1. Chapter 1 #2
She approaches with a wide smile. Her hand slides up his chest. Her lips brush his ear. Whatever she says makes him set his drink down so fast the liquor sloshes over the rim.
She takes his hand and leads him down the back hallway.
I follow.
The hallway is dim, lined with doors to private rooms. She doesn’t use any of them. She pushes him against the wall between two doors—somewhere semi-private but not hidden. Anyone walking by could see them.
She drops to her knees.
Holy fuck.
The position hikes her dress up. From where I’m standing, I can see the curve of her ass, the arch of her back as she leans forward. She looks like a fucking goddess, and she’s about to suck off some random bastard who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.
Her hands work his belt until she frees his cock, strokes him twice, and takes him into her mouth without hesitation.
I should go back to the main floor and wait for her to finish whatever the fuck this is.
My feet don’t move.
The man’s head falls back against the wall, his hands fisting in her hair. He’s moaning, thrusting into her mouth, clearly close to finishing, and she takes it all.
But she’s not performing for him, and she’s not making it pretty or drawing it out. She’s in complete control of the man.
He comes with a grunt that echoes down the hall.
She swallows without flinching, then pulls back and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
And then she stands up and walks away without looking at him.
She doesn’t fix her hair, doesn’t check her makeup, and doesn’t glance back.
The man is still slumped against the wall trying to catch his breath, his dick hanging out of his pants. She’s already gone.
My cock strains against my zipper so hard it aches.
I knew she was hot from the photos. But this—watching her use that man and throw him away—that makes me want to take my cock out and fist myself. And I haven’t done that since I was fucking teenager.
She would be the perfect fucking challenge.
Every woman I touch surrenders before I have to work for it.
They want to be used and hand over control because I’m a Sinclair and saying yes to me is easier than saying no.
There’s no chase, nothing to win, and nothing that makes the conquest mean a goddamn thing.
Reese just used that man and threw him away like he was nothing.
I want to know what it would take to make her kneel for me like that. What it would take to break through that control, strip it away piece by piece, and watch her fall apart. Because I’d be the one in control, and I crave a fucking challenge.
She’s heading toward the exit now, moving fast. I follow, keeping enough distance that she won’t spot me.
Then she stops.
Her whole body goes rigid. Through the glass doors, I can see a black car idling at the curb. I can’t see the driver, but I can see her reaction—her hands curling into fists, her breathing going shallow.
She’s scared of whoever is in that car.
I close the distance between us, stepping into her path. Her head snaps toward me, and I watch recognition flicker across her face. She knows what I am, and she probably knows my name. The Ravens can be a small world.
“Going somewhere, sweetheart?”
Her eyes narrow. Up close, she’s even better than the photos—high cheekbones, pouty lips swollen from having a cock down her throat five minutes ago.
“Get the fuck out of my way.”
“Now, that’s not very friendly.” I step closer, backing her toward the wall. “Especially after the show you just put on.”
She goes still. “What?”
“Back there in the hallway, with you on your knees.” I let my gaze drop to her mouth, then back up. “That asshat didn’t last long, did he?”
Her chin lifts. “Because I know what the fuck I’m doing.”
The lack of shame does something to me. Most women want to at least pretend they aren’t into playing the part of a hot little slut. But she fucking owns it.
“Were you watching me, Sinclair?” She takes a step closer instead of backing away. “Did you like what you saw?”
So she does know who I am. My cock twitches. She notices and licks her bottom lip.
Fuck, I need that fucking mouth.
“I’ve been watching you for days, Reese.” I match her step, closing the distance until I can smell her perfume—something soft and floral. Then I am close enough to feel the heat of her breath. “I know who you are. I know who your daddy is. And I’ve got some questions that need answers.”
She doesn’t step back. Most people do when I get this close. I’m known as an intimidating man. I catch the way her breath stutters, and her chest rises a little faster. Her body knows what her mouth won’t admit.
I could kiss her right now. Or wrap my hand around her throat. She doesn’t know which one I’m thinking about, and I like watching her try to figure it out.
The answer is both. I want my hand around her throat when I kiss her. Goddamnit. I need fucking information, not distraction.
Her gaze flicks toward the exit. The black car hasn’t moved.