Page 1 of The Rival’s Obsession (The Black Ledger Billionaires #3)

T here are worse ways to end a day.

My cock down his throat.

Her pussy on my tongue.

And me, flat on my back with nothing to do but enjoy the view.

Vegas is still burning behind my eyes—exhausting convention, press scandal, and one very public punch that’s already making headlines.

But right now?

Right now, she’s using me to come, and he’s swallowing me down like he doesn’t care if he breathes again.

It’s quiet here.

Wet. Warm.

Obedient.

Exactly how I like it.

And until morning, I don’t give a single fuck about the empire I might lose?—

as long as I get to come with one hand fisted in her hair and the other forcing him deeper.

My phone rings.

A very specific ring.

The one I set for my personal assistant.

Fuck.

Fourth time since the jet probably took off. I say probably because I wasn’t on it.

I was supposed to be. Five hours of flying beside Grant Harrow—my business partner and all-around pain-in-the-ass—while he iced his busted lip and seethed in silence?

Yeah, no thanks.

Instead, I called the Black Ledger’s Vegas office and requested something far more therapeutic.

Sam. Kris. A custom order in silk and sin.

And right now, Sam’s pushing my cock to the back of his throat like he wants to live there.

I let the call go to voicemail.

His mouth sucks harder. His throat clenches around me, that warm, tight slide making my eyes roll back.

Goddamn.

My grip tightens on Kris’s thighs, dragging her closer until she’s trembling above me. My tongue circles her clit—slow, then fast, then brutal. Relentless.

She gasps—high and breathy—and grinds down like she can’t get close enough.

Marble walls bounce every sound back at us. Her mewls. My low groan. The wet, slick sounds of her cunt on my tongue and Sam’s mouth sucking my cock like it’s a fucking reward.

I shift just enough to suck as I tongue her—tight, rhythmic, coaxing. She falls apart with a strangled cry, fingers threading through my hair and pulling as she rides it out, hips stuttering in that desperate, helpless way I love.

She tastes like luxury and power and everything I’ve earned.

Her orgasm ebbs in soft tremors across my tongue, thighs twitching around my head.

Perfect and spent.

My phone rings. Again.

This time, it’s paired with the sharp ping of a text.

Frankie is a persistent little thing. I’ll give her that.

I chuckle against Kris’s thigh, licking up the last of her cum—slow, savoring every drop—while Sam settles back into his rhythm. Up, down, wet and eager.

Such a good fucking boy.

Kris lifts herself off me, just enough to check that I’m still breathing. Barely. Her lips curve in a lazy grin, and I seize the pause to turn the night in a new direction.

“Champagne,” I say, voice rough. “Make it cold.”

She rises without question, those long legs carrying her toward the minibar while I slide my fingers through Sam’s hair.

He hums, deep and needy, and I lean up on one elbow to watch—really watch—his lips stretch around my cock.

So fucking pretty.

Spit slips from his mouth, sliding down my shaft.

It helps his hand glide with him, stroke for stroke.

Christ almighty.

Kris returns, slow and unhurried, a glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. She sips, eyes locked on the show between my legs, licking a stray drop off her bottom lip like she’s the one being satisfied.

Sam pauses, mouth parting, tongue barely out. He looks up at her with those deep brown eyes—pleading.

My cock twitches at the sight.

He’s fucking beautiful when he begs.

Kris smiles—always generous—and tilts the bottle.

Champagne pours over her breast, golden and cold.

It rolls down her skin, catching on her nipple, then sliding right into Sam’s waiting mouth as he laps it up like it’s the only thing he’s been allowed to taste all night.

Fuck.

I want to bend him over the nearest table and ruin him.

His mouth returns to my cock just as the chilled champagne hits the heated skin of my shaft, and I hiss—back arching off the bed.

“Shit.”

The contrast is electric. Sharp and decadent.

Sam hums again, clearly pleased with himself.

And I decide—he’s earned a reward.

I cup Sam’s face with both hands, holding him steady as I thrust up into his mouth.

Slow at first. Then deeper. Harder.

“Yeah, take it,” I murmur, watching the way his lips stretch around me, spit-slick and shining. “Just like that. Fucking perfect.”

His throat tenses, face flushed red as he fights the urge to gag around my cock.

But he doesn’t stop.

He’s obedient and mine—for tonight.

I pull out, cock glistening, and run my thumb across his soaked bottom lip.

“Look at you,” I praise, voice low. “Taking so much of me like you were made for it.”

His eyes flutter, and I tug him up—pulling him into a kiss that starts with tongues, swirling and teasing, until our lips finally collide.

The moan we share is filthy and raw.

Behind us, the mattress dips—Kris shifting.

“Lie back,” I say, barely pulling from Sam’s mouth, still tasting him. “Head at the foot of the bed. Legs apart. You know how I want you.”

She obeys without a word—always the picture of grace and filth.

I kiss Sam again—deeper, slower this time—before turning and crawling down Kris’s body.

The angle’s awkward, upside down, but I make it work.

My mouth latches to her breast, teeth catching her nipple while I squeeze the soft weight of her other tit in my palm.

She sighs, arching beneath me.

Sam moves behind me, his strong hand wrapping around my cock, gripping hard.

“Fuck,” I hiss as he strokes, lips brushing my shoulder. His mouth follows the movement of his hand—kissing, teasing, leaving warmth and promise in his wake.

We’re both standing now, side by side.

I turn to him, grip the back of his neck, and pull him into another kiss—rough and eager, heat flaring between us.

My hand finds his cock—thick and hard—and I stroke him as our mouths clash again.

“Lie on top of her,” I growl, breaking the kiss just enough to speak against his lips. “Fuck her throat while you eat her pussy. I’ve got a feeling I’ll be getting another?—”

Rrring.

We both laugh—dark and breathless.

Of course.

I kiss him once more, then release him, trading the weight of his body for the chill of the champagne glass.

The fizz tickles my skin as I bring it to my lips?—

then I swipe to answer.

“Frankie Lane!” I greet, too damn pleased with myself. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You didn’t get on the fucking jet.”

I smirk, swirling the champagne in my glass with one hand while the other strokes lazily over my cock.

Across the room, Sam lowers himself over Kris—forearms braced on either side of her hips as he dives between her legs.

His mouth meets her pussy with focused hunger, and Kris arches off the bed with a sound that makes my cock twitch.

She doesn’t waste time, either.

Her hand wraps around his length, guiding him to her mouth.

There’s something poetic about it—her on her back, throat full, moaning around him as he eats her like it’s his last meal.

Filthy and fucking perfect.

Frankie’s still talking.

“Punching your oldest friend. Becoming a trending topic for all the wrong reasons. And now? Skipping your flight home like some jilted prom queen?”

“Hmm,” I hum, keeping my eyes on the show, hand working my cock—slow and steady. “I did promise myself a productive evening.”

“Dante.” Her voice cuts sharp, like a blade across silk.

I sigh, releasing my cock to snag a condom.

“Yes, Frankie?” I mutter around the wrapper as I rip off the corner with my teeth.

“You’ve got a charming little two a.m. flight now, courtesy of my ability to clean up your goddamn messes. You and Grant are expected in front of the board at eight a.m. sharp. In suits. With answers.”

I glance at the wall clock.

Eleven-oh-two p.m.

My toys are booked until sunrise.

“Plenty of time,” I murmur. “Tell the new jet I’ll be fashionably late. Or fashionably satisfied.”

Pinching the tip of the condom, I get it started over the head of my cock. Sam cuts his eyes—watching—before looking up at me, mouth still suctioned on Kris’s pussy for dear life.

Yes, pretty boy. I’m about to fuck the shit out of you.

“Try fashionably employed,” she snaps. “You miss this meeting, they’ll crucify both of you. And I’ll hand them the nails myself.”

My laugh is low, indulgent. “Noted.”

I roll the condom down the rest of my shaft’s length and stroke a few times, eyes fused on Sam.

“Anything else?” she deadpans.

“Yes, actually. I just had a lovely idea involving Sam, a mirror, and about three feet of silk.”

“Dante—”

“Goodnight, Frankie.”

I hang up before she can threaten my bloodline.

Downing the rest of the champagne, the glass clinks as I set it back down.

My gaze catches on the mirror across the room.

There I am—naked, cock hard, lips swollen from someone else’s mouth, about to fuck away everything I don’t want to feel.

Again.

Why do I always do this to myself?

I blink once.

Jaw tense and eyes narrowing at today’s memory.

The words out of Grant’s mouth—when he didn’t know his mic was on.

“Dante’s nothing but dead weight. Has been for years.”

Yeah, fuck that.

This one’s on Grant. His fault I’m here, spiraling in silk and moans instead of handling shit like a civilized business partner.

His fault I’m drowning what I should be dealing with—buried so deep in pleasure I forget how fucking empty I am.

But fuck it. That’s tomorrow’s problem.

Tonight?

Time to make the most of the next few hours.

And right now, it’s Sam’s turn.

“Lie back,” I say, voice low but firm.

He obeys without hesitation, stretching out across the bed. Kris moves with a feline grace, straddling him in reverse—pussy poised just above his mouth, but her eyes on me.

She knows who’s really in charge here.

One knee on the mattress, then the other, I move between Sam’s legs. One hand wraps around my cock, the other around his. I stroke them both—slow, firm. His hips jerk in response, and Kris lowers onto his mouth with a satisfied sigh.

He moans. It vibrates through her.