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Of course, my words could be considered a lie by omission—the likelier culprit is the meeting I conducted with my men and one of Tuco’s street guys. We’d knocked him around a little before getting the information we needed and then putting him out of his misery.

Orit could really be from shaving.

There’s no way to know for certain unless the blood is tested.

I decide the latter is the truth.

We’ve had such an amazing dinner that we’re all over each other. Portia becomes the affectionate little seductress I’ve always sensed she was, eventually sitting in my lap. We kiss and stargaze and then kiss some more.

When the winds become too strong, we ride the elevator to the ground floor, locked in another passionate embrace. It’s how we end the night, traveling in the limousine and then up to my penthouse in the financial district, the door swinging shut behind us.

* * *

By Portia’s third orgasm, I’ve memorized the sound of her cries. I’ve learned every supple curve of her body as she convulses and her silky thighs squeeze me in between. We’re tangled in the sheets, in the throes of another passionate round.

I can’t keep my hands off her and she can’t keep from giving in.

With natural arousal, plenty of lube, and clever positioning, we’ve found workarounds to any discomfort she might experience.

We’ve found ourselves so engaged in our kisses and touches that the moment flows. Everything feels so raw, so natural as we kiss and my strokes come long and slow. Still deep but at just the right angle that she melts with pleasure and cries out.

Her pussy muscles flex around my cock and it feels like fucking paradise after years spent in a desert. The best massage imaginable as I can’t last more than three more pumps. My release hits me in a heat wave that has me groaning her name and spilling inside her.

It takes me a long moment to regain my wits.

Time Portia uses to comb my hair back. She smirks, then kisses her way up from my chest to my neck and jawline.

I’m not sure what it is about her that leaves me so fucking sprung.

But no other experience has ever come close.

No liquor, no other woman.

Hell. Not the billion fucking dollars in net worth.

I slide fingers under her chin and guide her lips to mine. “I’ve told you,dolcezza. You don’t know what you’ve done.”

She giggles, then burrows into the crook of my arm, but little does she know I’m serious. She has no idea how she’s fed my addiction and now there’s no turning back.

I’m a man who never walks away from what he wants.

Portia James will be no exception.

We drift off to sleep for hours. It’s some of the best sleep I’ve had in years, even if it comes to an end with a ping from my phone.

Traces of the early morning sky peek through the curtains.

Most of the city is still asleep. I glance over to my side. Portia hasn’t stirred. She’s curled up in the sheets, sleeping soundly like a Black Sleeping Beauty.

After dropping a kiss on her brow, I get up with my phone and leave the room. I’ve slid on my sweatpants and make my way through the long hallway that connects one half of my penthouse with the other.

By the time the door to my secret dungeon is sliding open, I’m Il Diavolo. The mask conceals Rafael.

My men wait for me with the person of interest I’ve requested they bring in.

Quinard Iverson tied to a chair, already bloodied and bruised. He lifts his head enough to peer up at me through his only good eye. The other is swollen shut.

“Look, man… I don’t want no fucking trouble…” he mutters breathlessly, his bottom lip split open. “If this is about my manager sabotaging the betting markets, that’s not me. I’m… I’m just a fighter…”