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"That's it, beautiful," I murmured against her neck, my own pleasure creeping up on me. "Let go for me."
She called out my name again, her body squirming beneath me as her orgasm washed over her. Her breath came out in ragged pants as waves of pleasure rippled through her. Her walls tightened around me and I gripped the edge of the desk tighter, my body trembling with the effort to hold back my own release.
"Justice," I moaned, her name a rough plea on my tongue as she continued to convulse beneath me, her body wringing every last ounce of pleasure from mine.
Finally, I allowed myself to let go, my climax rocketing through me with such force that I saw stars. My release came in hot bursts, each thrust pushing me deeper inside her until there was nothing left to give.
We collapsed into dizzying breathlessness, time suspended in the aftershocks of our shared ecstasy.
"Oh, love," I murmured again, brushing away a loose strand of hair sticking to her sweat-dampened forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and sated. "I should've taken you to bed."
She shook her head, clearly still unable to speak.
"It's okay," I said. "I got you."
Silently, we rearranged our clothes and I eased her up from the desk. She wobbled slightly, her knees weak and unsteady. Chuckling softly, I swooped her into my arms, cradling her against my chest.
“Zane...” she murmured, her hand splayed over my heart. “That was...”
“Incredible?” I finished for her, grinning down at the woman in my arms. Her cheeks blazed red, a testament of the naughty activities we’d just indulged in.
She laughed.
"How is your head?"
She blinked, brows furrowed in confusion. "My head?" A beat, and then understanding dawned on her face. "The headache. Right." She paused, considering before a slow smile spread across her face. "I think it's gone."
"Good to know my methods are effective," I teased, carrying her towards her master bedroom. The heated flush that spread across her cheeks was worth the weight in my arms. "Do you know when they'll be back?"
"No clue," she replied, her hands gripping my shirt. "But you did say you're going to do whatever it takes to take things off my mind, right?"
I laughed. "You're so naughty," I said, then looked into her eyes. "Yes. I am."
Chapter Seven: Bash
Ihadn't told Justice what the op was because I didn't want her to worry. I was worried enough. Hassan had taken his Lamborghini Aventador ahead of us, and I had taken my Escalade. Skylar was driving me, but his eyes scanned the streets with a predator’s intensity. Silence hung heavy in the vehicle, the two of us lost in our thoughts as the neon lights of Miami whipped past.
Despite all the bravado, the mood was tense as we navigated through the streets bathed in neon lights, each turn bringing us closer to our dangerous rendezvous.
We were making our way to one of Miami's most exclusive restaurants, but I didn't have an appetite.
The L'ombra was a gilded cage of lavish indulgence, its walls whispering secrets that could turn the tides of power in Miami's underbelly. The facade was all sophistication and opulence, but the air inside held a musk of danger, a scent I knew all too well. It clung to the velvet drapes and marble floors like an expensive perfume, masking the stench of blood that had been spilt in the name of ambition.
This was deep in the heart of De Luca territory…we were guests here, and we had to watch our steps carefully.
One of us could get killed tonight.
But that made sense, when everything was on the line.
"Evening, sir," the maître d' greeted with a respectful nod, his eyes a guarded fortress. “Do you have a reservation?”
"Keep the table warm," I told him, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. I slipped him a hefty bill, the currency of silence, and made my way to the heart of the restaurant—a sanctuary for the wolves in sheep's clothing.
I couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu as I navigated the familiar maze of backstreets within these walls, each step a dance with the devil. My hand instinctively brushed against the hidden holster under my jacket, a comfort against the unknowns that lay ahead. My men were at my side, neither one of them saying anything as the host lead us to our table.
"Isabella De Luca," I muttered to myself, the name rolling off my tongue with a mix of respect and caution. She wasn't just any high-profile mark; she was the queen on a chessboard where every move could mean life or death. Seeking an alliance with her was like playing with fire—necessary, yet fraught with the potential to get burned.
But this wasn't about me.