“Damon!” My voice comes out hoarse and raspy and feral as I claw at his chest, panting and writhing as I’m seconds away from coming undone. “Da?—”
“Together, mami,” he grunts, nostrils flaring as he quickens his pace and digs his nails into my inner thighs. He throws his head back, moaning and grunting, the sounds beastly and debilitating. My pussy quivers around his cock, and I forget how to breathe as I ride a violent wave of release, his cum spilling inside me like a goddamn tidal wave. “Fuck… Jesus Christ… Emery…”
Our breaths sync up, the room swirling in a cacophony of sin and sympathy as he falls beside me, his hand never leaving my thigh as we stare up at the crown on the canopy. The rich burgundy fabric falls from the center, draping us in a warm cocoon, and I close my eyes, finding comfort in the safety of this room. A room all three of us built. A room that belongs to us. Only us.
As Damon’s hand remains glued to my flesh, I note its firm grip, the way his touch is so tender, so heavy in its emotion. He doesn’t need to worry. He doesn’t need to be afraid. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not scared of him. Of his past. Of all the mistakes he’s made.
“I love you, Damon,” I whisper, catching my breath as I twist my neck and look at him. “Every single thing about you.”
His lip trembles. It’s so faint, but I can see it. But he smiles. He smiles almost as if he believes me. Before he can reply, before he can tell me for the umpteenth time that he doesn’t deserve my love, a song begins to play from our new stereo system, and we both jerk upright at the unfamiliar tune.
“I’m going to fucking kill her,” Damon hisses, abruptly climbing out of the bed and storming toward the device.
I watch him with an amused gleam. At this point, her antics are almost humorous. Damon grabs the speaker and aggressively yanks on its cord, pulling it out of the socket. I raise a brow as he proceeds to use one of Quinton’s favorite antique brass bookends to smash the electronic to tiny pieces.
“Don’t break it.” I slip out of the bed, my inner thighs sticky with a reminder of Damon. I grab a silk robe and slide it on. “Quin said that’s like two hundred years old.”
Damon whips his head at me. “That’swhat you’re worried about? Quin’s stupid freaky statue?” His lip twitches. “She’s taunting us, Emery! She’s trying to show us that she’s got the upper hand.”
I roll my eyes. “So, she hacks into our Wi-Fi and fucks with the stereo system every week, so what? If she wants to act like a child, let her. It’s been a month since she sent that text message. We’ve got a dozen different servers, all of which are monitored by Red. Alittle music isn’t going to kill me. Plus, sometimes the songs are quite good.”
Damon balks. “I don’t…” He stalks toward me. “I feel like you’re not taking this seriously, Emery. She’s dangerous. She?—”
“Yes, yes,” I sigh and duck around him, entering the en suite. “I know, Damon, but come on. You and Quin have two guards with me at all times. What is she going to do? She’s a hacker, not a sniper. Let her play DJ. Nothing we can do.”
Damon grits his teeth. “I’m buying our own fucking satellite.”
I glance at him, tilting my head. “That seems excessive.”
He glares at me. “Nothing is excessive when it comes to your safety.”
I acquiesce. Today is a stressful day enough already for Damon, and the last thing I want to do is start an argument. And it’s not like I can change his mind once it’s made up.
“Fine.” I call him over, and he drags his feet as he walks toward me. Placing a gentle kiss on his lips, I add, “Thank you for looking out for me.”
He scowls, his gaze flicking over to the outfit I picked out for today. “It lookstight. I don’t like it.”
I resist the urge to release a loud, frustrated groan. “Drop it, Damon.”
He crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame as I turn on the shower. “He’s going to hit on you. Watch. Within five minutes. I’m betting on it.”
I cock my head. “And so what if he does? I’m notinterested. I’ve got my hands full already with twoveryneedy men. I wouldn’t be able to handle a third.”
He snorts. “Right.We’rethe needy ones.”
I scowl at him. “Amir Hadid could have a cock made out ofgold, Damon, and I’d still pass. You can relax. Please?” He huffs, and I put on a compelling smile. “Try and have a good day. You’ve got that art class, right? Think about that all day, okay?” When his sour expression refuses to fade, I decide to try a different route. A route very aligned with Luna’s desires. “Fine, maybe you’re right. Maybe the moment I set my sights on him, I’ll lose all control.” His eyes harden. “Maybe I’ll drop to my knees, rip his pants off like some animal, and?—”
As predicted, Damon charges toward me, and I know I’m going to be late for my first day of work. I wonder if hardcore shower sex is a valid excuse for tardiness under Mr. Hadid’s leadership.
Glidinga nervous hand against the smooth fabric of my pencil skirt, I straighten my shoulders and take a small breath. The boardroom doors of Cavanaugh Industries stand before me, and I mentally kick myself for choosing sex over my career. Unfortunately, my vagina is far more persuasive than my brain these days. I quickly check my watch and wince, postponing the inevitable. I’m only seventeen and a half minutes late. It’s fine. It’s not like the meeting request said 8 a.m. sharp or anything.
Fuck.
Okay, just do it. Get it over with.
Mustering up every ounce of confidence that resides within me, I open the heavy door and step inside, five sets of eyes immediately darting toward me. My gaze flits across a few familiar faces. Javier—a typical scowl. Miranda—cheery as always. Yannis—timid and afraid. A woman with a slicked back blonde ponytail gives me a once-over, and then her gaze flicks to the head of the table. And mine follows.
Sitting on his new throne, sporting an iridescent peacock green fitted suit, is the man I’ve been warned about for weeks. Amir Hadid’s light hazel eyes glow with unspoken interest, his left brow slightly perking up as he cocks his head.
