Page 25 of Possessive Sinner
A decent man. A man who loves her. And until that changes… she's untouchable. But even as I think it, something darker shifts under the surface. Because the problem isn't that I want her. The problem is that for the first time in my life… I want something I can't take. That kind of hunger doesn't go away. It waits.
With a sigh, I rinse my bloody knuckles off under the warm running water, relishing the sting on my broken skin. It's better than the always-there ache in my chest.
My phone dings. Massimo has called a meeting. Thank fuck. I need something else to occupy my mind with, but first, I send a text to Kale.
ME:
Anything?
KALE:
Not yet, boss.
ME:
Stay on it.
KALE:
You got it.
I roll my window down while Louie, one of my guards, drives me to the meeting. Vegas is quiet at this hour. The Strip looks almost civilized before the tourists wake up and start pretending they own it.
Massimo's casino rises out of the skyline like a monument. The Sovereign. Appropriate. Massimo doesn't run a casino. He runs a kingdom. Louie rolls through the valet, and I take the staff elevator up, the one that bypasses the gaming floor entirely. There are no cameras here that don't answer to us.
For half a second, I think about opening my phone to the feed. Her. One of the little cameras I had installed in and around her house, not an easy feat with her mother always present, but my men worked it out during one of her naps. I leave the app closed. For now. Instead, I stare at the elevator numbers ticking upward.Control. You crossed a line once already. The doors open. The hallway outside the conference room is silent, thick carpet swallows every footstep. I can already hear voices inside. Damiano is laughing, while Alessio sounds annoyed. Some things never change.
Massimo starts the meeting by informing us that six people are dead from cut product. Our product. One of the dead is a headliner who will cause a news stir. That's not the real problem, though; the real problem is that it looks like someone's trying to make us look weak. That's the part that matters. Not the details. Not the bodies. The message.
Massimo and Enzo have already traced it back to a middle link. A girl who got paid to contaminate random doses. No name. No face. Just enough chaos to start a war. Right now, we know shit. It could be one of the Cartels, the Russians, the Venezuelans. It could be anyone. Vegas is an international playing field, and everybody wants a slice of it.
It's only a matter of time until we find out who, we always do. The question is just how much blood will have to flow before we do. Massimo wants to make an example. The rest of us agree. Orders got handed out. Between Enzo, Damiano, Alessio, and me, we have it all covered. Surveillance. Streets. Politics.
There will be retaliation and clean-up. Same as always.
But I'm glad when the meeting is over, and I'm back in my own office. When I can set my focus back on her.
Ever since last night, I can't think about anything other than her. The way she looked, the way she smelled, the way she smiled. Fuck. That woman is more than in my head. She's in every pore of my body, and I have no idea how to get her out of it.
I lock the office door with a tap on my phone, the soft click echoes like a promise in the empty space. The city sprawls beneath the glass walls behind me, glittering and indifferent, but none of it matters. Not tonight. Not when she's waiting for me on the screens.
I sink into the leather chair, exhale once, and wake the four monitors with a flick of my fingers. There she is.
Audra.
Curled on the wide couch like a fallen angel who doesn't know she's been claimed. The ivory shorts she's wearing cling to every curve, riding high on her thighs from the way she's tucked her legs beneath her. One bare foot dangles off the cushion; her toenails are painted a soft rose that makes my mouth water. Her red hair spills over one shoulder in loose waves, catching the blue flicker of the television, and every slow breath she takes presses the thin fabric tighter across her breasts. Her nipples are tight, two perfect shadows begging for attention, and the sight sends a hot pulse straight to my cock.
Fuck.
She looks lonely. Soft. So goddamn untouched it hurts. Pete is still gone—working too late again, the pathetic prick—and the emptiness of that house wraps around her like a second skin. My jaw clenches. He has no idea what he's neglecting. A twenty-carat diamond, left on the sidewalk. I want to burn this world down for her while heworks. But right now, that neglect is mine to savor.
I lean forward, zooming the center camera slowly until she fills the frame. The angle catches the delicate hollow of her throat—and I remember what she smelled like—the way her fingers drift absently along her collarbone, tracing lazy circles over her own skin. When she shifts, her shorts slip another inch higher, revealing the shadowed edge of black lace between her thighs. My breath catches. Blood rushes south so fast my cock strains painfully against my zipper.
I don't fight it.
I palm myself through the fabric first, slow and hard, feeling the heavy throb of need that's been building since the moment I saw her last night. She bites her lower lip, just barely, as she watches whatever show is playing, and I imagine that mouth on me instead. First soft and hesitant, then growing greedy. My hand moves on its own, working the button open, dragging thezipper down. When I free my cock, it's already leaking, thick and flushed, heavy in my grip.
I stroke once, root to tip, and a low groan tears from my chest. On the screen, Audra stretches, arching her back like an offering. The silk pulls tight, outlining every inch of her breasts, and I tighten my fist, thumb sweeping over the slick head, spreading the precum in slow, filthy circles. Heat coils low in my gut, dark and possessive. I picture sliding that thin shirt off her shoulders, baring her completely, and sucking one of those tight nipples into my mouth while she gasps my name.
