“I’m gonna fuck you now,” I whisper against her ear.
I withdraw my fingers, position myself, and push my cock inside her easily. The sensation nearly blinds me—tight, wet heat enveloping me completely.
“Fuck,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “You feel so good.”
She moans, her legs wrapping around my waist as I hold her against the door. Her muscles clench around me, pulling me deeper, making it nearly impossible to maintain control.
I’ve had women before. Many women. But never like this—never with this desperate, clawing need that threatens to tear me apart from the inside.
Her fingernails scrape against my back. Not the polished talons of the women who surround me like vultures, but short, ragged edges that catch my skin and split it open. The sting makes me hiss, my cock hardening impossibly further inside her.
“Fuck,” I growl, the pain unlocking something primal.
I’ve been taking my time, drawing this out, cataloging every reaction, every shiver. Control. But her nails dig deeper, and my restraint shatters.
I thrust harder, deeper, my fingers bruising her hips as I hold her against the door. The wood creaks with each impact. She clings to me, her legs locked around my waist, pulling me in like she’s drowning and I’m her last breath of air.
Her moans shift from soft, surprised sounds to something desperate and unfiltered. There’s nothing calculated in the way she moves against me, nothing performative in the way she gasps my name. Just raw, unvarnished need.
“Yes. Yes,” I hiss against her throat. “That’s it. Take it all. Let my cock fill you up.”
Her body tightens around me, muscles clenching, pulling me deeper. I feel her orgasm building, feel the exact moment it crashes through her. Her head falls back, eyes unfocused, mouth open in a silent scream.
The sight of her coming undone triggers my own release. It hits without warning, an explosion that whites out my vision. My entire body locks up, pleasure searing through every nerve ending as I empty myself inside her.
For a moment, I can’t think. Can’t process. My head swims with the intensity of it, thoughts scattered like ashes in the wind.
This is different. She is different. No woman has ever made me lose control like this, made me forget myself so completely.
We collapse against each other, her forehead dropping to my shoulder. Our breathing comes harsh and ragged, skin slick with sweat. I can’t hold my head up, can barely keep us both upright against the door.
Her fingers trail lightly over the scratches she’s left on my back. Touching, probing. Not apologetic—assessing.
Cataloging what she’s done to me, just as I’ve been cataloging her.
I peel myself away from her, breathing hard, body humming with aftershocks. The fog lifts from my mind, neurotransmitters settling back into their normal patterns. Rational thought clicks into place like tumblers in a lock.
I withdraw from her body, letting gravity do its work. My come drips down her thighs as I set her feet back on the floor. She wobbles slightly, steadying herself against the door.
I look her in the eyes, still getting my breathing under control, and resume my threats. “They’re gonna smell you,” I tell her, my voice returning to its usual clinical detachment. “Every man out there is gonna smell the sex we just had and want some for themselves.”
I expect her to shrink, to fold in on herself with shame or fear. That’s the point of this—to make her understand the environment she’s walking into. To show her exactly what she’s worth in Rico’s world.
But Emmaleen can’t help herself. She surprises me again with another mistake. She meets my gaze directly, her eyes clear and focused despite what we just did. No trembling, no averted eyes, no desperate need for reassurance.
“But they won’t get anywhere near me, will they? Because Giovanni Bavga isn’t the kind of man whoshares.”
The statement lands like a tactical strike, perfectly targeted. She’s not asking a question—she’s making an observation. About me. About what I want. About what I’ll allow.
She continues, her voice gaining strength with each word. “If you think I can be forced into submission with a few harsh words, Mr. Bavga, you have no idea who I am and what I’ve been through. You don’t scare me. I’m here for the money. And even if throwing this trump card down gives you new ideas on how to make me surrender and walk away, you’llstilllose. Because if I walk away, that will be my choice too.”
I stare at her, reassessing everything I thought I knew. The woman before me—half-dressed, my release still marking her thighs—isn’t cowering or breaking. She’s calculating. Maneuvering.
I turn away, fury burning through my veins. The sex was a mistake. A tactical error. I crossed a line I never intended to cross, and she’s weaponizing it already.
I grab swim trunks from a drawer and yank them on, my back to her. The sound of her bare feet padding across the floor toward the bathroom makes me pivot and catch her arm with one hand.
Her skin is warm, pulse jumping beneath my fingers. With my other hand, I shove her toward the front door. Not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to make my point. “Where do you think you’re going?”