Page 33 of The One-Night Heist

I had no idea where the hell this Mr. Quincy business was coming from, but with the way Giano bucked beneath me when I said it, I knew I was scratching an itch for him too.

Let’s play.

“I’m in charge outside of the bedroom too,” I added once he’d bottomed out, slowly rolling my hips to get adjusted, annoyed all over again with how perfectly he filled me up. “And as long as this job lasts, I own you.”

He groaned as I raised up onto my knees and slammed myself down again. “Yes! F-fuck! You… you own me.”

Damn right, I do.

I hadn’t touched anything harder than booze and cigarettes in years, but the pure euphoria vibrating through my system as I started up a nearly psychotic pace—with Giano’s perfect dick tapping my p-spot on every pass—well, it brought me right back to those reckless partying days of my youth.

So. Fucking. Addicting.

Drunk on the power this powerful man was giving me, I leaned down, continuing to ride him hard with my lips centimeters away from his. “Owning you includes owning your dick, by the way. While this job lasts, I’m the only one you’re with—got it?”

What the hell am I even saying?!

Before I could panic with the dick in question lodged deep inside my guts, Giano’s expression went glassy, his gorgeously fit body tensing and trembling beneath me. “Only you… All. Yours…”

Before I could make things worse by kissing him, I buried my face in the crook of his neck, sinking my teeth into his skin as he pumped the condom full, marking him up until I’d found my own release.

All fucking mine.

I waited until I could trust what my face was doing before lifting my head and smirking down at what a mess my buttoned-up little billionaire had become—all tousled hair, sweaty skin, and a dopey expression that pleased me to no end.

Much better.

Sliding off my new favorite plaything, I focused all my attention on removing the condom and tying it up so I didn’t need to think about all the weird, alpha male bullshit that had just come out of my mouth.

Again, I blame the wine.

“Rowen, we⁠—”

“Should talk business, you’re right,” I airily interrupted, because if this man thought he was going to bring up anything else as a topic of discussion, he was sorely mistaken. “Why don’t you take the first shower and I’ll hop in after you. Then we can go over the plan.”

Something flashed over Giano’s face, too fast to identify, before he nodded. “Sure. I’ll… be right back.”

The silence was thick as he gathered his clothes and headed for the bathroom, and I had to restrain myself from yanking on my clothes and hightailing it out of there as soon as I heard the water running.

Deep breaths, Rowen.

You need this job.

Instead of fleeing like I would with any other one-night stand, I wrapped myself in the fancy robe and dragged the hotel cuck chair over to the window. Ignoring the “No Smoking” sign, I cracked it open and lit up a much-needed cigarette with Giano’s stolen lighter, allowing one of my many vices to calm my nerves.

It’s just business after all.

Eleven

Giancarlo

I woke up alone, but that wasn’t a surprise. After an oddly businesslike discussion at the penthouse’s dining room table, Rowen announced he “didn’t do sleepovers,” grabbed one of the monogrammed robes, and unceremoniously walked out the door.

He also raided the wet bar, I believe…

What shocked me more was that I had spent the night. In the past, once my trysts were over, I generally called them a car, showered, and left soon after they did to head home. It was a business transaction, nothing else, and there was no more need for me to sleep here afterwards than there would be for me to remain in the boardroom downstairs after a quarterly shareholder’s meeting.

The difference was that none of them had been Rowen, and the painfully obvious reason I’d stayed was because the entire bed smelled like him. Citrus and spice, an unexpected freshness disguising that hint of nicotine I normally despised, all combined with the heady, musky scent of sex.