Page 132 of Villainous Intent

So I hadn’t called, not just because it would be humiliating in a way I’d never recover from, but I didn’t want to be saved. Not yet anyway.

He hadn’t just stopped at giving me back my phone either. He had casually mentioned our exact coordinates over coffee yesterday.

The infamous Labyrinth, the hidden lair the Alliance had spent years trying to locate, sat directly beneath the Smith Technologies Tower in the Financial District. He had handed over his biggest secret with the same ease he used to pour my creamer.

He knew my pride made a better cage than any threat he could leverage about not sharing the information. If I went to the Alliance with the location of his headquarters, I would have to explain exactly how I had acquired that information. I would have to look Havoc in the eye and detail the week I had spent willingly tangled in Cipher’s sheets. Cipher understood perfectly that my own shame would keep his secret safe.

Cipher guided me through the crowd, his body a shield between me and the press of bodies as he led me to the VIP section where League members lounged in private booths away from the riffraff of the commoners below.

The circuit had been a bust. I had cast my senses out like a net, dragging it through the thumping bass. I picked up plenty of signatures, including a few Trueborns, but I recognized every one of them.

“Nothing,” I murmured, leaning back against Cipher’s chest as we rounded the balcony.

“Disappointing but expected.”

He steered me toward one of the high-backed booths. He sat first, spreading his legs wide, and hauled me down onto his lap. A server materialized from the shadows, a young woman with neon circuitry tattooed down her neck.

“The tasting menu,” Cipher ordered. “And champagne.”

As she scurried away, my stomach gave a traitorous, audible growl.

“Hungry, Sparks?” Cipher’s hand slid over my stomach.

“I didn’t exactly get a dinner break,” I muttered, suppressing the thrill at hearing the nickname on his lips. He defaulted to it when we were in public now, when he couldn’t use my name.

But saying I didn’t get a dinner break wasn’t an understatement. We had spent the hours leading up to this evening tangled in the sheets of the Playroom, fucking with an intensity that had left no time for anything other than a shower and a scramble to get dressed. I’d shoved a dry protein bar down my throat while trying to pin my hair up, and that had been four hours ago.

When the server returned with a slate of intricate, bite-sized appetizers, I reached for a piece of seared meat.

Cipher’s hand shot out, his fingers clamping around my wrist.

“Patience.” He released my wrist and picked up the meat himself. “Open.”

I hesitated. My stomach cramped with hunger, but my pride held the line.

Cipher slid his free hand up my throat, his thumb pressing into the corner of my jaw.

“Don’t make me tell you twice, Sparks.”

My mouth opened because my body recognized the tone. It was the same voice he used in the Playroom when he told me to get on my knees. He slid the meat between my lips, his fingers invading with it. Two fingers pressed down on my tongue, flattening it, triggering a shallow gag reflex that made my eyes water.

He held them there, forcing me to breathe around his intrusion, forcing me to taste the salt of his skin mixed with the sear of the meat.

“Chew,” he commanded, slowly withdrawing his fingers.

I chewed and swallowed, the rich, savory flavor exploding on my tongue.

“Good girl,” he whispered and heat flushed my cheeks.

“You never eat with me at the Labyrinth. You banish me to the mess hall with the henchmen. Why this? Why now?”

Cipher picked up a piece of melon next. The fruit glistened under the violet club lights.

“Eating together implies a certain type of domesticity and equality.” He brought the fruit to my lips. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I leaned forward and took it, my lips grazing his fingertips.

“This isn’t equality,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, rough growl that made my thighs clench. “This is maintenance. I run my machines hard. I need them fueled.”

“Is that what I am? A machine?”