Page 44 of The Rival’s Obsession (The Black Ledger Billionaires #3)

I don’t know how it’s possible, but after coming twice—once on my own fucking face—I’m still greedy for more.

And judging by the look in Dante’s eyes, he’s just getting started with me.

The second orgasm still pulses through my body in warm, flickering waves. My limbs are slack, my brain hazy. It should be enough. It would be enough—if it were anyone else.

But this is Dante.

And Dante doesn’t just give me pleasure. He rebuilds me with it.

He gives me a few seconds—just long enough to tear his shirt over his head and slide his pants down his thighs, his body carved from muscles and worship. His cock is hard, slick at the tip, thick and perfect.

God, I’m the luckiest bastard alive.

Still kneeling, still back on his heels, Dante waits for me—his presence steady and open.

I lift myself, legs spread to either side of him, and lean in to lick a path up his chest. His skin is salty and warm beneath my tongue.

I take one of his nipples into my mouth, sucking gently, then harder, teasing him with my teeth.

He groans, low and deep, letting his head tip back as his hands thread through my hair.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “That feels amazing.”

I grin against his skin, greedy for more—but he only lets me have my way for a heartbeat before I feel the press of his slick hand on my hip, the shift of his other hand out of sight.

He was buying time. Lubing his cock while I distracted myself with worship.

And fuck, that’s hot.

He wipes his hand on his discarded shirt, then grabs my wrist and pulls me to him. His palm curls around my thigh, guiding me forward.

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice like warm velvet. “Come ride my fat cock.”

The words punch the breath right out of me.

I plant my feet on the floor, straddling him again, arms wrapped around his shoulders, forehead pressed to his.

He fists the base of his dick, steady and patient. “You ready for me?”

I nod, dazed. “Always.”

The crown of him presses to my hole, and I let gravity guide me down. We groan in unison as his thick head pops inside, my whole body stretching around him.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe. “So big.”

“Taking me so well,” he praises, voice tight. “Just like you’re made for me.”

Once I’m fully seated, balls to skin, I rock my hips—grinding in his lap, feeling him everywhere. He holds me steady, hands gripping my hips, thrusting up in sync with every roll of my body.

It’s a rhythm. A prayer. Our eyes locked, our mouths parted, our souls—entwined.

“Feels so good, baby,” Dante murmurs, cupping my face as he drives up into me. “I love you. God, I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” I pant, riding him harder now. “But I need more. Need it rough. Need to feel you lose control.”

His lips curve into something dark and reverent.

And then he gives it to me.

He shifts me again, lifting me like I weigh nothing, repositioning me in front of him on all fours.

“Give me this ass, Lucciolina,” he growls. “I need to fuck you hard.”

My cock twitches. “Fuck,” I groan. “Yes. Do it.”

“Knees together. Ass out,” he commands.

I obey instantly, and he slides back in with a low, guttural moan.

This angle—Jesus. I see stars. My forehead drops to the pillow, my spine arching as he pounds into me like a man possessed.

Each thrust slams pleasure into me so deep I forget where I end, and he begins. My hands scrabble for purchase. His grip bruises my hips.

It’s the fuck of my life.

But he’s not done.

He pulls me upright again, settling me back against his chest, his cock never slipping free. His thighs bracket mine—thick and solid. His rhythm changes—deeper now, more controlled.

One arm wraps around my waist, his fist closing around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. The other hand rolls over my nipple, pinching, teasing—then moves up to my throat.

“Fuck, Grant,” he pants. “Kiss me. I need to taste you.”

I twist my head, meeting his mouth with mine—messy, desperate, perfect.

He moans into my lips, cock slamming up into me as he murmurs, “Arch that back for me, baby. I want to be so deep inside you.”

I do.

“Watch how good I fuck you, bug,” he groans, voice thick. “How we’re made to fit together.”

And we do.

Our bodies move in sync, thrust for thrust, stroke for stroke—a dance made only for us. We come together again, trembling in each other’s arms, breathless and wrecked and whole.

But we don’t stop right away.

We slow.

Our bodies continue to move in easy, perfect time. His cock still nestled deep inside me, his hands mapping every inch of my skin like he’s committing it to memory.

We kiss—slow and reverent—as his fingers trace my ribs, my belly, my thighs.

I’ve never felt so full.

So safe.

So fucking loved.

And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m performing.

I feel like myself.

“Now, amore mio .”

He slowly slides out of me, his large, warm hand pushing me onto my hands and knees. He rubs my ass cheeks with reverence.

“Bear down.”

He kisses one cheek, then spanks the other, pulling a surprised grunt from me that turns into a moan. He palms my ass, spreading me apart and blowing a cooling breath where he just destroyed me so fucking perfectly.

“Bear down and let me watch my cum drip from your slut ass.”

MONDAY MORNING.

The office hums softly around us—phones ringing, footsteps muffled on polished floors. Outside, sunlight filters through the wide windows, golden and calm. It doesn’t feel like a storm just passed. Doesn’t feel like the kind of week that rewired my entire life.

But I know better.

Inside the conference room, it’s just the three of us now—me, Dante, and Eve.

I stand near the window, sleeves rolled, coffee cooling on the table beside me. Dante lounges in one of the chairs, legs wide, toothpick dancing in the corner of his mouth and one arm slung along the backrest like he owns the room.

God, he looks fucking delicious.

And Eve—Eve stands at the head of the table like a goddamn general who already won the war. Cool. Composed. Dressed in Ledger red like blood never stains her.

“Contract’s complete,” she says. “Two weeks. Two clients. Results delivered.”

There’s a note of smug satisfaction in her voice—the kind she doesn’t need to flaunt. She’s already known the ending since the beginning.

“And murderer in custody.” Dante adds.

“That is a freebie, baby.” Eve winks.

Dante tips his head. “You make all your clients this happy?”

Eve doesn’t blink. “Only the ones I care about.”

He grins. I huff a quiet laugh.

But I can’t stop thinking about it—how she figured Corrine out. How she found the thread that unraveled everything.

“How’d you know?” I ask. “How’d you figure her out?”

She walks to the sideboard, unhurried as always, and pours herself a glass of water like this is any other Monday.

“Corrine’s last name at birth was Lachlan,” she says. “After her father was murdered—and her mother almost was—she got adopted by some distant relatives upstate after she killed your mother.”

She takes a sip.

“That’s when she became Ashwood. New name, new records, new life.”

I blink. “You found all that?”

“Once I had the right last name?” She shrugs. “A lot of doors opened.”

She turns toward me, casual as sin. “Plus, I broke into her house and stole some things. Not to incriminate myself or anything.”

Dante lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

Eve continues, unfazed. “The newspaper clippings she kept weren’t about you, by the way. They were about your father.”

My stomach knots—slow and cold.

“Obsessively so,” she adds. “Timelines. Quotes. Photos. She was still fixated on him. Even after all these years.”

“And the rest was Jaxon,” she says. “The drives were almost completely corrupted, but he worked a miracle—pulled just enough metadata to recover an old digital diary, partial surveillance files. It painted a full enough picture.”

Once Eve told us everything, Dante was insistent on scanning the camera’s of the office. He wanted to know what she had been up to these two weeks while we were trying to save our ass.

And it was nothing less than shocking.

The poisoned bottle she brought for me Friday. She was going to kill me. Get the last Harrow out of the way so she could be with my father.

That was her one true goal. Everything to get back to him.

“Well,” I say, breaking some tension by glancing out at the city for a beat, “at least she won’t be able to torment her mother anymore. If we can count one good thing coming out of this.”

I exhale—long and slow. My pulse roars in my ears, but it’s not panic. It’s release.

“There’s more than one good thing, in my book,” she says.

I turn toward Eve, not sure what to say. There’s no repayment for what she’s done. What she gave us back.

“I don’t think we could ever repay you,” I murmur. “For any of it.”

Eve smirks, still holding her water. “Don’t worry,” she says smoothly. “He paid me handsomely.”

She winks at Dante.

I raise a brow just as she reaches into her bag and slides something across the table to me. A matte-black card. I pick it up and it’s heavy in my palm.

Embossed in gold:

The Masquerade

Welcome to the Devil’s Playground

I turn it over, but it’s blank. “What is this?”

“Oh, no shit.” Dante’s grin grows wicked, looking at the card with a knowing gleam in his rich espresso eyes. “I’ll tell you later, bug.”

Why do I have a feeling this is something both terrifying and likely highly orgasmic?

Eve gathers her things and smooths her red mini. She looks between us like she’s inspecting a job well done.

“You built something worth saving,” she says. “Now don’t fucking waste it.”

She turns to Dante, leans down, and kisses his cheek. His hand slides up her thigh, and they smile at each other like devils who understand each other too well. She kisses him on the lips—brief, affectionate, gratuitous, almost.

“Take care of him,” she says quietly.

“Forever,” Dante replies—and his answer makes my stomach somersault.

“I better get an invitation to the wedding.”

She makes her way to me, arms wrapping around my neck. I hold her tightly, nose pressed to her throat, inhaling her perfume like it’s the last chapter of this chaos.

It kind of is.

“Will we see you again?” I murmur.

She pulls back, grinning. “I’m always for hire.”

Then she kisses me. Open-mouthed. A little tongue. Just enough to say goodbye.

“I’ll give you a discount,” she whispers, “if you get this pretty mouth back on my pussy.”

I laugh through my nose, heat crawling up my neck.

She reaches around, gives my ass a playful pinch, and heads for the door.

“I’m off, boys,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’ve got a date with a sugar mama who wants to spoil me on her yacht for a month.”

“Sounds tragic,” Dante drawls.

Eve flips her hair and smirks. “Think of me in my time of misery as I drown in pussy and champagne.”

The door closes behind her—soft. Final.

Silence returns, low and golden and warm.

I drop into the seat across from Dante. He hasn’t moved, but his eyes are on me—rich, dark, gleaming with something that feels like a promise.

His arm still draped, his tempting body still sprawled. One brow arches, just a touch.

“So,” I say, voice steady. “What’s next?”

He smiles, and it feels like the last crack in my broken soul is healed by him.

“Whatever the fuck we want.”