His gaze never left hers as his fingers traced the length of her bare body—unhurried, possessive. The world shrank to the thud of her pulse and the tingle his touch sparked in its wake. No matter the role she played, she had chosen him. Night after night, she found herself drawn to him, helpless as a moth drawn to flame.
“Anything pinching or pulling?” he asked, checking in. One of the more experienced subs had told her that was how you knew a good dom.If they don’t,she’d warned,steer clear.
“No, sir,” Gaby whispered. “Just… full.”
“As intended,” he murmured. “You’ll feel it even more when your body moves with the motion of the swing.” His fingertip traced a slow line across her collarbone then drifted lower, circling a taut, aching nipple. “You’re trembling, lovely. Are you nervous—or is that a chill from the mist?”
“Neither, sir,” she breathed. “It’s from anticipation.”
A low, amused hum rumbled from him. “You’re a delight. Where have you been hiding?”
“I’ve been here for weeks. In plain sight.”
His attention lingered on her face before sliding down her body once more, slow and assessing. “Plain? You?” That same dark amusement returned. “Never.”
When he leaned in, his mouth hovering just shy of hers, and ordered, “Spread your legs for me,” a rush of liquid heat gathered between her thighs. He would know exactly how aroused she was the instant he touched her. Still, she obeyed without hesitation, the shaft sliding deeper as she parted her thighs as far as the ropes would allow.
A loud hiss snapped her back to the present as the coffee machine sputtered out its last breath.
Her hands trembled as she poured a cup. Guilt followed the violent surge of desire that had swept through her. She should have been thinking about Natalie, not about Rhys’s hands, his mouth, or the way he’d claimed her completely.
The conference room doors whooshed open.
“Ten o’clock straight up,” Callan said.
Gaby nearly sloshed hot coffee over her hand when she turned and saw Rhys step in behind Dev. Tall. Rangy power held in check. No jacket. Black button-up stretched across broad shoulders, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His silver-blond hair caught the light as he coolly assessed the room.
Her mouth went dry. The man was far too sexy for a business meeting.
She hurried back to the table, setting her mug down with more force than necessary. Warmth crept into her face when Rhys’s attention settled on her just a second too long.
Whether he noticed her flushed cheeks or simply sensed the charge she hadn’t shaken, she couldn’t tell. He didn’t comment. Since the day of the rescue, when he’d learned who she really was, he’d said very little to her. What they’d shared hadn’t survived the truth.
Dev took his seat at the head of the table. Rhys settled into the chair to her left. His cologne drifted toward her: subtle, woodsy, with a hint of hazelnut.
Perfect. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with.
“Cal,” Rhys said, “run down what you’ve found.”
As the screens switched to what mattered most, the heat stirred by her memories evaporated.
Callan’s monitors were now layered with spreadsheets—shipping manifests, wine inventories, transport schedules. Rows scrolled. Codes. Dates. Destinations. The amount of information was dizzying. Even Dev had gone quiet.
“Most of what Gaby pulled from the trafficker’s system was triple masked,” Callan said, without looking up. “If they’d done this five years ago, I might’ve missed it. But someone got lazy.”
Or bold, Gaby thought.
One line jumped out at her:Farfalla Rossa. Transfer Group C
“Farfalla. Isn’t that pasta?” she asked.
Dev leaned forward slightly. “Farfalle is the pasta. Farfalla in Italian means butterfly. In this case, Red Butterfly.”
Gaby surged halfway out of her chair before she realized she’d moved. Her pulse pounded in her ears. “That’s Natalie,” she whispered.
The room stilled for several tense seconds.
Rhys spoke first. “What makes you so sure?”
