“I don't do whores. Try another hotel.” Michael’s voice was cold, but his eyes were dark, lingering on my exposed cleavage. I could smell his arousal, a mix of leather and raw musk, and when I rubbed myself against his groin, he hissed. He was hard. Rock hard. Yet, he tossed me aside like trash.
I zipped up my dress, humiliating heat pooling between my legs from his rejection. Two days later, I was in the clutches of Alpha Roman. His thick fingers dug into my ass, squeezing my flesh as he whispered filthy things against my neck. “I’m gonna wreck you tonight, bitch.”
I squeezed my thighs together, terrified, until a growl vibrated through the air. “Get your fucking hands off her.”
Michael stormed in. He didn't just pull me away; he claimed me. His hand gripped the back of my neck, forcing my head back as his tongue thrust into my mouth, dominating me, tasting me. His erection pressed against my belly through the thin silk of my gown, marking me as his property in front of everyone.
But the contract he offered was cold. “Sign it. No feelings.”
Months later, I broke the rule. I walked into his office, desperate. He was drunk. “You said no touching,” I whispered, but my hands were already undoing his belt.
“I lied,” he groaned, dragging me onto his lap. His large hand slid up my thigh, pushing my panties aside. His fingers found my wetness instantly, circling my clit until I gasped. “You’re mine, Evelyn. Contract or not, tonight, I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”
