Page 187 of Arrow

“They’re waiting for you,” I breathed, watching Orion’s progress through the club.

“Let them wait.” His teeth scraped my shoulder, biting down just hard enough to make me cry out. “Some things are more important than business.”

His rhythm changed, became more punishing, more deliberate. Each thrust drove me higher, pushed me closer to that precipice where thought dissolved into pure sensation. My nails scratched against the glass, seeking purchase as he drove into me relentlessly.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, his voice rough against my ear. “I want to watch you come apart while I’m inside you.”

I slid my hand between my legs, fingers finding my clit as he continued thrusting deep inside me. The dual sensation—his cock filling me, my fingers circling that sensitive bundle of nerves—had me spiraling quickly toward release. In our reflection, I looked wild, untamed, and wrecked. Arrow’s face behind me was a portrait of beautiful savagery, his eyes never leaving mine as he watched me touch myself while he claimed me.

“You’re going to come for me,” he growled, his pace quickening. “Right here, where anyone could see if they looked up.”

“Yes,” I gasped, my fingers working faster against my clit as his thrusts became more erratic. The obscenity of it—being fucked against a one-way mirror overlooking a sex club while dangerous men waited for him—pushed me closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” he urged, his breath hot against my neck. “Show me how much you want this. Show me how much you like being my greedy little slut.”

My body tensed as the first waves of orgasm crashed through me. I watched my reflection as I came, my face contorted in ecstasy, Arrow’s name spilling from my lips in a desperate, broken cry. The pleasure was so intense that my knees buckled, but he held me firmly against the glass, his arm like an iron band around my waist.

“Mine,” he growled, his rhythm faltering as my body clenched around him. With a final, punishing thrust, he buried himself deep inside me, his cock pulsing as he came. I felt the heat of him filling me, marking me from the inside out.

We both stood there, panting, my cheek pressed against the cool glass, his forehead resting against my shoulder.

“Did you find what you were looking for?" Arrow asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle as he slowly withdrew from me.

I turned to face him, leaning back against the mirror. “I’m still deciding.”

He tucked himself away, zipping up his pants while I stood there, legs trembling, his cum dripping down my inner thigh. I watched him in the reflection, the way he smoothed his hair back into place, adjusted his tie, transforming back into the businessman who commanded respect with a single glance.

“You should get dressed,” he said, his voice returning to that controlled, measured tone. “The meeting will be wrapping up soon.”

I laughed, still leaning against the glass. “You abandoned a meeting with the most dangerous men in New York to fuck me against a window, and now you’re worried about punctuality?”

His mouth twitched. “I’m not worried about the meeting. I’m worried about you walking out there looking like you’ve been fucked.”

“Isn’t that the point?” I straightened, smoothing my dress down over my hips. “Let them see exactly what distracted the great Arrow Romanov from business. That I’m the only thing that can make Arrow Romanov lose control.”

His eyes darkened as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Is that what you think this is about? Control?”

“Isn’t it always?” I pushed off from the glass. There was something deliciously vulgar about standing there, discussing power dynamics while his cum leaked from me.

His hand shot out, wrapping around my throat again, but this time with a gentleness that was almost worse than violence. His thumb traced my jawline. “I’m not that delusional.”

I leaned into his touch. “Yet here we are, in a sex club, where you just fucked me against a window to prove a point.”

“What point would that be?”

“That I’m yours. That everyone should know it.” I gestured to the A around my neck. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Branding me before the wedding so everyone knows who I belong to?”

He laughed. “You’re wearing my initial around your neck, but I’m the one who can’t walk away.” His eyes held mine, something raw and unfamiliar flickering behind them. “You’ve branded me just as thoroughly as I’ve marked you.”

The confession hung between us, unexpected and dangerous. I didn’t know how to respond to this version of Arrow—the one who admitted weakness, who acknowledged the hold I had on him. It was more intimate than the sex, more unnerving somehow than his possessiveness. And here I was, a woman who’d just been fucked against a window by a man who’d kill for her as easily as he’d die for her.

“We should get back,” I said, reaching for my clutch on the velvet chair where I’d dropped it. My voice sounded strange to my own ears, softer than I intended, and less sharp around the edges.

Arrow watched me collect myself, his expression unreadable. When I was as put together as I could be, hair finger-combed, and lipstick reapplied, he stepped forward and straightened the A at my throat, his fingers lingering against my collarbone.

He unlocked the door, and just before we stepped out into the corridor, I caught his arm. “The woman she mentioned . . . the one who ended up in pieces. Was that true?”

A shadow passed over his face. “Yes.”