A summons.
A fucking annihilation of every shred of control I have left.
I drag my thumb lower, finding that sweet spot. The second I brush her clit she shudders, her nails turning into claws against my scalp.
“More,” she whimpers.
God help me.
I keep the pressure steady, circling slowly as her back arches and her delicate neck lengthens like an offering.
She pants, wild and rhythmic, as I drag my lips across her cheek.
“I can give you the high, Isla.” I dig my fingers into her stockings, on the verge of tearing them to get to the holy grail beneath. “Just remember I won’t be there when you come crashing back down.”
She moans, not hearing the threat through the pleasure. The sound so devastatingly carnal it almost buries the creak of floorboards echoing from the hall.
I still.
She stiffens.
And the siren spell she summoned splinters as we pause in the growing silence.
What the fuck am I doing?
Using her? Indulging myself? Pretending this is control when all I’ve done is hand her a weapon and begged to be shanked?
She’s in shock for God’s sake.
And I’m sitting here, feeding on her weakness like some cheap opportunist. I’m stronger than this. At least I’m supposed to be.
“We’re done here.” I look away, hoping the dismissal will urge her to scramble off my lap.
“Raffael, please don’t…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to. I hear it anyway.
Don’t back away. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t hurt me again.
I clench my teeth, having no choice.
“You’d prefer to be cheapened in front of my crew?” I glance back at her, sharp as broken glass.
Big mistake.
Huge.
She stares at me, her sad, tired eyes pleading for mercy. “Don’t.”
I scoff, bitter through the ache boring through my sternum. “It was a life-or-death situation, sweetheart. We got carried away. Don’t forget you’ve got integrity.”
Her eyes harden. “And don’t pretend you don’t care. You jumped in after me. You risked your life to save mine.”
“Of course I fucking did. I don’t need the complication of you dying on my yacht.”
She flinches as if I’ve struck her but raises her chin. “Here we go again. This charade is on repeat.”
I grab her hips, lift her off my lap, and set her on the floor. “What charade?”
“The one where you think your biting words speak louder than your actions.” She holds my gaze as I climb to my feet, my jacket sodden and pants heavy. “You threaten me, then sleep on top of the covers. You’re cold and callous, but somehow my favorite meals show up on cue. And then there’s the partnership—the convenient out that comes at your own expense.”
