—shattered.
The jagged handle driven straight into his eye socket.
And not just any whiskey.
Mine.
The same bottle I brought to Lorenzo’s warehouse. A gesture of peace. A final olive branch.
Now it’s been returned.
Louder. Bloodier. Impossible to misinterpret.
There will be no truce.
And whatever line I’d been hoping we hadn’t crossed—we’re miles past it now.
War isn’t looming.
It’s fucking here.