Page 18 of Duchess (Royal Harlots MC: National New York Chapter #1)

It took precision and timing, but when I twisted the handle, the door gave with a soft click.

Calculated. Controlled. Silent.

Just the way I liked it.

The air inside her penthouse was sweet and soft, laced with her scent. Lavender. A hint of gunpowder. My cock twitched and my chest tightened.

It was just past two in the morning. Everything was still.

I quietly made my way down a dark hallway, every step measured.

The place was massive, an open living space, high ceilings, polished concrete floors with thick rugs, and curated furniture that screamed money.

I also knew exactly where that money had come from.

From the outside, it looked like a regular apartment building, but inside, she'd most definitely made herself at home.

I moved room by room. Cleared the kitchen first, it was empty. Living area next. Silent. The office space beyond that showed signs of recent use, papers slightly shifted, a glass with lipstick at the rim. My pulse kicked harder.

A guest room sat across the hall, door ajar. I scanned it with a single glance, but it was empty. No warmth. No presence.

Then I saw the last door at the end of the corridor. Closed. But not locked.

I turned the handle slowly, quietly, and let the door open on its own weight. And suddenly, there she was.

Alone and asleep. Completely unaware of who had just entered her privacy.

She looked so peaceful as she slept. One leg tangled in the sheets, lips slightly parted, hand curled under her cheek like she hadn’t ruined me with a single look years ago. My Duchess. My fucking ruin.

I didn’t want to wake her; that wasn't the plan. I wanted to torture her quietly. Maybe scare her a little. I wanted that fear to flow through every inch of those, knowing it was I who had induced it.

I stepped closer, my polished shoes silent against the floor as I closed the distance.

She was right there, completely vulnerable, and I was drowning in the sight of her.

Every inch of her skin was seared into my memory, every soft curve a punch to the gut.

I crouched at her bedside, fists clenched at my sides, my chest tight with everything I’d buried for too fucking long.

Obsession. Possession. Rage. Lust. It all bled together as I sat there, watching her sleep, needing to touch, needing to claim, because I couldn’t walk away again. Not this time.

My fingers trembled, not with fear, but with restraint as I brushed the back of my knuckles over the curve of her cheek.

Her skin was warm, flushed with dreams she’d never remember.

Her lashes twitched, lips parted in a sigh that nearly broke me.

I leaned in, close enough to feel the heat of her breath ghost across my jaw.

“You don’t even know I’m here,” I whispered against her skin, letting my lips graze the corner of her mouth.

I should have walked the fuck out right then.

Should’ve dropped the coin and left her untouched like a decent man would have.

But I stopped being a decent man the night I kissed her.

I’ve done things I’ll never atone for, buried men who stood in my way, and walked out of rooms soaked in blood.

This wasn’t new to me, wanting something so bad it twisted me up inside.

But her? She was the one line I’d promised not to cross.

And here I was, crossing it without a second thought, because I’d waited too fucking long to breathe her in again.

I dragged the sheet down with the kind of control I’d honed over a lifetime of holding back, my hands rough but steady.

It wasn’t reverence. It was need. Raw, unapologetic need.

Like uncovering a truth I'd spent too long chasing.

I wanted to worship her, to claim her. Mark her in a way no one else ever could.

Her breasts rose and fell in rhythm with her sleep, nipples tight from the cold or maybe just my presence.

I stared down at her as if she were some precious art piece unveiled in a museum, marveling at the one thing I could never own but would take anyway.

I ran my palm down the curve of her waist, over the soft swell of her hip, my breath hissing through my teeth as I clenched my fist to stop myself from doing what every part of me screamed for.

My forehead pressed to the mattress beside her, my jaw flexing as I fought the sick satisfaction that came from simply being this close.

I didn’t care if I got caught.

I didn’t care if she woke up and clawed my eyes out.

I just needed this . To touch her. To mark her.

I bent over her, breath uneven, fingers curling at my sides as I stared at the soft, unmarked slope of her breast. I kissed it.

I wasn't gentle, I could fucking care less. I was starved as I pressed my mouth against the flushed peak as if branding her with every ounce of my need. Then my tongue followed, dragging slowly over the taught nipple, hot and possessive. Her taste was silk and sin, the kind of flavor that settled into your bones and made a man forsake gods. I stayed there, my face buried in her warmth, inhaling her scent like it was the only thing keeping me alive. I licked a second time, slower, deeper, and for a brief moment, I imagined she stirred, just a twitch, but it didn’t matter.

I was already gone. Already ruined. And I knew, with sick certainty, that I’d do it again.

My hand dropped to my belt, the ache between my legs was now unbearable.

I released my dick into my hand, gripping myself, and began to stroke.

The movement was slow at first, watching her chest rise and fall, pretending, just for a moment, that it was her hand on me.

That those lips parted for more than just a breath, but to take my cock into her mouth.

My gaze roamed her body, knowing I owned it, every ridge, every curve, seared into memory and fed into my fantasy.

Each breath she took, each shift of her body along the soft sheets, made it worse.

Made it better. I let the tension build in me until I was shaking, my breath ragged, teeth clenched to keep from groaning her name as I smeared my precum along the base of my cock.

I didn’t rush it. No. This was a ritual, a desecration of her body. A punishment.

Instead, I reached over and gripped the waistband of her panties, pulling them down until her pussy was exposed.

I groaned, leaning over to nudge my nose into her folds, taking in a deep breath of her scent. My cock jerked and my hand stroked in time with her breathing, slow and hypnotic, as if her body was the rhythm and I was merely keeping pace with a song only I could hear.

I let my tongue slide over just the lips of her bunny. Slowly burrowing it’s way inside her, finally gliding over the silky part of her. Tasting her juices for the first time.

My strokes grew harder and rougher while my mind filled with dirty images of her beneath me, on top of me, tied to my bed, and begging to be ruined all over again.

I wanted to mark her, brand her, bind her in ways she didn’t even know she craved.

The obsession curled through me thick with need and coated in vengeance.

I managed to stand up over her as I came with her name on my lips, silent but searing, spilling across my palm and hitting her plush tits.

It was as if the act itself sealed something sacred between us.

And as I stood there, heart pounding, staring down at the woman who had no idea what I’d just done, what I’d become for her, I knew I’d never be the same.

I took a step back, my chest still heaving, jaw tight with everything I felt and couldn’t say. I adjusted myself, yanked the belt back through the loops, disgust clawing its way through the lust. I hated how deep this ran. Hated how I still wanted her after everything.

I reached into the inner pocket of my coat and pulled out the coin.

It was a heavy piece of gold, old and worn, stamped with the crest of my family.

It had been passed down through generations.

A symbol. A curse. I stared at it for a second too long before I dropped it onto the pillow beside her head.

Then I pulled out the note I’d written in the car, the ink still fresh, scrawled in my brutal, impatient hand. I slid it beside the coin, right where she’d see it when she woke.

Finders keepers, sweetheart. I always find what’s mine.

Then I walked out of the room. Not giving a fuck who saw me.