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I love the taste of his cum.
“Good girl.”
Carter gets a towel from the bathroom, cleaning me up. Then he fixes my clothes back in place, helps me off the couch, and rakes his fingers through my tangled hair.
“No more arguing,” he murmurs against my lips. “Unless you want this to be your last orgasm in a very long while.”
“Carter, no.”
“So go pack.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Don’t give me that look. If this is about watering the plants, you’ll do that. You work in the shop downstairs, remember?”
My head bobs with every vehement nod.
His eyes are dark and fierce and absolutely gorgeous. “Go, then. I’m not asking again.”
I don’t walk to pack my shit.
I run.
CHAPTER FOUR
Killian
“Please, Killian.” The pathetic accountant grabs his ribs, a meek attempt at shielding himself from my shoe. “Stop, it hurts.”
“It’s Mr. Murdock to you,” I growl from over him, rolling the sleeves of my black dress shirt up my forearm. “We’re not friends.”
Three kicks to his lower abdomen earn me more of Preston’s screams. Tears drip on the dark, hardwood floors. I think I see snot.
Good thing I soundproofed the backroom of my office when I built the place. Just like I did with my home.
No sounds coming in. No ear-piercing screams going out.
The guests won’t be disturbed by the obnoxious howling. They’re either killing people on a daily basis or have grown accustomed to being around worse.
Still, I prefer our hotel runs as quietly and as smoothly as possible.
Carter and I have survived by keeping it that way.
For years, Voltage has been a safe place for the proverbial shit stain on the white underwear of this world.
Our members are filthy, and we give them a safe haven. The cops don’t come near the six-story building in downtown Manhattan. No one does.
But we do more than keep them safe. With years of experience under my belt and our connections, Carter and I help these useless fucks by being their trusted mediators.
That’s how we maintain the peace around here.
Unless, of course, they break our rules.
Rule number one is—if you’re not a member, you better not show up here unannounced. A vetted member has to come to us first. Our private detectives prepare us a thick, nice folder on them.
Only once we have incriminating material on them and make sure they’re not rapists or pedophiles—even the underworld has standards—do we invite them here.
Then there’s rule number two. While on hotel turf, no one’s allowed to kill, steal, hurt, and/or spy on any other members, me or Carter, nor our hotel staff and suppliers.
That’s it.
Those who don’t abide by the rules…
