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It’s too much. I can’t take it anymore. “Oh God,” I pant, my nails digging into his pec. “I’m gonna come.”
The words barely get through my lips when he applies more pressure to my clit and my world detonates, my orgasm exploding through me. “Fuck,” I cry, throwing my head back, the elation too much to take.
My pussy convulses around him and as I squeeze hard, he comes right along with me, shooting hot spurts of cum deep inside of me while groaning my name.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe, slowing my movements and riding it out.
Dalton takes a breath, his eyes briefly closing. “You can say that again.”
I keep my hips moving slowly, rocking back and forth as we both try to catch our breath, and as I sit up a little straighter, something draws my attention to the door. My gaze shifts across the room and my back stiffens, finding Zade DeVil leaning against the doorframe, those strong arms crossed over his chest and his sharp stare locked on me.
A flash of shock and embarrassment surges through me, but I shake it off. I don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, and hell, from the hunger in his eyes, I’d dare say he enjoyed the show. I don’t say a word, don’t let on that he’s here, enjoying how that lethal stare takes me in. In return, he remains silent, more than content on watching the show.
Wanting to give him one, I glance down at Dalton, rolling my tongue over my bottom lip. “So?” I question. “What were you saying about fucking me into submission? Wanna show me what you mean?”
Dalton eagerly grabs me and lays me out over the coffee table, my legs pushed up to my chest, allowing the perfect view for my captivated audience.
Chapter 23
ZADE
OakleyQuinnisafucking nightmare. Keeping her in check shouldn’t be this complicated, and yet she’s defiant and strong-willed. It won’t be long until I break her down. She’ll become submissive, weak, wounded, and scared. Breaking her is going to be the most enjoyable thing I’ve ever experienced, but keeping her alive might just be the hardest.
Standing outside the Thorne estate, I stare up at the home where the boys and I practically grew up. This was a safe space. A place where we could escape the harsh realities of our own homes, but things are different now. We’re not kids fucking around, trying to win our fathers’ approval. We’re grown and able to see through their manipulation and lies, and they learned pretty damn fast that we’re not the type of people they want to fuck with.
A quick check of my phone shows it’s creeping closer to 3 a.m. I let out a sigh, slipping around the side access and into the backyard. After Cross was shot in Oakley’s apartment, I called a meeting with The Circle.
I’ve had enough. This shit ends now.
The calling card and break-in at Oakley’s apartment were cute, and the blatant attempt at humiliation during the ball was creative, but now it’s fucking business. Now one of my closest friends has become collateral damage in this war, and I won’t stand by and allow this shit to slide. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the first time Cross has been shot. But he got shot trying to protect my interests, and that can’t happen again.
Not wanting these assholes to see me coming, I make my way to the back door, keying in the familiar password, and slipping inside the mansion. I’ve been standing out front for the past hour, watching and waiting for everyone to arrive. Now that I know they’re all here, it’s time to get this shit started.
Moving through the mansion like a ghost, I slip through back passageways and secret rooms, weaving through the hallways where the boys and I once ran like a herd of elephants. I’m closing in on Nikolai’s home office when my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a fresh text.
Pausing in the hallway, I unlock my phone and find a text from Cara. I consider swiping the notification away and ignoring it before letting out a sigh and opening it.
Cara - What the fuck is going on? I haven’t seen Oakley in days. What have you done to her?
Zade - She’s fine. Mind your fucking business.
Cara - I swear, if you hurt her…
Zade - You’ll what?
There’s no response and I scoff, shoving the phone back into my pocket. Cara knows we have an interest in Oakley. Hell, it’s the reason why she’s been living in that shitty apartment for the past few weeks, posing as her roommate. She just doesn’t know why, and she never will. But that doesn’t mean she’s not curious and will do whatever she can to try and figure it out, and in doing so, she’s allowed herself to form an attachment. Exactly what I asked her not to do.
Hell, it’s exactly what I asked them all not to do. First it was Dalton, and now the dickhead is practically drooling over her. Next, Sawyer, but he won’t admit it. He’s too scared of his own fucking emotions to understand how he feels, but nonetheless, it’s there. But then Cross. Fuck, that one stung. Cross was the one guarantee I had, and he went and fucking blew it. Just like Sawyer, he doesn’t realize he’s getting attached, but he’ll figure it out soon enough.
Slipping through the back entrance of Nikolai’s impressive home office, I hide in the shadows, and not a damn one of them notices I’m here. I listen to their conversation, hearing the tone in their voices as my name is mentioned. “What is all this about?” Ira Abrahms demands. “It’s three in the morning. This is absurd.”
Hartley Scott lets out a frustrated grunt as he helps himself to Nikolai’s liquor cabinet. “Too right,” he spits. “He’s a hot-headed kid, not ready to take on such a profound role. The power he’s going to wield . . . He’s going to burn this organization to the ground. Lawson would never have played these ridiculous games.”
The mention of my father’s name grinds on my nerves, and as I go to step out of the shadows, Nikolai holds his hands out in peace. “Come now, this is our future leader you’re talking about. Show some respect. You may not like him, but you will show loyalty to the blood of Empire under my roof.”
The corner of my lip twitches with a small smile. I’ve always been able to rely on Nikolai to have my back, even during the worst of times. I’ve always seen him as a father figure to me. At least, he’s who I always wished my father could have been. Maybe things would have been different. Perhaps I would have had a healthy respect for the dead bastard and the overwhelming need to slice my blade across his throat would have never existed.
Stepping out of the shadows, I let myself be known, keeping my gaze locked on Hartley Scott. I take in his tired business suit and his disheveled, messy appearance. He’s in politics and is a master manipulator of the public, but in this room with these people, he’s nothing. “Is there something you would like to say about the way I conduct business?”
