He moves behind me, and my whole body tenses in anticipation, but he doesn't touch me.
Not yet.
"Beg for it."
The words pour out of me without thought, without shame.
Every filthy thing I've ever imagined saying, every dark fantasy I've never admitted to anyone.
I degrade myself with my own words, and each one makes me wetter.
Only when I'm incoherent with need does he finally touch me where I'm desperate for him.
The first press of his fingers makes me scream into the leather.
"So tight," he murmurs. "How long has it been since someone touched you properly?"
I can't answer.
Can't think.
Can only feel as he works me with an expertise that speaks of experience I can't fathom.
He brings me to the edge over and over, only to pull back at the last second, until I'm sobbing, pleading, promising anything if he'll just let me?—
"Come."
The command breaks me apart.
The orgasm rips through me with a violence that matches everything else about this night.
I convulse against the bench, screaming, and he doesn't stop touching me, forcing me through it and into another one immediately after.
When I finally collapse, boneless and destroyed, he carefully unties my wrists, rubbing feeling back into them with surprisingly gentle hands.
"That was just the beginning," he says, pulling me up to face him.
My legs won't support me, so he holds me against his chest. "Three nights, little lamb. By the end, you won't remember your own name. You'll only remember mine."
"I don't even know your name," I whisper against his expensive shirt.
"Cassius," he says, and it sounds like a dark promise. "Cassius Wolfe."
Chapter 2
Cassius
One Week Earlier…
The file lands on my desk with a soft thud.
Vincent has always had a flair for the dramatic, even if he's solely delivering information.
"Selene Deveraux has been asking about Purgatory."
My hand stills on the contract I'm reviewing.
That name.
