Page 3 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

Please.

My pussy clenches hard enough to hurt. I adjust my dress slowly, deliberately, letting him see the gleam of the whiskey still drying between my breasts. His friend has to physically hold him back.

The elevator ride to the penthouse feels suspended in time. I shift slightly, keeping the camera in my peripheral vision while using Antoine's height to block a clear facial shot—just another adjustment in the careful choreography I've performed all night.

Antoine's hand finds my lower back, and my skin crawls—not from the touch itself, but because it's wrong. Wrong height. Wrong pressure. Wrong person

"The view is spectacular," he says as we enter the suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city lights. "Champagne?"

"Please." The word tastes like copper on my tongue. Like Jax's desperate plea.

Antoine pours liberally, the poison spreading faster through his system with each sip. His breathing has already quickened, though he doesn't notice yet.

"Alexei and I have a very profitable arrangement," he continues, loosening his tie. "The fear in their eyes... it triples the price. Supply and demand at its purest."

Five minutes.

My hand drifts to my thigh, not to the knife but higher, where I ache. Where I've been aching since the man with blue-green eyes called me perfect.

Antoine's face flushes. Sweat beads on his forehead. "Is it warm in here?"

"Maybe you should sit."

He collapses into the leather chair, chest heaving now. "Something's... my heart..."

Three minutes.

"Your crimes against children are revolting, but they're not why you're dying. You're dying because you shook hands with Alexei Petrov and called him friend."

Antoine's face goes ashen. "Alexei?"

He tries to stand, swaying, but falls back in the chair with one hand clutching his chest while the other reaches toward his phone on the side table. "What did—who sent you?"

I don't answer, but watch him die the way I've watched dozens die, observing the stages, noting the symptoms. But my hand slides under my dress, finding the slick heat that's been building since the collision at the bar.

This is fucked. This is so fucked.

"Please," Antoine gasps, reaching toward me. "Help me."

That word again. But in his mouth, it means nothing. From Jax's lips, it rewired my entire nervous system.

I circle my clit with two fingers, my other hand gripping the window frame. Antoine's death rattle mingles with my sharp breathing as I chase release. I'm going to come watching a man die while thinking about a stranger who crashed into me thirty minutes ago.

The orgasm builds like a storm—dark, violent, consuming. Antoine's body convulses once, twice, then goes still. As his heart stops, I come hard enough to see stars, biting my lip to muffle the sound.

Jax.

His name tears through me with the aftershocks. I've never come thinking about someone specific during a kill.Never wanted someone to watch. Never imagined sharing this darkness.

My legs shake as I stage the scene. Plant the cocaine. Position the body. Slip his phone into my clutch. Wipe down surfaces.

Professional movements while my body continues to betray me, already building toward another climax just from thinking about him.

The hotel bathroom mirror reflects someone I don't recognize. My pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from biting them.

The silk between my breasts has dried stiff where the whiskey soaked through, carrying the faint scent of him. I touch the fabric, and heat floods through me again.

What have you done to me?