A silent scream wrenches from my throat as he hooks a finger over my g-spot, his thumb circling my swollen bud. I tense as thetip of his tongue glides higher, finding the opening in my ass, but then the sensations take over.
Oh my God.
My hips jerk up on instinct, my back arching as a violent tremor takes hold. My vision swims, the edges blurring into nothing, and I shatter, biting into my fist to stifle the cries threatening to spill free.
The click of a key in the lock barely registers, drowned out by the pleasure still pulsing through me. Chase moves fast. My skirt is yanked back down, my straps hastily fixed, and then he’s gone—vanishing into a stall just as the door slides open.
Two women step in, their eyes flicking to me as I grip the sink, splashing cold water onto my flushed face, my breath still coming too fast. My eyes pop when I spot my damn panties still at my feet. I quickly kick them out of sight and force myself to straighten, securing my mask into place to hide my freshly fucked face. Keeping my head down, I push past them, slipping out the door. I don’t know them personally, but I recognize them from HR—the last people on earth you want catching you in a moment like this.
That was way too close.
I almost got caught. And the worst part is—I didn’t even care.
A wave of nausea twists in my gut, the champagne swirling ominously. I run, pushing through the ballroom, past the thrumming music and the sparkling crowd, heading straight for the exit. The moment I hit the street, I throw myself into the first available cab, collapsing against the seat.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my head back against the cool leather, trying to block out the voice inside me, warning me I’m making a mistake, warning me that Chase Knight is going to break me and walk away without a single glance back.
Chapter thirteen
Chase
“I should be an hour or two, tops,” I say as Albert steps back, holding the car door open for me.
“Of course, sir. I’ll be waiting in my usual spot.”
I stride toward Velvet Lounge, its sleek, black-paneled doors framed by a soft golden glow. Two doormen flank the entrance. More than just bouncers, they’re built like linebackers, all broad shoulders and granite-like expressions, their suits straining over their bulk. Their sharp gazes scan every guest, ensuring only the right people step inside.
I push through the entrance later than planned. Today has been relentless—meetings stacked back-to-back, a business lunch with a potential cryptocurrency client, and my phone glued to my ear from sunrise to sunset. Tonight, Richard Morgan, senior director at Monarch, invited Austen and me. Even though I’d rather be punishing my exhaustion at the gym or shutting the world out at home, we couldn’t refuse. TheMonarch cybersecurity contract is within reach, but nothing is certain yet.
Inside, the place is heaving, a current of chatter and laughter rolling beneath the steady bass line humming from the speakers. I move through the crush of bodies, the heat of too many people pressing in, luxury watches flashing under dim lighting as men clutch crystal tumblers, deep in conversation.
As I pass the bar, my gaze flicks there instinctively, half-expecting to see Violet. Something tugs at my chest when I remember the night I sat, transfixed, watching her command the space, zipping between customers, juggling a million orders, her engaging smile never slipping. I shake it off before the memory can take hold. I can’t afford to be distracted. Not tonight. If there’s one thing I know about Violet, it’s that she’s my kryptonite, and I have to be on my game if we’re going to secure this deal.
I spot the Monarch team gathered in a booth toward the back, Austen already seated among them, engaged in conversation. Pushing through the last knot of people, I slide into the open space beside him, offering a nod to the group just as Richard Morgan looks up.
“Chase, good to see you,” he says, extending a hand. “You know Austen, of course. This is Mark Davis, our CFO, Clive Walter, head of legal, and Victor Lang, our regional director for Asia-Pacific.” A round of firm handshakes follows, murmured greetings exchanged just as Lacey sashays over. I have to hand it to her, she knows how to work a room, her fitted red and black uniform drawing attention as she sets a tray of drinks down in front of us. Her eyes flash to mine for a beat too long, her voice dipping low, “Enjoy your drinks, gentlemen; I’ll be over there if you need me.”
She’s barely out of earshot when Richard gestures towards her. “Jesus, Chase. She can barely drag her eyes off you.” There’sa hint of envy in his tone as he watches her walk away with the kind of deliberate sway that guarantees her tips.
Austen smirks, but I just shake my head, half-amused. “She’s just doing her job.”
“Mmmm,” Richard says, clearly not convinced. “Seems to me she wants to provide some extended service.” Laughter rolls around the table as Richard takes a long pull of his cigar, exhaling a ribbon of smoke, his eyes glued to Lacey’s ass. He looks about four whiskeys in, perhaps five, meaning his usual measured restraint is loosened, providing us ample opportunity to dig for information.
I raise my glass, a slow smile curving my lips.
“Well, gentlemen, let’s drink to a promising partnership.”
The Monarch execs echo the toast, the clink of crystal ringing out.
“We’re looking forward to what you bring to the table,” Richard continues, loosening his tie, the alcohol coloring his cheeks. “Though I have to admit, Elliot’s been making some bold promises, too. He’s talking a big game about predictive modeling—adaptive anomaly detection, pattern recognition, the works.”
Austen tenses for half a second before taking a long sip of his drink. The reaction is subtle, but I know him too well to miss it.
“No surprise,” I say smoothly. “Fraud detection is the endgame. Everyone’s got their own approach.”
Richard smirks. “Sure. But he made it sound like he’s already cracked something big. Like he’s got an inside track.”
Austen’s gaze sharpens, but he keeps his tone light. “That so? Interesting. We’ll have to see how it plays out.”
