“I’m yours,” I breathe, the words coming too easily. His thumb circles my clit as his fingers curl inside me, finding that perfect spot that makes my vision swim. “Oh god, Nico...”
“That’s it,” he encourages, his free hand now cupping my breast through my dress. “I want to watch you come apart for me before we even reach the club.”
This is the plan—to have him so consumed with lust that his guard is down when we arrive at Purgatorio. But the plan didn’t account for how genuine my body’s surrender would be. As his fingers build the pressure inside me, I wonder which of us is truly being seduced.
“Please,” I manage, not entirely sure what I’m begging for.
“Please what?” he demands, his voice a command against my ear. “Tell me what you need, Lea.”
“Your mouth,” I manage, barely recognizing my voice. “I need your mouth on me.”
The words have barely left my lips before he’s shifting me, laying me across the seat and kneeling on the floor of the car. He pushes my dress up and hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underwear, dragging it down my legs to my ankles.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my inner thigh.
And then his tongue is on me, and I’m lost. There is only sensation. The wet heat of his tongue. The slight stubble on his jaw scraping against my sensitive skin. The gentle suction as he draws my swollen bud between his lips.
I tangle my fingers in his hair. He groans against me, the vibration a new current of pleasure through my body. He slides two fingers inside me again, a perfect counterpoint to the movements of his tongue. The pressure builds, coiling in my lower abdomen. My thighs tremble.
“Nico,” I gasp, “I’m going to?—”
“Yes,” he interrupts, lifting his head just enough to speak, his eyes burning into mine. “Come for me, Lea. Let me taste all of you.”
His mouth returns to my center with renewed intensity, and that’s all it takes. The orgasm crashes through me, my back arching off the seat as pleasure radiates from my core. I cry out, not caring if the driver hears, not caring about anything beyond this perfect, shattering release.
He works me through it, gentling his movements as the aftershocks roll through me. When the sensitivity becomes too much, I tug at his hair, and he immediately pulls away, pressing a last kiss to my inner thigh. His mouth finds mine, and I taste myself on his lips. The kiss is deep and possessive.
The car glides to a stop just as we break apart, both of us panting. Nico’s eyes are almost feral, his pupils blown wide with a need that is still painfully unmet.
Good,a cold, strategic part of my mind observes.He’s on the edge. My release was real, but his frustration is my weapon. He’s so focused on getting his, he won’t see anything else coming.
“We’re here,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of control.
I sit up, my legs still unsteady, pulling my dress back into place. My body feels boneless and sated, but my mind is sharp. Nico pulls the lace scrap of my underwear from his pocket with a dark, promising smile.
“I’ll keep these as a reminder of the debt you owe me. We’ll settle it in my office.”
The casual arrogance of the gesture should infuriate me. Instead, it sends another pulse through my still-sensitive body. I’m playing a dangerous game, and the lines between performance and reality are becoming harder to see.
The driver opens the door. Nico steps out, then offers his hand to me. As I emerge, the cool night air is a shock against my flushed skin. His arm immediately wraps around my waist, a band of possession.
“Like I said, my office. Now,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need.
He leads me toward the private elevator at the back of the garage, his stride purposeful. We’re almost there when a figure steps into our path. Blake, his expression more than urgent; it was grim, the look of a man who knew any interruption would have dire consequences.
“Sir, my apologies, but this needs your immediate attention,” Blake says, his eyes flicking briefly to me before returning to Nico.
A flash of genuine frustration crosses Nico’s features. He turns to me, cupping my face in his hands, and kisses me deeply, as if being torn away against his will.
“Get a drink at the bar, mia cara,” he says when we break apart. “I will be with you in five minutes. Don’t move from there.”
The command sends a ripple of something through me. I nod, playing my part. “Don’t be long,” I reply. “I’ll be waiting.”
He watches me as I walk toward the club entrance, his eyes burning into my back. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. The thought of my father steadies me. The memory of the folder hardens the desire in my body to a cold purpose.
I enter Purgatorio through the VIP entrance. The club is in full swing, the bass a physical presence. I make my way to the main bar, feeling strangely powerful. Tonight, everything changes.
Behind the bar, I spot him immediately—Julian, the handsome bartender Isabel identified as their inside man. As I approach, his expression remains perfectly neutral. He knows how to play his part.
