“But it is good for me,” she murmured shyly into his ear. “Watching you lose control while you’re inside me is…well, it’s wonderful.” She swept her hands over his back, squeezing his shoulders. “You can let go, too. Anytime you’re ready.”
This beautiful, incredible woman. She took his bold commands, his invitations, and turned them on him? How could he resist? Why would he resist?
He unchained himself, let himself fuck and fuck and fuck. He was wild with need, and he dipped his head to suck on her neck, to lick her salty skin, to hear her moans in his ears. And then he was jerking, spasming so hard a deep, rough groan ripped from his chest.
His arms buckled, and he collapsed at Olive’s side. He sank into the cushions, his breathing harsh, his body still inflamed. She made as if to move aside, to give him more room, but that wasn’t what he wanted.
Or what he needed.
He hauled her into his arms, sweeping one hand over her back and pressing his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet, violet scent. “I knew you’d be incredible,” he murmured.
Her cheeks stretched into a smile against his shoulder. “I knew I’d be the best you’d ever had.”
He huffed out a laugh, then cuddled her closer.
Rule number five could go to hell.
Chapter 22
“What in God’s name is this?”
Leland Wingate’s polished veneer was long gone.
He slapped the morning edition of the Post down on his desk, the headline Emil and Olive had crafted staring up in bold type: Seattle’s Finest? Or Just Another Club of Men Who Prey on Innocent Women?
Emil had anticipated irritation, perhaps even a theatrical burst of temper. After all, the headline had been crafted to sting. What he hadn’t quite expected was the overwrought tirade now spilling forth. He watched as Wingate stormed about his expansive office, puffed up with outrage and spewing vitriol about suffragists, women in general, and most of all, Emil himself.
“How stupid could you be, letting the suffragists catch on to you?” he sputtered, a fleck of spittle landing on the cuff of his immaculate sleeve. “Do you grasp what even a whisper of scandal means for a man of my standing? One false impression, and every respectable board in this city slams its doors. My good name could be undone in a single afternoon!”
Emil itched to point out the man’s hypocrisy. But wasn’t that typical of men with too much power? They had so little regard for anyone’s reputation but their own.
Wingate struck his cane against the floor. “You were supposed to be discreet. Invisible. And instead, you hand them a headline that paints anyone connected to that damn composer as a laughingstock. Or worse, a villain! If my fiancée connects me to this drivel—heaven help me—she’ll imagine I’ve been dabbling in sordid affairs. And she is already prone to dramatics. Flighty, emotional, impossible to reason with. If she wavers again, I’ll—” He stopped short, breathing heavily. “Suffice it to say, I cannot endure another postponement.”
Emil kept his face carefully neutral, though his fists ached to clench. What man spoke of his intended as if he despised everything about her? “Good thing she believes you to be an avid supporter.”
Wingate dabbed at his sweat-shined brow with a handkerchief, jaw grinding as he fought for composure. “Yes. Well. Best to be cautious. No more chasing the composer. Let someone else deal with her.”
Emil inclined his head. Inside, though, pride welled up. Olive had managed the situation on her own terms and forced Wingate to back away. Whatever schemes he might have abandoned no longer mattered. She was safe because she had made it so. And that, more than anything, filled Emil with admiration.
“Understood.”
Wingate rounded the desk and sat down heavily. “Now. What do you have on Gunn?”
Emil withdrew a folder with his findings. He’d rehearsed this moment a dozen ways. Now that Olive’s safety was ensured, he would admit his failure, quietly bow out of the partnership, and part in a way that left both men’s reputations intact.
“He’s a cautious businessman. He doesn’t leave dirt lying around. But I’ve mapped out his strategy, which is worth something.”
“I already know his strategy,” Wingate said impatiently. “I want scandal. I want weakness. I want something to end him.”
“So you can buy him out?”
“So I could bury him.”
Emil set the folder on the desk with a thud. “Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything.”
“Then make something up.”
Emil stilled. “Say again?”
