He nodded once, then stared straight ahead.
Leon was the type of man who knew how to follow orders and not ask questions. I’d spent years as the head of security for the Turks, and getting to people was my specialty. I’d learned how to move like a shadow, how to disarm alarm systems in the dark, how to bypass biometric locks with the right tech and the right timing. Observation, timing, and patience were my weapons before power ever made me a CEO.
I stepped out of the car and took in the building. Cameras at the front, visible, but predictable. I approached the side service entrance, slipped into the alley behind the dumpsters, and found the maintenance panel hidden behind a utility box. Two screws, one slide, a custom key I still carried on my ring, and I was in.The security system was decent, but not good enough to keep someone like me out. I looped the live feed to freeze the hallway view and muted motion sensors just long enough to slip in through the rear service stairwell.
No elevators. No public access. You had to be smart and fast to do what I had done and not be seen.
I moved silently up to the penthouse floor, listening for any odd sounds, anything that might give me away. When I reached her door, I didn’t charge in like some impatient thug. I watched. Waited. Clocked the rotation of the building’s private security detail, counted the cameras, and noticed the added protection stationed two doors down. Subtle, but not subtle enough for someone like me. She had a man posted outside. Quiet, well-dressed, but too alert to be anything but hired muscle.
I doubled back, entered from the maintenance stairwell, and used the emergency access on the opposite side of the penthouse floor. I slipped into a vacant service unit that shared an air duct with hers, an old school design flaw most developers overlooked. From there, I disabled the secondary motion sensor near her door using a magnetic override. It gave me a thirty-second window.
It took precision and timing, but when I twisted the handle, the door gave with a soft click.
Calculated. Controlled. Silent.
Just the way I liked it.
The air inside her penthouse was sweet and soft, laced with her scent. Lavender. A hint of gunpowder. My cock twitched and my chest tightened.
It was just past two in the morning. Everything was still.
I quietly made my way down a dark hallway, every step measured. The place was massive, an open living space, high ceilings, polished concrete floors with thick rugs, and curated furniture that screamed money. I also knew exactly where thatmoney had come from. From the outside, it looked like a regular apartment building, but inside, she'd most definitely made herself at home.
I moved room by room. Cleared the kitchen first, it was empty. Living area next. Silent. The office space beyond that showed signs of recent use, papers slightly shifted, a glass with lipstick at the rim. My pulse kicked harder.
A guest room sat across the hall, door ajar. I scanned it with a single glance, but it was empty. No warmth. No presence.
Then I saw the last door at the end of the corridor. Closed. But not locked.
I turned the handle slowly, quietly, and let the door open on its own weight. And suddenly, there she was.
Alone and asleep. Completely unaware of who had just entered her privacy.
She looked so peaceful as she slept. One leg tangled in the sheets, lips slightly parted, hand curled under her cheek like she hadn’t ruined me with a single look years ago. My Duchess. My fucking ruin.
I didn’t want to wake her; that wasn't the plan. I wanted to torture her quietly. Maybe scare her a little. I wanted that fear to flow through every inch of those, knowing it was I who had induced it.
I stepped closer, my polished shoes silent against the floor as I closed the distance. She was right there, completely vulnerable, and I was drowning in the sight of her. Every inch of her skin was seared into my memory, every soft curve a punch to the gut. I crouched at her bedside, fists clenched at my sides, my chest tight with everything I’d buried for too fucking long. Obsession. Possession. Rage. Lust. It all bled together as I sat there, watching her sleep, needing to touch, needing to claim, because I couldn’t walk away again. Not this time.
My fingers trembled, not with fear, but with restraint as I brushed the back of my knuckles over the curve of her cheek. Her skin was warm, flushed with dreams she’d never remember. Her lashes twitched, lips parted in a sigh that nearly broke me. I leaned in, close enough to feel the heat of her breath ghost across my jaw.
“You don’t even know I’m here,” I whispered against her skin, letting my lips graze the corner of her mouth.
I should have walked the fuck out right then. Should’ve dropped the coin and left her untouched like a decent man would have. But I stopped being a decent man the night I kissed her. I’ve done things I’ll never atone for, buried men who stood in my way, and walked out of rooms soaked in blood. This wasn’t new to me, wanting something so bad it twisted me up inside. But her? She was the one line I’d promised not to cross. And here I was, crossing it without a second thought, because I’d waited too fucking long to breathe her in again.
I dragged the sheet down with the kind of control I’d honed over a lifetime of holding back, my hands rough but steady. It wasn’t reverence. It was need. Raw, unapologetic need. Like uncovering a truth I'd spent too long chasing. I wanted to worship her, to claim her. Mark her in a way no one else ever could. Her breasts rose and fell in rhythm with her sleep, nipples tight from the cold or maybe just my presence. I stared down at her as if she were some precious art piece unveiled in a museum, marveling at the one thing I could never own but would take anyway.
I ran my palm down the curve of her waist, over the soft swell of her hip, my breath hissing through my teeth as I clenched my fist to stop myself from doing what every part of me screamed for. My forehead pressed to the mattress beside her, my jaw flexing as I fought the sick satisfaction that came from simply beingthisclose.
I didn’t care if I got caught.
I didn’t care if she woke up and clawed my eyes out.
I just neededthis. To touch her. To mark her.
I bent over her, breath uneven, fingers curling at my sides as I stared at the soft, unmarked slope of her breast. I kissed it. I wasn't gentle, I could fucking care less. I was starved as I pressed my mouth against the flushed peak as if branding her with every ounce of my need. Then my tongue followed, dragging slowly over the taught nipple, hot and possessive. Her taste was silk and sin, the kind of flavor that settled into your bones and made a man forsake gods. I stayed there, my face buried in her warmth, inhaling her scent like it was the only thing keeping me alive. I licked a second time, slower, deeper, and for a brief moment, I imagined she stirred, just a twitch, but it didn’t matter. I was already gone. Already ruined. And I knew, with sick certainty, that I’d do it again.
My hand dropped to my belt, the ache between my legs was now unbearable. I released my dick into my hand, gripping myself, and began to stroke. The movement was slow at first, watching her chest rise and fall, pretending, just for a moment, that it was her hand on me. That those lips parted for more than just a breath, but to take my cock into her mouth.
