"It’s family business. Nothing for you to worry about."
The pride I’d felt moments ago turned to lead. I looked away, staring out the tinted window at the blurred gray lines of Manhattan. He would let me fix his ledgers and optimize hisspreadsheets, but the inner circle—the heart of the Blackwood family—was still guarded by a wall I couldn't climb.
He didn't trust me with his secrets. And as I thought about the private server and the frantic promises, I'd just made to Elias, I realized I didn't trust him with mine, either.
The space between us on the leather seat felt like a canyon. We were two spies sharing a car, playing at being a couple, while the real war was being fought in the things we refused to say.
The sign for Fang Dynasty looked like any other high-end dim sum spot in Chinatown, but as we stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. We didn't stop in the front room where humans clumsily navigated chopsticks and steam-filled baskets. Vidar led me through a heavy velvet curtain at the back, past a discreet security detail that stepped aside.
The Shifter Room was subterranean, lit by low, amber lanterns and filled with the heavy, musky scent of predators. The hum of conversation died down as we walked in. Members of the Lupetto, Volki, and even a few lone Lobos paused mid-meal, their gazes darting between Vidar’s proprietary grip on my waist and the shimmering green fabric of my dress.
I felt like a prized trophy on display, the Vane Princess paraded through the heart of neutral territory.
We were led to a private alcove and served immediately. There was no menu. A server placed two plates of thick, marbled choice cuts before us. They were seared on the outside, but pulsing with raw, red life at the center.
My wolf practically howled. My mouth watered, a primal reflex I usually fought to suppress in polite company. I’d never eaten raw meat in public. My father had always insisted on civilized medium-well steaks to distance us from our animal nature. But here, with the scent of iron and salt filling my senses, I couldn't help it.
I took a bite; the tender meat melting on my tongue. A low, involuntary groan escaped my throat. "Goddess, that's delicious."
Vidar didn't eat. He sat back, his dark eyes fixed on my face, watching the way my pupils dilated with every bite. The intensity of his gaze was more suffocating than the crowded room.
"Do I have blood on my chin?" I asked, reaching for a napkin.
His hand came up, his thumb catching a stray drop of red at the corner of my mouth. He didn't pull away. He held my gaze, his thumb lingering on my lip for a heartbeat before he brought it to his own mouth and slowly, deliberately, sucked it clean.
The heat that flared in my gut had nothing to do with the meal.
We finished the rest of the lunch in a heavy, charged silence. When the plates were cleared, I smoothed my dress, trying to regain my professional footing. "Are we headed back to the office? I still have those Sterling audit logs to finish."
"No," Vidar said, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register. "We’re headed home."
He stood up, tossing a stack of bills onto the table without looking at them. I followed him out to the car, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs. The business part of the day was over. What did he have in mind for the at home portion?
"I need to relieve some stress," he said as the car pulled away from the curb. He didn't look at me; he looked straight ahead, his jaw tight enough to snap bone. "Usually, I find some random woman to suck my cock until the noise in my head stops."
My brain tripped. My thoughts were a spinning beach ball. The sound of wires sizzling rang in my ears.
Vidar turned his head then, his eyes burning with a dark, uncompromising hunger that made the green dress feel as if it was melting off my body.
"But I’m a married man now. And you still owe me. I believe we agreed on oral sex as payment."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
VIDAR
The ride back to the penthouse was a tomb of silence, the only sound the muffled hum of tires against asphalt. Beside me, Addie sat rigid, her gaze fixed on the passing skyline. I didn't need to look at her to know she was bracing herself. Her scent was a metallic anxiety sprinkled with a heavy dose of desire.
It made sense. She thought this was a transaction. She thought I wanted the mindless oblivion of a random mouth, the kind of friction that numbs the brain until the world stops buzzing. If she were any other woman, that’s exactly what I’d take.
But the scent of her had been eroding my self-control for three days. I didn't want her mouth on me. I wanted to bury my face between her thighs until the scent of her sex replaced the smell of blood and old-money rot that followed me everywhere else. It wouldn't settle the ache in my cock—if anything, it wouldmake it an agonizing roar—but it would silence the noise in my head.
As the elevator climbed toward the penthouse, I stopped looking at the floor numbers and started looking at her. I was already calculating the logistics. I mapped the hidden zipper of that green dress, estimating the tension required to slide it down without snagging. I counted the hairpins anchoring her dark hair, determining the exact angle to pull them so her curls would spill over my pillows.
Five minutes. I could have her stripped bare in under five minutes.
I’d leave the heels on. I liked the feel of something sharp pressed against the small of my back. Since I planned to have her lower body pinned beneath me, it wouldn't be her nails.
The doors slid open. We stepped into the foyer, the air conditioning humming in the sterile silence of the apartment. Addie turned to me, her green eyes flat and expressionless; the strategist had put on her armor. Without a word, she began to sink to her knees, her hands reaching for the belt of my trousers.
