Page 118 of Shadow Waltz
He didn’t let go until he was spent, until we were both trembling and gasping, bodies slick with sweat and spit and cum. He slid out slowly, watching the mess drip from my ruined hole, before gathering me into his arms, pressing kisses to my temple, my jaw, my lips—still tasting of all the men who’d claimed me tonight.
“Mine,” he whispered, his voice softer now, full of pride and satisfaction.
Slowly, with hands that were suddenly gentle, he loosened the restraints binding my wrists. He rubbed at the angry lines they’d left behind, fingers soothing, worshipful. I let him, unable to move for a moment, my body heavy with satisfaction and exhaustion. When I tried to stand, my legs wobbled, and Luka caught me easily.
He lifted me into his arms without effort, holding me close to his chest. My head lolled against his shoulder, his scent filling my senses, all clean skin and expensive cologne mixed with sweat and sex. He carried me through the silent apartment, the sound of our breathing the only thing in the world.
We passed the edge of the playroom and Luka paused in the bathroom, the light soft and golden. He set me down on the edge of the tub and turned the water on, testing it with his hand until it was warm. He stepped in behind me, supporting me as he guided me under the spray, letting the hot water sluice away sweat, spit, and the last evidence of all we’d done.
Luka’s hands were everywhere, gentle now, massaging shampoo into my hair, sliding soap over my skin. He washed every inch of me, reverent, quiet, his touch lingering with affection. He took extra care with my collar, unbuckling it and rinsing it clean before replacing it the one I had on before.
He pressed a kiss to the spot where it lay, murmuring softly, “You did so well. Did you enjoy your birthday present, Ash?”
I turned to face him, letting the water soak us both, and smiled, tired and honest. “Best present I’ve ever had.”
He laughed, soft and proud, cradling my face in his hands. “You belong to me, always. But tonight, you let yourself go further than ever. That means something. You mean something.”
I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes as his lips found mine—slow, deep, unhurried. There was no hurry now, noperformance, just the solid reassurance of being held and cherished.
He wrapped a towel around me and carried me to bed, pulling the covers over us both. He gathered me against his chest, arms locked tight around my body, anchoring me as I drifted, safe and spent, into sleep.
Just before I slipped under, I heard his voice again, barely more than a breath. “Happy birthday, Ash. You’re everything.”
And in his arms, for the first time in years, I truly believed it.
19
MASKED INTENTIONS
LUKA
The ballroom of the Astoria Hotel had been transformed into something from a fever dream of elegance and decadence, crystal chandeliers casting fractured light across marble floors that had witnessed a century of New York’s elite dancing away their sins. Tonight, it would serve a triple purpose that only I fully understood—Ash’s formal debut as my acknowledged partner, a strategic gathering to finalize territorial expansions worth fifty million in annual revenue, and the perfect trap to draw my enemies into the open where I could study their alliances and capabilities.
I stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in my private suite, adjusting platinum cufflinks that had once belonged to a Russian oligarch who’d made the mistake of underestimating me. The formal wear had been crafted by the same tailor who dressed European royalty, black silk and midnight wool that transformed me from criminal kingpin into something that could grace the covers of society magazines. But underneath the elegant facade, I carried enough weaponry to start a small war—because in my world, the most dangerous enemies often came dressed as friends.
“Sir,” Carina’s voice carried through the intercom with the kind of professional calm that suggested everything was proceeding according to plan. “The venue is secure, and all invited guests have been confirmed through three separate authentication protocols. Mr. Carter is ready for final preparations.”
Ash. Even thinking his name sent something warm and possessive unfurling in my chest, because tonight would mark the culmination of everything we’d built together over the past weeks. No longer would he be seen as merely my acquisition or pet—tonight, the criminal elite of three continents would recognize him as my equal partner, someone whose intelligence and strategic thinking had already proven invaluable to my operations. But more than that, tonight would be our moment, the transformation that would announce to everyone who mattered that what we shared transcended simple ownership.
I made my way through corridors lined with Renaissance paintings worth more than most countries’ GDP, each step carrying me closer to the moment that would either solidify our position or expose us to enemies who’d been waiting for exactly this kind of vulnerability. The suite I’d reserved for Ash’s preparations occupied an entire floor, staffed with professionals whose discretion had been bought with enough money to ensure their silence and loyalty.
When I entered, I found Ash standing before a bank of mirrors that reflected him from every angle, and the sight literally stopped me in my tracks. The transformation was breathtaking—gone was any trace of the street kid I’d bought at auction, replaced by someone who looked like he’d been born to wear formal attire that cost more than luxury cars. The tuxedo had been tailored to his exact measurements, midnight blacksilk that hugged his lean frame and made his ice-blue eyes appear almost luminous in the soft lighting. His blonde hair had been styled to look effortlessly elegant while concealing the scar that marked him as a survivor, and his skin had been made flawless through careful application of products that cost more per ounce than gold.
But it was his collar that made my breath catch in my throat—no longer the simple black leather he’d grown accustomed to wearing, but something that belonged in the vaults of European jewelry houses. White gold and black diamonds arranged in a pattern that looked like an elegant necklace rather than a symbol of ownership, but still clearly marking him as mine to anyone who understood the subtle language of power and possession.
The stylist had worked magic with subtle cosmetics that enhanced his natural beauty while maintaining masculine edges, and the formal wear had been adjusted until it fit like a second skin designed by gods who specialized in temptation. But it was the way Ash carried himself that completed the transformation—gone was any trace of submission or deference, replaced by the confident bearing of someone who belonged in rooms where empires were built and destroyed with handshake agreements. The collar remained visible at his throat, but now it looked like royal jewelry rather than restraint, a symbol of status rather than slavery.
“One final touch,” I said, producing a mask that had been crafted by the same artisan who’d created the collar. Black silk and white gold, decorated with diamonds that matched his necklace, designed to enhance rather than hide his distinctive features.
I fastened it behind his head with deliberate care, my fingers brushing against his skin in ways that made him shiver despite the formal setting. The mask transformed him from beautifulinto ethereal, like some dark angel who’d decided to attend a mortal celebration.
“Perfect,” I breathed, stepping back to admire the complete picture he presented.
“Am I ready for my close-up, Mr. Prince?” Ash asked, and the playful edge in his voice reminded me that underneath all the formal wear and expensive jewelry, he was still the defiant street kid who’d refused to break under pressure that would have destroyed most people.
“You’re ready to rewrite the rules of how this world works,” I replied, offering him my arm with the courtly gesture appropriate to the evening’s theme. “Ready to show three hundred of the most dangerous people alive that partnership can be more powerful than simple domination.”
But before we could step out as a united front, the tension in the room simmered and snapped, pulling us together with irresistible gravity. I locked the suite door behind us, every movement deliberate. Ash’s eyes tracked me, posture shifting, aware, waiting. The way his tuxedo clung to his frame, the expensive fabric taut over muscle and hunger, made my blood sing.