She’s here.
I couldn’t believe it when I saw that dot, not in her apartment where I expected it, but inmine. In my bedroom. In the location of my bed.
Watching that dot as I raced home were the most stressful minutes of my life.
She fights me, wriggling and slapping half-heartedly as I carry her, one arm around her waist and her body snug to mine, to the bed and dump her onto it.
From the bedside drawer—I wonder if she looked in here?—I pull the handcuffs that have taken up residence in my mind since I saw them.
“These are from your Wishlist, you know,” I tell her conversationally as I secure her wrist with the furry pink handcuffs and loop the metal to the headboard and snap the other cuff.
“Please,” she says.
“Please, what, Lily?” I ask mildly. “Please don’t punish you for breaking into my apartment?”
Standing back, I admire my captive. With her arms stretched out over her head, her tits look amazing, peeking out from above her top. I want to worship them. Bite them. Have her writhing and crying beneath me. I imagine pushing them together and rubbing my cock between the little mounds until I spurt, hard, right into her face.
A primal claim.
But before that, we need to figure outwhyshe’s in my bedroom. Because lovely as she is, and innocent as I believe her to be, I am still the kingpin of Croydon. I have left a London Mafia Syndicate meeting, raising eyebrows with influential mafia bosses like Westminster and Mayfair who look down their noses at the savage exploits of men like me.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Her white teeth trap that plump bottom lip in them and I don’t bother to disguise that I’m looking, or what my physical response is. I begin to strip off my clothing, tossing aside my fine wool suit jacket as though it were a disposable tissue. Then my tie. And while I’d love to get completely naked, there’s a savage enjoyment in removing only enough to be comfortable for this pleasurable task.
I flick off my platinum cufflinks without bothering with where they fall. “Please don’t take what I want from your virgin body? Given you’ve walked willingly into my lair.”
Her breath catches at that, and she doesn’t deny my guess about her virginity.
“Please make you come on my face?”
She writhes a bit, her thighs rubbing together.
“Or please let you go?” I roll up first one shirt sleeve, then the other.
Her mouth falls open, and her gaze flits between my exposed forearms and neck. She licks her lips with what I’m sure is a guileless action, but fuck, my cock responds as though she wrapped her lips around it. She’s so incredibly gorgeous.
“You like my tattoos, angel?”
She makes a noise like a wounded animal.
“Why were you in my apartment?” It wasn’t spying for another mafia. Not Waltham, anyway, because if it were, her contact would be blown. Besides, I can’t believe that.
But the alternative?
Implausible.
So I have to ask the question and insist on an answer, without using my usual barbaric interrogation methods.
This time she pins me with her gaze. “How do you know the handcuffs were on my Wishlist?”
I grin, but she doesn’t return it, eyebrows pinching together. I love that she’s smart.
“Shall we play a game?”
“What sort of game?” Tugging experimentally on the cuffs, she arches her back. But she can’t escape.
“How about truth or orgasm?”
A splutter of disbelief escapes her. “That… What?”
