I wanted to give her the world and make her mine for all eternity.
I wrapped a hand around my thickening cock. My grip tightened as my thoughts drifted back to the memory of her standing on the parapet, her body on full display, her golden strands whipping in the wind—a goddess.
Fuck.
Even in the middle of this shitstorm, I was hard for her. My mind was still on her lips, her breathy moans, the fight in her body as I held her down on the bed, spanking her until she broke for me.
I pumped once, twice, imagining her bent over the vanity, begging for more. Her dripping little pussy. My name on her tongue. My hand in her hair.
Mine.
I let out a low growl as water pounded my shoulders. My other hand slammed flat against the wall.
I was losing it—losing the edge I’d spent a lifetime sharpening. I pumped harder.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
An alarm cut through the fog.
My head snapped toward the bathroom counter. The screen of my phone lit up with a blinking notification.
SECURITY ALERT—GUEST ROOM DOOR TAMPERED.
Every other thought vanished.
I dropped my cock and turned off the shower, slinging water from my hair.
What the fuck was she doing now?
I threw my head back and laughed.
The audacity of this girl!
Stepping out of the shower, I moved to the vanity where my phone sat. I tapped the screen to open the security notification. The feed from the guest suite flickered to life. I wasn’t the kind of man who installed cameras in private places in my own home. There were no cameras in regular bedrooms or bathrooms. But that bedroom wasn’t meant for guests.
It was meant for prisoners.
It was a fail-safe. A vault. A quiet little cell with five-star amenities.
And Lyla Laine Oakley had just declared war on it.
The screen showed her still in her drenched T-shirt and shorts, ranting and raving as she tore through the room like a demon in bare feet. Hair wild, face flushed, soaked fabric clinging to every inch of her. The mattress was off-center, the bedding had been ripped off, and one curtain was torn down. She was mad as a hornet and unafraid to destroy the world if she had to.
I scrolled the feed back a few minutes, curious to see what she had done to trigger the alert.
And what I saw made me chuckle in sheer amazement.
She’d scoured the room—pulled open every drawer, yanked the closet doors wide open, and even peered behind the headboard like there might be a secret tunnel hidden there. Then, swinging a lamp like a baseball bat, she’d struck the door handle over and over until she finally gave up and moved on to the room’s next victim—the bed. She had stripped it, tossing the pillows to the floor and ripping the sheets off with a fury that said she was done being held against her will. Every inch of the suite was subject to her scrutiny, and she damn well looked like she’d start tearing through the drywall next.
I dragged a knuckle across my lip, smirking.
Good luck with that, sweetheart.
The door was reinforced, and the window was laminated and hurricane-rated. Lyla was fearless, but it wouldn’t matter. This wasn’t a room someone could get out of.
But she didn’t seem to care.
When I clicked back to the live feed, she was tying the fucking curtains and sheets together. I was astounded by her gall.
