Chapter 3
Three
Ilona
The private elevator rises in silence, carrying us away from the pulse of the party below.
My stranger, my Dante, keeps one hand pressed to the small of my back, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the painted vines that curve over my hip. The touch is possessive and tender all at once, a contradiction I'm beginning to associate with everything about this man.
The doors open onto a hallway I've never seen before. According to the membership materials Luna helped me study, this floor doesn't exist for someone at my access level. The ultra-elite rooms. The ones reserved for the men who own this city and the women fortunate enough to catch their attention.
"Oh, I um…I don’t think I can be up here." I hate being a stickler for rules, but I can’t have anything come up on my membership that might get me flagged. I just got the damn thing. "My membership only allows access to certain floors. This isn't one of them."
Dante's smile curves against my temple as he guides me forward. "You're allowed to go where I say you're allowed."
He pulls a black card from his jacket and passes it over a reader beside a heavy wooden door. The lock clicks, the door swings open, and my breath abandons me entirely.
Red lights line the edges of the room, throwing everything in a simmering crimson glow that makes my painted skin look like I'm on fire.
A massive bed dominates the center, draped in black silk that gleams like liquid shadow.
The entire front wall is glass, floor to ceiling, offering an unobstructed view of the party still pulsing below.
From up here, the writhing bodies look like art.
Like a living painting of pleasure and sin.
But the feature that steals my voice is off to the side, where the floor dips into a recessed pool fed by a cascading waterfall.
Blue lights line the square cutout, making the falling water appear ethereal, otherworldly.
There are no doors, no curtains, just the steady rush of water and a towel warmer within arm's reach.
It's breathtaking.
But the man beside me is more so.
I turn to face him, and the words tumble out before wisdom can stop them. "Tell me your name. Your real name."
His smile deepens, equal parts charm and mystery. Instead of answering, he cups my face in both hands and takes my mouth in a kiss that obliterates every coherent thought in my head.
This isn't the gentle brush of lips from downstairs. This is fire and claiming and a hunger that matches the desperate ache building between my thighs. His tongue sweeps against mine, tasting, demanding, and I give him everything he's asking for because I don't know how to do anything else.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard.
"Names can wait," he murmurs against my swollen lips. "Right now, I want to taste the sweet honey of the flower painted across your breasts."
He sinks to one knee before me, and the sight of this powerful man kneeling at my feet does devastating things to my composure. His fingers find the edges of the sticky covers Luna applied to my nipples, and he peels them away with deliberate slowness, his dark eyes never leaving mine.
The cool air hits my bare breasts, and my nipples tighten instantly. He groans, low and appreciative, and then his mouth closes over one peaked tip and I forget how to stand.
His tongue swirls around my nipple, licking away the paint Luna so carefully applied, and the sensation is unlike anything I've ever experienced.
When his teeth graze the sensitive flesh, a whimper escapes me.
When he bites down, just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to my core, I cry out and grip his shoulders for balance.
"That's it," he murmurs against my skin, switching to my other breast. "Let me hear you, jungle flower. Let me know what you like."
I like everything. I like the way his hands knead the flesh of my ass while his mouth worships my breasts. I like the scrape of his beard against my sensitive skin. I like the way he groans against me like I'm the most delicious thing he's ever tasted in his entire life.
His fingers find the slick heat between my thighs, and he strokes through my folds with a confidence that makes my legs forget their purpose.
One finger circles my clit while his mouth continues its assault on my nipples, and the dual sensation builds a wave of pleasure so intense I can barely breathe.
"Come for me," he commands against my breast. "Give me your pleasure, beautiful."
The wave crests and crashes, and I shatter in his arms with a cry that echoes off the glass walls. He holds me through it, his mouth gentling on my breast, his fingers slowing but not stopping, drawing out every last tremor until I'm limp and gasping.
When I can finally open my eyes, he's rising to his full height, his gaze burning with barely contained hunger. He sheds his jacket and tosses it aside, then loosens his tie with movements that are infuriatingly controlled.
"You're so calm." My voice comes out breathless, wrecked. "How are you so calm when I'm falling apart?"
His smile turns wicked. "Who says I'm calm?"
He rolls his sleeves up his forearms, and I finally get to see the full scope of the artwork decorating his skin.
The viper's body coils up his right arm in intricate detail, black scales edged in gold, the ruby eyes at its head seeming to glow in the red light.
On his other arm, vines and leaves create an Eden that's been corrupted, thorns hidden among the flowers, another serpent winding through the greenery. This one black and silver.
I reach out and trace my finger up the back of the viper, following the muscular coils until they disappear beneath his sleeve. My touch makes his breath catch, a small crack in that controlled facade.
"May I?" I move my fingers to the buttons of his shirt.
"Do whatever you want to me, jungle flower. I'm yours tonight."
The permission sends a thrill through me. I pop the buttons one by one, revealing more ink, more skin, more of this man I've decided to give myself to. He finishes removing his tie and I pull the ends of his shirt from his slacks, spreading the fabric wide.
I step back to take him in, and my mouth goes dry.
"You are beautiful."
The word seems inadequate for what stands before me.
His torso is a canvas of art and violence.
A black panther curls from his ribs around to his back, its tail draping over his hip and disappearing beneath his waistband.
Chains and roses wind between religious symbols and thorny vines.
And scattered among the ink, visible now that I'm looking, are scars.
Bullet holes puckered with healed tissue.
Knife wounds that tell stories of survival.
He's lived a violent life, this stranger who touches me with such devastating tenderness.
Tonight, none of that matters.
He closes the distance between us and turns me around, positioning my palms flat against the cool glass wall lining the front of the room. Below us, the party continues, oblivious to the private performance about to unfold above them.
"Watch," he instructs, his voice a rough caress against my ear. "A new show is beginning."
On the stage far below, fresh performers take their places. Two men and a woman this time, their bodies gleaming with oil as they begin their sensual dance.
My mystery man kneels behind me, his mask still in place. Part of me wants to reach back and tear it away, to see the face of the man about to claim my body. But the mystery is its own seduction, and I find myself surrendering to it.
"What are you doing?" My voice trembles with anticipation.
"Lean forward until those beautiful breasts press against the glass."
I obey, gasping as the cool surface meets my heated skin. My nipples tighten almost painfully, and I watch my breath fog the glass in front of me.
Behind me, his hands spread my ass cheeks, and I feel him peeling away the last scrap of fabric Luna glued in place. The final barrier between us, gone.
"Oh." The sound escapes me as cool air kisses my most intimate places.
He presses his lips to the curve of my ass, and a moan rumbles from his chest. "Your skin responds to the slightest touch." His tongue traces one of the painted leaves, licking away Luna's artwork one stroke at a time. "So sensitive. So fucking perfect."
I press back against him, shimmying my hips, wanting more of whatever he's willing to give. He alternates between licking the paint away and sinking his teeth into my flesh, pleasure and pain braiding together until I can't tell them apart.
"Please." The word comes out as a desperate whisper. I rest my cheek against the glass, letting the coolness soothe the heat consuming me from within.
His grip tightens on my ass, spreading me open, and then his tongue finds my clit.
I nearly come off the glass.
He circles that swollen bundle of nerves. Once. Twice. My fingers spread wide, palms pressed flat, trying to ground myself against the onslaught of sensation.
"Take the pleasure, my beautiful jungle flower." His breath is hot against my wet flesh. "Let your body feel everything I want to give you."
His tongue works my clit with devastating precision, licking and sucking and driving me toward an edge I can see but can't quite reach.
All the while, his thumb teases my other entrance, pressing gently, not penetrating, just letting me know he could.
The forbidden sensation makes me buck and groan.
"Oh God, yes. Please, more."
He growls against my folds, and the vibration sends shockwaves through my core. Hot liquid spills from me, and he's right there to lap it up, greedy and thorough.
Just when I think I can't take any more, he spins me around and presses my back to the glass. It's warm now from my body heat, slick with condensation from my ragged breaths.