Page 24 of Devil's Azalea

Emilia must have heard them too because she dashes to the window and struggles with the latch for precious seconds before I spot our salvation.

“Emilia,” I whisper urgently, nodding towards a small closet on the far side of the room.

She abandons the window, and we dive into the closet just as the door’s code panel starts beeping.

Just in time.

The closet space is smaller than I expected. I have to hunch so my head doesn’t knock into the metal clothing bar, my back pressed to the wall… and Emilia’s juicy ass flush against my crotch.

It’s biologically inevitable that my cock begins to stiffen.

She lets out a heavy sigh, which only exacerbates the situation—the slight movement in the tight space presses her ass more firmly against my growing erection. Compulsively, my hand slips to her thigh, fingers sinking into the warm, smooth flesh exposed by the slit in her dress.

She sucks in a sharp breath, goosebumps popping beneath my touch. My fingers sink deeper, and my mouth practically waters with need for her.God, if I could just?—

The office door bursts open, and Jason’s men storm in, hauling the poor waiter by the scruff. Behind them, shuffles Jason himself, pale and shaken but somehow still on his feet.

Yeah. That’ll sober a man. Just not this one.

I glance down at the woman pressed against me. From this angle, I have a perfect view down the front of her dress to her perky little tits.

More blood drains from my brain, and before I can stop myself, my other arm wraps possessively around her waist.

Fuck me.

7

EMILIA

My breath hitches, clogging in my throat, and for one reckless moment, I forget where we are. The world narrows to the man behind me. Rafael’s hand is moving in slow, sensual circles on my thigh, and the arm wrapped around my waist is inching higher until it rests just beneath the swell of my breasts.

Oh God, not now. Nothim.

But my cunt contracts with a mind of its own, my breasts becoming heavier as my nipples stiffen against my lace bra. And against every screaming rational thought, I surrender to the moment, tipping back until my head falls onto his shoulder. Years of denying this—denying him—and my body still remembers exactly how to melt for him.

Rafael, the bastard, seizes the opportunity like the predator he is. His hand on my thigh glides higher, his fingers brushing dangerously close to my center, while the other hand slips up, cupping my tit and pinching my aching nipple between his index and middle fingers. I bite back a moan and rub my ass against the thick line of his cock, feeling how wet I’m getting for a man I should hate.

A muffled thud outside the little heated closet jerks me back to reality.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell am I doing? How did I forget we’re crammed in a closet while a man I poisoned is literally three feet away.

I peek through the slats.

Jason is struggling to regain his footing—the sound was probably him slipping to the floor. He’s back up now, scowling like he wants to kill someone. And before I can blink, he’s slapping the terrified young man being restrained by two of his security men.

“That waiter made the mistake of giving your date a drink after you… got to him,” Rafael whispers in my ear, his hot breath fanning the shell, sending fresh goosebumps racing across my skin.

I shudder. Ugh…Goddammit.

“Shh, easy, darling.” He rolls my nipple between his fingers again, teasing it until I’m stuttering inside, mind fogged with lust.

“S–stop that,” I hiss, twisting to glare up at him.

A catastrophic mistake.

Because the space is so cramped and we’re pushed so tightly together, he's hunching his back in order to fit into this small space. Looking back means staring directly into his face—into those hypnotic silver eyes with their tiny flecks of blue.

Eyes that have haunted me for years.