Chapter 2 I walked straight up to him, slow enough to make sure he saw every step. His eyes got caught on my wide hips and stayed there, even after I was standing directly in front of him. "Dance with me." He finally looked away. "No." I grabbed his hand anyway. He let me. I dragged him onto the empty dance floor with a laugh. There were only five or six people left over. None would tell what they saw. I took his hand and settled it on my waist. Heat buzzed low in my belly from the contact. "Move with me," I instructed, and we started swaying slow to music. He was stiff. I pressed closer, ground my hips against him under the dim light of the chandelier, let my breath kiss his throat-and it earned me a sharp inhale through his nose and his body loosened. "Why aren't you nice to me?" I asked. I'd been officially introduced to him a year ago. He was a New York transport, who came with his soon to be father in law to fill the void Sebastian's wicked ass had vacated in death. Him and Priest collaborated at times. I could barely get a hi from him. "Because you're a walking fucking liability," he muttered, jaw tight. "A problem." "I'm easily solved..." I whispered against his Adam's apple, and I swear I felt his dick grow instantly hard against my belly. He stared down at me with eyes filled with warning, lust, and something darker-something dangerous. His big hand tightened on my waist and I wanted them around my throat. "Why do you keep bothering me?" He sounded so cold I almost believed he didn't actually want me bothering him-but men like Raziel didn't abide. If he wanted me to leave him alone, he would've made sure I couldn't even get close. He didn't want to want my attention. "Why do you keep denying me? When all I want to do is make us feel good." I shot back, lips curling into a smile too sweet for what I was trying to convey. Something in him snapped. I saw it in his eyes. He wasted no time dragging me off that floor, yanking me through the velvet-draped corridor. Past curious eyes, past the staff who knew better than to question men like him. He pulled me to the nearest bathroom. He didn't speak. He pushed open the door, a heavy black slab with a gold handle, and shoved us both inside. The lock clicked behind him. The air was heavy with the scent of perfume. Before I could speak, his hand was on my back, shoving me forward. My palms hit the cold marble of the vanity. Suddenly, the mirror was inches from my face. I caught a glimpse of myself-lips parted, eyes wide. Raziel was behind me, his presence swallowing the space whole. He roughly pressed my upper body down, making me bend over the sink, leaving my ass in the air. He splayed his hand on my back, keeping me there. "Why are you being so rough?" I whispered. "You wanted to play, Maya," he said low, like gasoline set on fire. Heat dragged down my spine. "This is what happens." I heard the rip-then I felt the fabric of my lace panties biting into my skin. "What the fuck, Raziel?" I hissed, heart pounding. "You really had to rip my fifty-dollar panties off?" "You started it," he growled. "Now shut the fuck up and take what you've been begging for." He hiked my dress up until it was around my waist. His free hand slid between my thighs and found skin, and heat, and the slick proof I'd been thinking about this since the moment I first saw him. He laughed-low, dangerous, bitter. His voice grazing the edge of restraint. "I've been trying to stay away from you. You're a walking fucking hazard. A pretty problem. But you won't let me." I heard his zipper. Then he slammed into me. If I wasn't so wet, he would have ripped something. I cried out, feeling like I was walking that razor-thin line between pain and pleasure. "Shit, Maya..." he groaned, his hand slipping around to grip my throat-squeezing. "You feel better than I imagined." He imagined this? I didn't get to dwell on the thought because he pulled his dick almost all the way out, leaving me aching and empty, then drove it back in fast and deep. His hand dropped from my throat, and then he was gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. He started pounding into me. The sound of our bodies colliding echoed through the room, filthy and perfect. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. I watched him in the mirror-his face. Damn. There was something so unholy about the way he watched himself slip in and out of me. The sound was obscene-slick, wet, raw. Like sin itself had a rhythm, and we were keeping time with it. His jaw was clenched, lips parted, head lolled, brow furrowed. He looked like he hated how good it felt-and was caught up in the rapture of it at the same time. He slowed down. He spread my ass open. Slid deeper. Like he was trying to bury his dick in me. "I'm fucking weak," he growled, the words more to himself than to me. "You make me so fucking weak." I smiled. That sounded a hell of a lot like praise. I rolled my hips, slow, popping my ass like I was dancing for him. "Look at yourself. Being slutted out in the bathroom and liking it." His words were meant to humiliate-but they only made me wetter. A moan slipped from my lips, shameless and drawn out. "Fuck... I do," I panted, biting my bottom lip, watching our reflection fog the mirror. "I like it so much." There was no shame left in me. Just hunger. Just heat. I met his gaze in the mirror. My lips were parted, eyes wild. His fingers dug into my hips, dragging me back onto him harder, deeper. "Say it again." "I like it," I moaned, my voice trembling, filthy and honest. "I like being used by you." His grip tightened. His breath hitched. "Only for you, baby," I whimpered. It wasn't the first time I'd been bent over a bathroom sink-just not one so expensive and not sober. His dick started hitting that spot in the back of my pussy that made my clit thump, and kept hitting it, again and again, and I felt everything spill out of me. My juices slicked down my thighs, soaking us both. My breath came in ragged pants, my body was on fire, but I kept dancing for him. Greedy for more. For all of him. I felt him follow me over the edge-his body tense, his dick twitching deep inside me as he nutted. Then he collapsed against my back, breath hot and ragged against my neck. We just stayed like that. Panting. Sweaty. Spent. My hands braced on the counter, my legs shaking, my heart pounding in sync with his. When he finally pulled out, I felt the slow, sticky trail of his cum drip down my thighs. I didn't move. I laid my head against the cool marble, trying to catch my breath. He grabbed some paper and cleaned me up in silence, his touch surprisingly soft now. I peeked into the mirror through heavy lashes and watched him fix himself-zipping up, adjusting his shirt like he hadn't just wrecked me in the dirtiest way possible. There was a giant wet spot on his pants. My lips curled into a smile. A gasp skittered past my lips when he suddenly yanked me up like I was weightless. I let him. My legs shook. He grabbed my chin with one rough hand and tilted my face up, eyes meeting mine. "This was a mistake." His grip tightened. "Not a fucking word about this will get out, understand?" he nearly growled. And I could tell he meant it-like he was ashamed of what happened. That hurt my poor little feelings a bit. But I laughed under my breath. He didn't mean it. I rose to my toes and kissed him-slow at first, enough to catch him off guard. He froze, just a beat... then grabbed my face and kissed me back, all tongue and teeth clashing. Wet, messy, breath-stealing. Heat zipped through me. My nipples tightened. When I pulled away, I brushed my thumb across his bottom lip, wiping my ruby red lipstick from his mouth. "Not a word," I whispered. Then I shoved him back with a little smirk, turned, and walked out-legs sore, heart wild, and the taste of him still on my tongue. Five-year-old Annie, who can understand animals, saved Landon Hawthorne, a wealthy businessman, from suicide. Now she's his whole world and he's her legal cheat-code against every villain fate throws ...