Page 13 of Desperate Crimes (Mergers & Acquisitions #6)

H oly. Fuck.

There she is. Finally.

My breath catches as she steps out of the bathroom, barefoot and radiant, wrapped in my silk robe like it’s always belonged to her.

I knew it would suit her.

Knew the blush-pink would glow against her skin, that the hem would kiss her thighs just right, that the belt would cinch at her waist like a lover’s grip.

But nothing— nothing —prepared me for the sight of her wearing it.

Soft and sleepy, hair tousled from her fingers, curves outlined in satin and suggestion.

And beneath it?

I know what she’s wearing. Lace. Pale pink. Barely there. I chose it for her. Hung it in the bathroom like a whisper she could choose to ignore—but didn’t.

My cock throbs against my zipper.

I clench my jaw. Try to be still. Try to breathe .

But I can’t fight this anymore.

She’s in my bed. In my house. In my world.

She’s not just close.

She’s ready.

I reach up and remove my piercings—each ring, each stud, every bit of steel I wear like armor.

One by one, they come off.

The click of metal is steady. Controlled.

Then I strip off my shirt, slowly and silently, my inked-up muscles flexing in the glow of the monitors.

I don’t take off my pants.

Not yet.

The cameras follow her as she climbs onto the bed and settles against the pillows.

Innocent. Curious. Wanting.

She doesn't even know how much she’s giving away.

And now?

Now it’s time.

I press the button.

The lights in her room fade to black, seamlessly and smooth.

Darkness swallows her. And me.

I move.

The hallway is silent as I step barefoot across the polished floors, my jeans hanging low on my hips.

Every footfall echoes through me like a war drum.

My pulse pounds.

My blood sings.

This moment has been years in the making.

When I open the bedroom door, I don’t speak. I don’t breathe. I let the darkness stretch a beat longer— enough to feel her tension spike.

I move through the room like a shadow.

I know exactly where to step so she won’t hear me until I want her to. I savor the silence— the stretch of her waiting.

Then she feels it.

Feels my presence.

Fortifies my belief that the two of us are soulmates.

Next, Leanna’s soft voice whispers to me in the darkness.

“Hello?”

Fuck.

My cock jumps, twitching hard behind my zipper all because she’s here, talking to me— softly, tentatively.

Is she afraid? I don’t think so.

Uncertain? Maybe.

Leanna has grit. She’s brave. Besides, I’m not trying to scare her.

I’m trying to woo her.

In my own slightly psychotic fashion.

Because I can’t date this woman.

This isn’t a swipe right to fuck deal, either.

I’m not like regular guys. I’m not even just a Viper. I’m their fucking Prince.

So, when I say I want Leanna Volkov.

I don’t just mean for the night.

I mean forever.

I want to keep her. To claim her. To own her.

“Hello?” she repeats, louder now.

One single word and I’m undone.

I step closer, slowly.

My voice comes low, rough, thick with hunger.

No more modulator.

Just me. Cloaked in the darkness I belong to.

“Look at you,” I say, my tone dark, voice deep like smoke and sin and vows I mean to keep. “In my bed. Dressed in silk and lace.”

She stills.

I hear the faint hitch in her breath.

Anticipatory desire slithers through my veins.

Like a serpent uncoiling from its hiding place—slow, deliberate, ancient.

It wraps around my spine, coils in my belly, flicks its tongue behind my ribs.

Hot and low and dangerous.

“Have you been waiting for me, Princess?”

She gasps.

God, that sound.

It rushes straight to my cock, thickens the air between us, makes my blood roar in my ears.

She’s trying to steady herself, I can feel it— taste it in the way her breath stalls.

“Who are you?” she whispers.

Voice breathy, unsure.

And, fuck me, it’s adorable that she thinks she’s the one asking the questions.

I smirk.

“Nuh uh,” I say, low and even. I take a step closer, letting the tension stretch like wire between us. “That’s not the question I asked.”

Her breath hitches again. She’s close to unraveling, and I haven’t even touched her.

Not yet.

“Now, tell me,” I murmur. “How many boys pretending to be men have you let taste you?”

She flinches. Doesn’t answer.

So I press harder.

“How many have you kissed, Leanna?”

“You know my name.”

It’s not a question, so I don’t answer.

I just press on.

“How many have tried to touch you? How many left you wanting?”

She tries to speak. To argue.

“W-what? How could you possibly?—”

I cut her off with a slow, dark chuckle. Not cruel. Just knowing .

“I know, Princess. I always know.”

Another step. I'm near the edge of the bed now, close enough to hear the sheets whisper as she shifts.

Her breathing is shallow. Her scent wraps around me—sweet, feminine, a little anxious. Aroused.

“You never let them have you,” I say. My voice is softer now, more intimate.

“You don’t know that.”

“You can’t lie to me,” I say.

And she stays silent for a beat.

So I keep going.

“You. Never. Let. Them. Have. You. Did you, Princess? Nah. You pulled away. Smiled, but kept your distance. Teased. Tempted. But when it came time to give anything real?”

I lean in, just a breath from her cheek. I don’t touch her. I don’t have to.

“You never let them touch what you knew was always mine.”

I feel her body react.

Every part of her is humming, tight with confusion and something she doesn’t want to name yet.

“You’re crazy,” she whispers.

Her voice trembles. Not with fear. With need.

I grin in the dark.

“For you? You have no fucking idea? And if you think that bothers me?” I murmur. “It doesn’t. So, call me what you want. But deep down? You know what you want to call me.”

“Bastard? Asshole?”

I grin wider.

“Nah. Just call me yours, Princess.”