Chapter 18
The music throbs, the bass pounding harder than the blood in my veins. I’m on the balcony overlooking the main floor, a vantage point built for control, and every nerve in my body is lit with fire I can’t extinguish.
She’s down there. My Angel. Dancing for another man.
He’s reclined like a king in one of my chairs, a drink on the table beside him, mouth parted as if he'd been granted an audience with God herself. And she gives it to him, her body rolling with a rhythm that makes every other dancer fade to shadows. The crowd is just background noise. The lights are barely a distraction. But her? She’s the fucking epicenter.
And she knows I’m watching.
Her eyes flick up, finding me through the haze and smoke.
It’s a split second before she looks away, bending to sit on his lap.
She tips her head back, arching in a way that bares her throat, her lips parting on a sound I can’t hear but imagine all too vividly.
My cock aches with the memory of that sound—how it felt ripped from her in a hotel room two years ago when she was mine, only mine.
Heat coils tight in my gut, laced with rage. That bastard’s eyes are on her breasts, on the shimmer of her skin, on the lace she’s stripping away inch by teasing inch. And he’s fucking enjoying every second of it.
But then her gaze slides up. Finding mine again. The noise, the lights, the crowd—it all drops away. It’s just us.
Her lips curve into a ghost of a smile, meant for me alone, before she rises from his lap.
She turns, giving me the full view of her ass, the thin strip of her thong useless against pale skin.
Her dark hair spills forward as she bends, bringing her mouth to the man’s ear.
I see his throat work, his knuckles whitening on the arm of the chair, though I can’t hear a word.
Doesn’t matter. It isn’t about what she says—it’s about the act.
She turns her head slightly toward me, whispering to him while her eyes stay locked on me.
Heat detonates in my chest, scorching everything in its path. She’s not giving him a show. She’s giving me a warning. A dare.
Her fingers trail down her own body, and I swear she’s touching herself for me. She turns just enough so I can see the smirk that plays at the corner of her mouth—a fucking dagger of defiance. She wants me to unravel. She wants to see how far she can push before I snap.
And I’m seconds away from doing it.
Every muscle in my body is tight, jaw locked. I built this empire to control men like the one below me, to strip them of their power while they drowned in champagne and pussy they could never have. But watching her—my Angel—on display for someone else?
It’s a fucking death sentence.
For him.
For her.
For me.
When she straightens, she doesn’t break eye contact with me. I can see the mischief in her eyes as she dips a fingertip into his untouched drink, the amber liquid catching the light, and drags it over the swell of her breast like she’s marking herself for me.
My throat locks. My lungs seize.
Her mouth parts, her head tipping back as if the touch alone is enough to undo her.
She circles her nipple with that glistening stroke, teasing it to a stiff peak, and then—Christ—she bends and takes herself into her mouth.
Tongue swirling, lips closing around her own skin, sucking like she’s desperate.
The crowd erupts, hungry, feral. The man in front of her looks ready to sell his soul for a single taste. But it isn’t for them. It’s me she’s breaking. It’s me she’s baiting.
Then, in one last defiant moment, she lifts her finger to her lips.
Her cheeks hollow as she drags it deep, sucking it down to the knuckle.
Her eyes flutter closed, lashes trembling, a soft show of pleasure curving her mouth as she pulls off—wet, obscene.
Saliva glistens on her skin when she slides her finger free.
My cock is rock-hard, straining against the confines of my pants, every pulse a reminder that she’s playing me in front of a room full of people.
And right now, I’m fucking done with this game.
My body moves before my brain catches up. I grip the railing, voice sharp enough to cut through the chaos. “End that dance. Bring her to my office. Now.”
Two of my men don’t hesitate. They cut through the shadows, closing in on the table.
The man in the chair starts to protest, but one sharp look from my men silences him cold.
She doesn’t resist when security moves to take her.
Instead, she tilts her chin higher, defiant, daring me to punish her for putting me through hell.
Good. She’ll get her wish.
I’m already waiting when they guide her upstairs. The instant the door shuts, silence crashes down—thick, suffocating. She leans against the wall like she owns it, arms crossed over her bare tits, lips swollen and wet, chest rising and falling like she’s proud of the wreckage she left me in.
“What the fuck were you doing out there?” I say, accusing.
Her smirk curves, infuriating and intoxicating. “What did it look like? I was dancing. Entertaining. That’s the point, isn’t it?”
Two strides and I’m on her, bracing my palms against the wall on either side of her head. The wood rattles with the force. My chest hovers close to hers. “Don’t insult me. That wasn’t a dance. That was you putting yourself in my crosshairs.”
She lifts her chin, feigning calm, though her chest rises faster with every breath. “Or maybe you don’t like seeing me give someone else attention.”
My hand finds her jaw, fingers digging just enough to hold her still.
“You weren’t giving him attention, you never looked at him,” I bite out.
“Not once. You whispered in his ear while keeping your eyes on me, like you wanted me to tear him apart. And when you put your hands on yourself…” My gaze drops to her breasts, then returns, molten. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
Her lips part on a shaky laugh, though her voice trembles under the weight of it. “And maybe I liked it. Watching you lose control.”
The dam inside me fractures. I press in, caging her fully, every ragged breath brushing her lips. Her pupils dilate, the bravado slipping, and when I drag my thumb across her mouth, she licks it—slow, filthy. A sound slips from her throat, half-moan, half-defiance, and it detonates inside me.
“Careful, Angel,” I rasp, my forehead nearly touching hers. “I’m not the sort of man to play games with.”
I dip, just enough for my mouth to hover a whisper above hers. My nose grazes hers, our breaths tangling, her chest rising fast against mine. Her lips part, waiting, daring, her body softening into me like she’s seconds from shattering.
I want to kiss her. Fuck, I want to consume her. My tongue aches for her taste, memory dragging me back to a night I’ll never forget, my body wound so tight I’m seconds from losing every shred of control.
Before it goes any further, I tear myself back. My breath saws between us, harsh, like I’ve just dragged myself off the edge of a cliff. Her lips stay parted, furious and wanting, and when her eyes cut into mine, the blaze there could burn us both alive.
“You’re finished for tonight,” I tell her, my voice edged with impatience. “Get dressed. I’ll cover your tip out.”
Her eyes narrow. “And if I don’t?”
A laugh breaks from me, dangerous, stripped of any real humor. “Then I’ll drag you out of here myself. Either way, you’re done.”
She tilts her chin, defiant even as her breath stutters. “Where are we going?”
I lean close enough that my words graze her lips. “We’re going to have dinner. Like civilized adults.” My smile is sharp. “Now go. Get. Fucking dressed.”