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He grips my thigh the entire ride back to my apartment, his fingers caressing my skin and carelessly smearing through his release. “This doesn’t bother you?” I ask, intrigued by his lack of aversion.
“What, darling?” His brow furrows in confusion.
“That your hand is rubbing through your…you know.”
A sly smile pulls at his lips, and he squeezes my thigh a little tighter. “There isn’t a thing about sex with you that bothers me or that I have the slightest aversion to. If I were ready to let you come, I’d lick myself from your cunt right now just to let you taste us again.”
His words shoot straight to my pussy, and my thighs clench against his hand, only causing his smile to grow broader. “Are you sure you can wait for my permission?” he teases.
“Yes,” I lie, uncertain how much longer I’ll be able to last.
“Don’t, and you’ll find out just how long I can leave you wanting,” he warns as we pull to a stop in front of my building. Slipping from the car and helping me out, he walks me to the door and pulls me close. “I have some things I need to tend to, but I’ll call you later.” He places a soft kiss on my cheek, whispering, “Be good for me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
TRISTAN
Training Layla is going to test me in ways that no submissive ever has before. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about lunch, the restroom, or how disappointed she looked—in herself—when I denied her.
Having had dozens of women in her position, I know this is getting her obedience. But something about her is different. It physically pained me to leave her wanting, and I’ve been fighting the urge to give in ever since.
I’ve been watching the cameras in her apartment as I finalize some paperwork and orders for the club. She’s been in bed, reading a book for the past hour. Not once having even come close to disobeying me. Unfortunately, my interest has little to do with ensuring she obeys my instructions and plenty more to do with the two men Conor passed on his way out of the building.
They were discreet, sitting across the street in a run-of-the-mill sedan that would blend with the other vehicles. Had they not spooked when they saw Conor exiting the building, he might have missed them. The manacle and cathedral tattoos covering the arm resting on the open window were a dead giveaway to who they were.
Bratva.
I would chalk it up to coincidence, if I believed in it. Instead, I immediately put one of my best guys outside her lobby and another at the service entrance. Both check in with me twice an hour with updates. My phone buzzes early, and I immediately expect the worst.
CILLIAN
The car is back.
Just one guy.
No movement yet.
I’m on my way.
If he doesn’t fucking kill you trying to get into her apartment, I fucking will if he makes it inside.
Understood, Balor.
Snatching my keys off the desk beside me, I head straight to my car parked in the alley. As soon as I get into the driver’s seat, I gun the engine and cut into oncoming cars as I pull onto the street. With complete disregard for other traffic or my own safety, I race downtown to Layla’s. Swerving through traffic and running traffic lights gets me to her block within ten minutes.
I pull to a stop in the loading zone at the front of Layla’s building just in time to watch the Bratva cross the street. I nod at Cillian to let him pass, and he sneaks down the alleyway toward the back entrance. I quickly call Kieran at the service entrance. It rings once. When he picks up, I don’t give him a chance to say anything before demanding, “Let him through.”
“Balor?” he questions with confusion in his tone.
“Let him in; I’ll deal with him inside.”
Slipping from the car, I’m pleased to see my friendly doorman Fred working this evening. “Here to pick up Miss Stevens this evening?” he asks the moment he spots me.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” I lie as he pulls the door wide to allow me entry to the building. A security issue I will deal with at a later time. It is the least of my worries right now.
Crossing the lobby and passing the elevators, I head for the stairwell. I quietly pull open the door, and the heavy footsteps of the Bratva a few floors above me echo through the enclosed space. Ensuring to stay light on my feet, I briskly take the steps, closing the distance between me and the man who is about to thoroughly regret his choices this evening.
I am three flights below Layla’s floor when the soft thud of the stairwell door closing reverberates through the confines of the stairwell. No longer concerned with being heard, I take the stairs two at a time to make sure I reach him before he has a chance to get to her. I pull open the door and step into the hallway to find him at her door, gun in hand, and letting himself inside.
