Page 51 of The Devil of Downtown

“What’s your name?” he grinds out, voice low, controlled, dangerous.

“Ivy,” I whisper, guilt choking the word.

His gaze flickers over my face, his fingers rising to trace the outline like he’s seeing me for the first time.

“Tell me, Ivy,” he breathes, the calm in his tone worse than shouting. “Did you have fun?”

I shake my head; the words stalling on my tongue. But he’s far from done.

“Is this some kind of game?” His voice roughens, the anger barely held in check. “You and your sister—some twin stunt you pull for kicks?” His hand fists in my hair, drawing me closer until our mouths nearly brush.

“No, it wasn’t like that.” I stammer, chest heaving in quick, uneven breaths.

“So what was it? Because I’m having a pretty fucking hard time understanding.”

“Sloane had an emergency, and she needed me to step in,” I manage, keeping Elsie out of it for now.

“That’s not her call to make,” he snaps. “If someone steps in, I decide who.”

“She didn’t want to lose her job.”

He lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “And she thought sending you would fix that?”

“Please don’t fire Sloane,” I say, panic clawing up my throat.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I’ll do anything you want. Anything,” I blurt, the words shaking loose before I can stop them.

He goes still for a moment, then a slow, dangerous smile curves his mouth.

“Anything?”

I nod once, heart ricocheting against my ribs.

His fingers catch my chin, tilting my face up. “Careful,” he says quietly. “That’s a wide door to open.”

I should pull it back. Say I didn’t mean it like that.

Instead, I stay quiet.

His hand drops from my face—fingers gliding down, over the curve of my breast, tracing a deliberate path to my stomach, my pulse picking up every inch he covers. He watches my reaction the way a predator studies weakness.

“From now on, Ivy,” he murmurs, leaning in, his voice a low threat against my ear, “if I say jump, you say how high.”

“What?” My breath catches as his knuckles drag lower, every lingering touch setting my skin ablaze.

“It’s not complicated,” he says, eyes like glass and fire. “Jump, Ivy.”

“You’ve made your point,” I bite back, defiance scraping through.

“I don’t think I have,” he says softly. “Not yet.”

“What you want me to beg, is that it,sir?” I say, sarcasm coloring every word.

“No, Ivy,” he says under his breath, pulling me close. “That’s not the answer I’m looking for.”

His hand slips between my thighs, knuckles stroking over lace until it’s slick against my skin. The shock of contact steals my breath.