Chapter 1: A Night Of Passion With Emiru
The penthouse air hummed with a different energy now, the crowd noise a distant murmur against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Danny guided her by the small of her back, his touch a brand through the thin silk of her dress, away from the main lounge and down a softly lit corridor.
“Quite the escape artist,” Emiru murmured, her earlier bravado softened by the intimacy of the hallway.
“Only when the prize is worth it,” he replied, his voice low and textured, unlocking a door to a private terrace. The city sprawled beneath them, a galaxy of electric stars. He didn’t give her time to admire the view, turning her to face him, his body caging hers against the cool glass balustrade. “I’ve wanted to do this all night.”
His mouth found hers, not with gentle exploration but with a hungry, claiming pressure. She moaned into the kiss, her hands fisting in the crisp linen of his shirt. The taste of him—whiskey and mint and something inherently male—flooded her senses. His tongue swept against hers, a deliberate, filthy promise that made her knees weak.
He broke the kiss, his breath hot against her neck. “Tell me to stop,” he challenged, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, pulling her hard against the rigid length of him.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she breathed, arching into him.
It was all the permission he needed. His hands were under her dress, pushing the silk up her thighs, fingers hooking into the lace of her underwear. He tore them down with a rough, urgent pull. The night air hit her skin, followed by the scorching heat of his palm sliding between her legs. She cried out, her head falling back against the glass.
“So wet already,” he growled, his fingers finding her slick core, circling her clit with a torturous, knowing pressure. “All that talking, and you were this desperate for it.”
He worked her with his fingers, his mouth on her throat, until she was trembling and whispering pleas. He unbuttoned his trousers, freeing himself, and the feel of him, thick and hot against her thigh, drew a shuddering gasp from her. He didn’t bother with preamble. Gripping her hip, he angled her body and pushed into her in one relentless, filling stroke.
She swore, a raw, broken sound lost to the city’s hum. He was deeper than she’d imagined, stretching her, a delicious, burning fullness. He set a brutal pace from the start, each thrust slamming her against the balustrade, his grip keeping her in place. The sensation was overwhelming—the cold glass at her back, the hot friction within, the sheer animal command of his body moving against hers. His grunts were harsh in her ear, a vulgar, erotic soundtrack.
“Look at you,” he commanded, his voice ragged. She forced her eyes open, meeting his darkened gaze in the reflection of the window, her own face a mask of unfiltered pleasure. “Watch yourself take me.”
The order, the visual, the relentless pounding of his hips pushed her over the edge. Her climax ripped through her, violent and silent for a second before a choked scream tore free. He followed moments later, his body seizing, a guttural groan against her shoulder as he spilled into her, his hips stuttering with the force of it.
They stayed like that, entangled and breathing harshly, the sweat cooling on their skin. He slowly withdrew, and she turned, feeling strangely hollow. He tucked himself away, his eyes never leaving her face, now unreadable in the dim light. The echo of what they’d just done—raw and wordless—hung between them, a question mark in the glittering LA night.
The echo of what they’d just done—raw and wordless—hung between them, a question mark in the glittering LA night. He didn’t let the moment soften. “We’re not finished,” Danny said, his voice a rough command that brooked no argument. He took her wrist, his grip firm, and led her back inside, through the empty corridor and into a stark, modern bedroom. Before she could speak, he turned her, pushing her face-first against the cool wall beside the door. “Stay.” His hand smoothed her dress up over her hips again, baring her completely. “You came once for me. Now you’ll come when I say.” She felt the blunt, wet head of his cock nudge her entrance from behind. He entered her slowly this time, a calculated, stretching invasion that made her whimper. “Quiet,” he ordered, one hand tangling in her hair to hold her head still. He set a deep, punishing rhythm, each thrust a lesson in possession. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he grunted, his body slapping against hers. “You wanted the charming Brit to fuck you like a common slag.” The crude words sent a shocking bolt of heat through her. “Say it.” She couldn’t. Her pleasure coiled, tight and desperate, wholly under his control. “Come,” he demanded, his fingers digging into her hipbone. She shattered, her cries muffled against the wall as he drove into her through the convulsions, his own release a hot, claiming flood inside her. He held her there, pinned and spent, for a long moment, before withdrawing.
He held her there, pinned and spent, for a long moment, before withdrawing. He didn’t let her collapse. His arm hooked around her waist, spinning her to face him. Her vision blurred, but the look in his eyes was crystal clear: hunger, completely unsated.
“You think that’s it?” he murmured, his thumb brushing a smeared streak of her lipstick. His other hand slid between them, fingers tracing the sensitive, swollen flesh he’d just vacated. She flinched, overstimulated. “I’m just getting started.”
He walked her backward until her legs hit the edge of the low, wide bed and she tumbled onto it. He followed her down, his weight a welcome anchor. He kissed her, slow and deep, a contrast to everything that had come before. It was disorienting. His hands weren’t gentle as they pushed her dress up to her ribs, his mouth leaving hers to trail down her body.
“You taste like me,” he said, his tongue painting a wet, possessive line across her abdomen. He moved lower, his breath hot against her inner thigh. “Now you’re going to taste yourself.” He didn’t ask. He pushed her thighs apart and put his mouth on her.
She cried out, her fingers twisting in his hair. He was relentless, his tongue a brutal, expert instrument. He worked her with a focused intensity that felt like being unmade. The second peak built faster, sharper, a coil of pure tension. Just before she broke, he pulled away.
She gasped, bereft. He loomed over her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his cock hard against her thigh. “Look at me.” Her eyes, glazed, found his. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she managed, the word raw.
“How?” he insisted, his voice a dark tease.
“I want you to fuck me,” she whispered, the profanity a key turning in the lock.
“Not good enough.” He positioned himself at her entrance, applying just enough pressure to make her whimper. “Be specific.”
“I want you to fuck my face,” she said, the demand surprising them both.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. “Now you’re talking.” He shifted up, kneeling over her. “Open.”