Page 56 of Villainous Intent

And I’d enjoyed every fucking second of not having to wear the metaphorical mask.

“So,” Menace said, leaning against my workbench with that infuriating grin still plastered across his face. “I’m having a little get-together at the penthouse tonight.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘little.’”

“Just some friends. And some of Dawn’s friends. Nothing crazy.”

“In my penthouse.”

“The place I live,” he corrected.

I turned back to my workstation, pulling up schematics for a project I’d been neglecting. “Have fun with that.”

“You should join us. Take a break from...” he waved vaguely at my screens, “whatever brooding Villain thing you’re doing.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, man. Even if Dawn doesn’t manage to drag the little Keeper along, she’s got some pretty co-workers.” He nudged my shoulder. “And judging by how handsy you were getting last night, you could use a good⁠—”

“No.”

“Your loss,” he shrugged, pushing away from the workbench. “But the offer stands.”

I watched Menace leave, but his words were still ringing in my brain.

Annie. In my penthouse. Breathing my air. Walking across my floors.

She played at being so untouchable, but I’d made her come in under two minutes. I hadn’t even gotten my fingers inside her properly. That was the detail that clawed at my sanity.

She had soaked right through the lace of her panties in seconds, the slick heat coating my palm. She’d drenched my hand, her thighs trembling as she fought her own body’s submission every agonizing second until she broke.

And fuck, she had tasted good.

I could still taste the exact flavor of her surrender. When I brought that slick finger to my mouth, I’d expected the standard salt and heat. Instead, it was a fucking revelation. Sweet, dark, and addicting. I had sucked her slickness off my skin while she watched, her eyes wide and furious, and all I could think about was dragging my tongue up her thighs and feasting on her.

Her pussy was a fucking drug, and the moment I had tasted it, the chemical dependency was instantaneous. I wanted to pry her legs apart, bury my face between them, and consume every drop of that wetness until she was sobbing my name.

If she stepped foot into my home…

I paced between workstations. Three steps. Turn. Four steps. Turn.

The rhythm failed to soothe the itch under my skin.

“Status update on the Bishop files,” I demanded.

“Estimated completion in two minutes, twelve seconds,” came Number Seven’s voice over comms.

Not fast enough. Nothing was fast enough today.

When the alert sounded on my main screen, I moved quickly.

It had taken longer than I expected for Annie’s sealed records to be cracked. But information was power, and I needed every advantage I could get with her. These records would give me the leverage I needed, the understanding of who she was beneath the mask she showed the world.

The screen filled with dozens of documents, and my excitement crashed into frustration.

“What the hell is this?”

The documents were more black bars than text. Medical records, [REDACTED]. Employment records, [REDACTED].