Our eyes lock as my body arches and writhes beneath him.
“Look at me while you come on my cock,” he commands as he straightens his arms and puts my legs over his shoulders. The change in position deepens him inside of me, and I convulse as he slams into me. His body begins to take mine at piston pace, and I grip his arms as I stare up at him.
“Fuck yeah,” he growls. “Fuck . . . fuck . . .” He tips his head back and cries out as I feel the telling jerk as he comes deep inside me.
We’re wet with perspiration, and he bends and tenderly takes my lips with his.
My heart races out of control as I stare at the ceiling, gasping for air. His head is in my neck, his lips trailing along my collarbone.
What the fuck was that? That wasn’t sex—that was an apocalyptic event.
I’m ruined.
I wake in the darkness; the glow of the New York city lights illuminates through the room. It’s late—or early. About four in the morning, I think. We didn’t shut the drapes before going to sleep.
What a night.
We devoured each other until we had nothing left.
I stare at him as he lies flat on his back in an exhausted sleep. I don’t know what we are to each other, but I do know that he’s my sexual soul mate. Is that even a thing? Our bodies are like animals with each other; neither of us could get enough.
The thirst just couldn’t be quenched. If he were to wake up now, I would be instantly aroused, as I know he would be.
He’s right, this is primal.
I’m thirsty, so I climb out of bed and throw on his robe and make my way out to the kitchen in search of water. We left the lamps on, so the rooms are partially lit. I don’t even remember getting to the bedroom.
I find a glass and pour myself some water from the fridge, and as I look around, my heart drops. What the hell kind of kitchen is this? It’s like a restaurant.
I walk back out to the living room and stare out over the city way down below.
My eyes roam over the apartment, and my heart flutters. This is real money.
Stupid money.
My entire apartment would fit into his bedroom alone. What does a place like this cost? Our clothes are strewn all over the floor, and I pick them up and fold them and put them onto the coffee table. I see something light up on the floor.
I frown and bend to pick up Jameson’s phone. It must have fallen out of his pocket as we were undressing. The screen lights up as a message comes through, and the name Chloe flashes on the screen.
Where are you?
Did your meeting go late?
I stare at the phone. What the fuck?
Who’s Chloe?
Jameson
I wake to the sound of my alarm, and I smile as I stretch; I’m sated and sleepy.
Relaxed for the first time in a long time.
What a night . . . what a woman.
I reach for Emily and frown when I realize she’s not in bed with me. She must be in the bathroom. I doze for another twenty minutes, and eventually when she doesn’t return, I get up. “Emily?” I call as I walk into the bathroom.
It’s empty.
I walk out into the living area. “Emily?” I call.
Silence.
“Where is she?” I look around to see my clothes folded on the coffee table and notice that hers . . . are gone.
“Emily?” I call as I do a 360 of my apartment. “Emily?”
I clench my jaw as my anger begins to escalate. I dial her number as a shade of red clouds my vision. I hear my furious heartbeat in my ears as adrenaline fills my bloodstream.
“Hello,” she answers.
“Where the fuck are you?” I sneer.
Chapter 8
Jameson
“I had to go,” she stammers.
“Why?”
“I needed to be at work early.”
“You didn’t think to wake me?” I snap. “You piss me off.”
“Don’t start your righteous shit with me. I’ll leave when I fucking want to.” The phone goes dead.
I inhale sharply; nobody hangs up on me.
Nobody.
I clench my jaw and throw my phone onto the couch. This woman is fucking infuriating.
I walk into my office, open my laptop, and log in to my security footage. I take a seat as I wait for it to load. An image of my front door comes up, and I hit rewind and watch as it goes back in fast-forward. I catch sight of her leaving, and I stop the film. What time was it?
It was 3:58 a.m. She had to go to work early? Bullshit.
She waited for me to fall asleep and then immediately left. I sit back in my chair as my anger escalates.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, Emily Foster, but I won’t have it. If you’re with me, you’re with me. And you’ll do as I fucking say.”
I slam my computer shut and storm upstairs.
She’s looking for a fight. She just found one.
An hour later, I walk through the foyer of my building and out to my car. “Good morning, Mr. Miles.” Alan smiles as he opens the door of my limo.
“Morning,” I say as I get in.
The usual pile of newspapers is on the seat, along with my coffee, and I begin my morning ritual. It takes us forty minutes to drive the thirteen miles to my building, so I use this time to keep track of our competitors. I flick through the pile and pick up the Gazette, our closest competitor, and I scan the front page.
“Their formatting is appalling,” I mutter under my breath as I flick it open. I read page one and two, and then I get to page three.
Breaking News
The NYPD has closed in on a top-secret investigation.
The murder was originally attributed to a man police had nicknamed Stoneface, who has been linked to more than 85 burglaries in Brooklyn, New York.
But with DNA evidence, investigators now believe the crimes were committed by the same suspect that has been called the Red Ribbon Killer in other parts of the state.
“With this filing, we have officially linked Stoneface to an individual known as the Red Ribbon Killer,” said Matthew Price, Brooklyn County district attorney.
Stoneface, an auto mechanic, is wanted after police tracked him down by matching his DNA with a genealogy website.
He has been accused of killing 5 and raping 45 people in what police are describing as a premeditated crime spree.
He was nicknamed the Red Ribbon Killer because the victims had a red ribbon tied around their neck after they were murdered.
Police have tracked his whereabouts, and an arrest is expected today.
“Fuck.” It’s Emily’s story, just worded differently. I take out my phone and call Tristan as my blood pressure rises to boiling point.
“Hey,” he answers.
“Page three of the Gazette,” I snap.
“You’re joking?”
“Nope.”
“Fucking hell.” He sighs. “See you soon.”
I hang up, and my phone vibrates. The name Chloe lights up the screen; I hit decline.
I sip my coffee and stare out the window as contempt drips from my every pore. It’s one thing to be deceived, but to be sold out by one of our own staff members is a whole new level of betrayal.
When I get my hands on whoever is responsible for this, there will be fucking hell to pay.
Half an hour later, I walk into my office and find three of my favorite people inside. My brothers.
“Hello.” I smirk. “Jesus, you’ve both got uglier since I last saw you. I didn’t think it was possible.”