The pads of his fingers dig into my hips, urging me to move. I place one hand on his shoulder, and the other I wrap around the headrest for leverage as I start working my hips up and down, riding him. Baz relaxes back against the leather seat, watching his cock disappear inside me. He licks his lips, his eyes darkening with lust at the sight of our bodies connecting. I twirl my hips in circular motions, rubbing my clit against him as I go. I can feel the orgasm building, threatening to pull me under.
Sliding my hand up from his shoulder to wrap around his neck, I try to bring his mouth to mine as breathy moans escape my lips, but Baz won’t budge; instead, he watches me. He watches my expressions as I fuck him. He watches our bodies. His eyes flick to my mouth, and I lean in, trying to kiss him again, but he fists my hair, tugging my head to the side and trailing a path of scorching hot kisses down the slender column.
“Baz,” I beg. When his thumb starts stroking my clit, I’m on the verge of tears. It’s all too much. In this position, with me holding all the power, the penetration is deeper. I feel so full—I can hardly breathe. “Kiss me, please,” I pant, trying again, but all Baz does is continue his path down my neck.
I start to grow frustrated as my orgasm threatens to barrel into me.
Why won’t he kiss me?
As if he can read where my mind is going, he grips my hips, and suddenly, I’m airborne, then I’m on my back, lying sideways against the seats. He drives back inside me, hovering over me as he fucks me. I’m no longer able to hold back my moans. They’re loud, echoing around us, bouncing off the leather and glass.
“Whose pussy is this?” Baz growls out, pounding me into the seats. I open my mouth to answer, but a squeak escapes instead. I’m unable to form words. His hand glides up my body and rips the strap of my dress off my shoulder, baring my breasts. He groans in frustration when he realizes I’m wearing pasties over my nipples. “I said. Whose. Pussy. Is. This?” he grinds out, enunciating each word with his rough thrusts.
“It’s yours,” I whimper. My eyes flutter closed, the stirrings of my orgasm so close.
“Say it again. Tell me who you fucking belong to, Mackenzie. Tell me you understand.”
“It’s you!” I scream as the orgasm barrels into me. Tremors wrack my body, and my eyes slam shut. Bursts of color brighten behind my lids, and the euphoria takes me on a high I’ve never been on before.
I’m gasping for breath, clawing at his arms and shoulders as though he’s my lifeline and anchor to the present.
As I come down from my orgasm, Baz jerks above me, coming inside me. Realization starts to settle into my lust-fogged brain, and I tense. My chest tightens when I open my eyes and find him staring down at me, with that blank expression on his face.
He was punishing me. That’s why he wouldn’t kiss me.
He’s punishing me for letting Trent get that close. For letting Trent kiss me.
I have every right to be angry, and I am, but not as angry as I am with myself. I’m in over my head. There are too many of them, and this is getting confusing. My heart and mind are at war, entangled with this man and his friends. I want to throw the whole investigation away and build this—whatever it is—with Baz, but I owe Madison something. I owe her an explanation. Even if she’ll never hear it, justice needs to be served.
Silently, we both right ourselves. I fix the strap of my dress, covering my breasts and the lower half. Baz tucks himself back into his slacks and runs a hand through his hair, looking as calm and collected as ever, as if he didn’t just fuck me senseless.
Baz may believe that I didn’t want Trent to kiss me, but he’s still punishing me. He’s cold and distant for the entire ride back to the resort. He makes excuses, saying he has work to do, but he tells me one of the security guards will take me up to the penthouse, if that’s where I want to go.
He doesn’t kiss me again for the entire night. And I feel the effects of it in my heart. With tears in my eyes and an icy chill in my chest, I watch him drive off to God knows where.
The second the car door slams shut behind Mackenzie, I rake an agitated hand through my hair, tugging on the ends until the slightest pang stings my scalp. If Trent had kissed any other woman, I wouldn’t be bothered. But it wasn’t any other woman. It was fucking Mackenzie—the one I can’t seem to get out of my head at all hours of the day.
I wake up and think of her; I’m at work, and I fucking think of her. She’s fucking invaded every part of my life, including the resort I’ve built from the bottom up. Having her so close at all hours of the day drives me insane. She fucking drives me insane. I’ve never felt this inane need to own someone or be near another woman like I do with her. And Trent, that fucking bastard, knew what he was doing tonight. They all did. Nothing has been the same since the night of the club opening. The guys have all felt the shift.
Mackenzie’s shoulders droop as she walks through the entrance. My gaze follows her in that golden, form-fitting dress that hugs her curves to perfection until I can see her no more. I shouldn’t have let her leave like I did. I shouldn’t have let things go on the way they did either. It wasn’t her fault that Trent kissed her, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to punish her. I wanted her to forget the way his lips felt. I wanted to replace it all with me. With my mouth on her skin, with the way I fuck her. I wanted to be the only thing in her orbit, the only man on her mind because God knows she’s the only woman on mine.
“Where to, Mr. King?”
With my gaze still fixed on the opaque glass doors of the resort, I say the one place I know they’ll all be.
“The Kings. Pull up in the back. I’d like to keep my presence a surprise tonight.”
The second I push through the door of the loft above the club, I spot exactly who I came here to see. With a range of contradictory emotions rolling through me, I walk inside as calm and aloof as ever, eyes trained on the bastard with the blond hair and green eyes. Rage boils in my gut, and before I know it, I have my hands balled into fists, and I’m across the room, taking a swing at Trent.
He doesn’t have enough time to dodge the blow. My fist collides with the sharp line of his jaw, causing his head to snap to the side at the force. I jab with my left hand, landing another blow to his face, just for good measure.
There’s shouting, and the rest of the guys jump into action, trying to pull me off Trent, but I grip onto the lapels of his tux and use it as leverage to slam him up against the blacked-out glass that overlooks the dance floor of the club.
“If you ever try any shit like that again, I promise, I will fucking end you. Understand me?”
Trent grimaces from the pain, and a trickle of blood drips from one nostril as he glares at me, a fire brewing in his eyes. “Your heart has gotten involved, Sebastian. This isn’t like you.”
“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me, Ainsworth. Remember that.” I shove away from him, taking a much-needed step back to catch my breath and calm the violent storm swirling inside me.
When I glance around at the rest of the guys, they look wary. In all our years of friendship, a woman has never gotten between us. I’m not letting that happen today—it’s not worth it—but I’m also making it known.