Page 64 of I'm sorry, Princess

We’re on the dance floor, and “Often” by The Weeknd pours through the speakers, wrapping around us like a sinful promise. The beat takes over, and the lyrics, those filthy, teasing lyrics, make my cheeks flush as I move my hips like a woman with no inhibitions.

My body sways, my hands trailing up and down my sides, but no matter how much I try to lose myself in the moment, my mind betrays me.

A certain 6’4” man with thick dark hair and ocean-blue eyes creeps into my thoughts.

I’m not going to think about him. Not about how his tattooed arms felt wrapped around me, or how his hard, muscular body pressed into mine, commanding me like I belonged to him.

But my thighs clench involuntarily, and I curse myself under my breath.

I cannot be wet right now. Not here. Not now.

But the song isn’t helping, the alcohol is coursing through me, and my traitorous mind refuses to cooperate. I push the thoughts down, hard, but they simmer just below the surface, threatening to spill over.

I glance at Sienna. She’s moving with the same reckless energy, but there’s something distant in her eyes, like she’s caught in her own web of thoughts. Whatever she’s thinking about, she’s just as lost in it as I am.

We keep dancing. We dance until time loses meaning, until the lights blur and the music becomes our only reality. For now, that’s all that matters.

For now, we don’t care.

Chapter Eighteen

Lorenzo

As we step into the business suite, I can’t help but notice the way Andreas is eyeing Sienna. He better not fuck her. The last thing I need is Serena hovering around us more than she already does. If Andreas gets involved with her friend, it’s only a matter of time before she becomes a recurring problem in my space, and I don’t have the patience for that.

I’m the last to arrive, as usual.

What can I say? I like to keep them waiting. Let them stew, let them wonder. It keeps the power where it belongs, with me.

I’m ten minutes late, and judging by the looks on their faces, they’d probably kill me for it if they thought they could. I should be scared. Any sane man would be, sitting at a table like this.

Is she trying to ruin my night on purpose, or did the universe decide to send her here just to fuck with me?

Look at me, talking about the universe. When the hell did I become so fucking pathetic?

I’m in a room full of killers dressed in suits, men who smile while cutting throats, who’d burn empires to ash for a bigger slice of the pie. Every word spoken here carries weight, every silence an unspoken threat.

And yet, I’m not listening. Not really.

Because across the smoke-filled table, she’s there. A woman who doesn’t belong in this world of blood and shadow. A woman who shouldn’t even be here. And still, she’s the only thing pulling my focus, the only distraction I can’t afford, and the one I crave the most.

And that white mini dress? It’s a fucking problem. The way it clings to her curves, the way it highlights her long blonde hair and that sinful, naughty ass, I should look away, but I don’t.

I can’t.

Her soft hair would fit perfectly in my hand, wrapping around my fingers while I pull her close. Her lips, full and teasing, are made to be wrapped around me, her mouth sweet and eager as I—

Fuck.

Now I have a boner. In the middle of a meeting. Fantastic.

I shift slightly in my seat, forcing my expression to remain unreadable as I take a slow breath.

She’s nothing but a distraction, and distractions are dangerous. I can’t afford to let her derail me, not here, not now.

But she’s here, and no matter how much I tell myself to focus, my mind keeps circling back to one thing:

She’s mine. Whether she knows it or not.