Chapter 13
13
CLAIRE
I should have said no.
I should have turned around and walked right back to the ballroom, back to the crowd, back to the safety of Diego’s knowing smirk and the watchful eyes of Charleston’s elite. But instead, I followed Marcus Dane down the hidden staircase, my heels clicking against cold stone, my pulse pounding in my throat.
The hatch sealed above us with a quiet thunk, locking us away from the world above.
A smart woman would have been nervous.
Following a man like Marcus Dane into the dark, alone, where no one could hear me scream? That was the kind of reckless decision that got women in trouble. The kind of mistake whispered about in true crime podcasts, the ones where people shook their heads and said she should have known better.
And maybe I should have.
Because everything about Marcus screamed danger.
Not just the kind that came from a man with power—though he had plenty of that. Not just the kind that came from the wealth he wielded like a blade, cutting through this city with quiet, lethal precision.
No, it was the danger in him . The way he watched me, like he was deciding whether to consume me whole. The way his presence was a slow, suffocating weight, pressing against my senses, leaving no room for anything but him.
I’d spent years chasing stories that led me into dark places. Uncovering the secrets that men in power wanted buried. I knew how to read a threat. How to recognize the moment when a situation tipped from risky to lethal.
And this?
This was something else entirely.
Because Marcus wasn’t just a threat. He was a temptation. A force of nature. And if I wasn’t careful, I wouldn’t just lose control. I’d give it to him. Willingly.
That was the real danger.
Because I had spent my entire career staying three steps ahead, always the one pulling the strings, controlling the narrative, deciding how far I’d go. But Marcus Dane had a way of making me forget that. Making me wonder what it would be like to let go. To let him have me. To let him win. And that was why I needed to remind him who was really in charge.
I wasn’t nervous.
I was burning.
The tunnel stretched before us, dimly lit with recessed lighting, the air cooler here, damp with old stone and secrets. The weight of Dominion Hall sat above us, a fortress on its foundations, and yet down here, under it, there was nothing but him. The heat of his body, the slow, measured way he moved, the way he kept just enough distance to remind me I was the one who had followed him into the dark .
But I wasn’t blind.
I knew exactly what I was doing.
“Where does this lead?” I asked, my voice steady despite the sharp pull of tension between us.
Marcus glanced over his shoulder, his mouth curving like he already knew the answer would be irrelevant. “Does it matter?”
No.
Because we both knew this wasn’t about the tunnels. Wasn’t about Dominion. Wasn’t about the investigation.
It was about the way his gaze slid down my body like a touch. The way my skin prickled under the weight of his attention. The way my traitorous body had been humming with anticipation since the moment I stepped into that ballroom.
I had told myself I was wearing this dress as a power move.
Marcus had known better.
He stopped suddenly, and I nearly collided with him. He turned, slow and deliberate, watching me in that way that made my stomach tighten, my thighs clench together.
“You followed me,” he murmured.
“You led me,” I countered.
A ghost of a smirk spread across his face. The kind that made my pulse throb in my wrists.
“I could take you apart right here,” he said, voice low, dark. “I could drop to my knees and taste you until you forget your own damn name. Until you forget why you came here in the first place.”
Jesus.
Heat shot through me, sharp and electric, pooling low in my belly. I clenched my hands into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms, grounding me, because if I wasn’t careful, I would let him.
And that was the problem. Marcus Dane was used to getting what he wanted. Used to women unraveling for him.
While I might have been on the verge of unraveling, I wasn’t going to let him pull the thread. Not like that.
I tilted my head, stepping closer, close enough that my chest brushed against his. “You want to be on your knees for me, Dane?” I murmured, lifting a brow. “That’s an interesting offer.”
His smirk faltered—just for a second—but I caught it. The flicker of something in his eyes.
Surprise.
Like he wasn’t expecting me to turn the tables.
Like he wasn’t used to a woman taking control.
I reached up, dragging my nails lightly down the front of his shirt, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath the soft fabric. “But see, here’s the thing,” I continued, voice soft but firm. “I don’t lose control. I take it.”
His breath hitched, just barely, but I heard it.
I felt it.
And fuck, I liked it.
I slid my hands lower, over the hard plane of his stomach, down to the thick belt at his waist. He was already hard. I could feel the strain of it, the proof of his arousal pressing against me.
“Claire,” he warned.
I ignored him.
With a slow, deliberate motion, I popped the button of his pants.
His whole body tensed.
I flicked my gaze up, holding his. “Something wrong, Dane? ”
His jaw clenched, his breath coming rougher now. “You think you’re in control?”
I smirked, slow and deliberate. “I know I am.”
I’d seen it the second I walked into Dominion Hall—Marcus watching me like a predator tracking his prey, barely holding himself back. His eyes had darkened the moment he saw Diego on my arm, his jaw going tight, fists flexing like he was itching to drag me away.
And the best part? He’d already looked Diego up. Done his homework. Knew exactly who he was.
Knew he was gay.
Knew there was nothing between us.
And still, still , it had gotten to him.
But it wasn’t just Diego.
It was when I was in that ballroom, surrounded by Charleston’s most powerful men, working them the way I worked every source—sharp smiles, light touches, well-placed laughter. Marcus had returned from his little tour with Diego to find me right where I wanted him—watching me charm the room, watching me command the attention of men who were used to being the ones in charge.
And he hated it.
I’d seen the muscle in his jaw tick, the way his stance shifted as he cut through the crowd, shoving past men who had been leaning in just a little too closely, speaking a little too softly, their eyes lingering on the silver fabric clinging to my body.
Marcus didn’t have to say a word. His presence alone was enough to scatter them, like a wolf stepping into a pack of strays.
And now, here we were.
I let that knowledge sink in, let it move through me like heat licking up my spine. It wasn’t just about possession for Marcus—it was about me. Who I let close, who I let touch me, who I let inside my world.
And I’d made damn sure he knew Diego was closer than he was.
Marcus was wound tight, barely holding himself together. His hands fisted at his sides, his entire body thrumming with tension. Not just from anger. From want. From the knowledge that I’d made him need me. That I was the one making him unravel.
I dragged a single finger down the front of his shirt.
“Admit it, Dane.” My voice was a slow, taunting whisper. “It got to you.”
His nostrils flared. “You think that little game with your producer did anything?”
I tilted my head, my smile widening. “Then why are you breathing like that?”
Marcus exhaled sharply, like he was on the edge of breaking. His control, his restraint—it was all slipping.
And I was the one making it happen.
That was what I wanted.
To watch him snap.
I sank to my knees in front of him, sliding the zipper down with a sharp, deliberate motion. His curse was low and rough as his head tipped back for just a second, the tendons in his throat tightening.
God, I loved this.
The power.
The way I could make a man like him come undone.
He was used to dominance. Used to taking.
But I was going to make him give.
I pulled him free, my breath catching slightly, because fuck , of course, he was perfect. Heavy and thick, his cock jumped in my palm, velvet-smooth and hot against my skin .
I glanced up.
Marcus was staring down at me, his pupils blown, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold on to the last shred of control he had left.
Too bad for him.
I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking once, slow and firm. “Relax,” I murmured. “I’m just getting started.”
His hiss was sharp, his hips jerking slightly.
I smirked.
Then I leaned in, flicking my tongue over the tip.
“Jesus,” Marcus rasped, his hands shooting out, gripping my hair, not pulling, just holding. Like he needed something to hold onto.
I took him deeper, sucking him in, hollowing my cheeks as I set a slow, devastating rhythm. He was breathing ragged now, his muscles straining under my touch, the sharp, desperate sounds escaping his throat filling the tunnel.
This was power.
This was control.
I worked him harder, my hands tightening on his thighs, taking him deeper, until he groaned my name, his grip tightening in my hair.
“Claire—”
I hummed around him, and that was it.
His whole body went tight, his hips snapping forward as he came, hard and fast, a curse tearing from his lips.
I swallowed every drop.
Then I pulled back, wiping the corner of my mouth, meeting his stunned gaze as I rose to my feet.
His jaw was slack, his breathing rough, like he had just come out of a war zone .
I leaned in, brushing my lips over his ear, my voice a whisper of wicked satisfaction.
“Now who’s in control?”
Then I turned, smoothing my dress like I hadn’t just ruined Marcus Dane in a secret tunnel under Dominion Hall.
And I walked away.