Page 45 of Wicked and Bound

“And that’s definitely what’s his name—the guy who won all those Grammys last year—in the corner with a woman on her knees.” Haisley jerked her chin toward a raised dais. “I’d know that hair anywhere.”

Kane sneered. “I’ve always thought his music has no soul. Probably because he doesn’t.”

“Amen,” Nash put in.

The nouveaux riche mixed with old money, political power with entertainment royalty. Each influential face one that would rock headlines if their presence here became public.

“My god,” Haisley breathed, thrusting her breasts in his face in jerky, pleading motions as the drugs fully took hold. “Most of these people have Wikipedia pages.”

“That explains the masks, heavy security, and prohibiting of guests with phones in spaces like this. One photo could end careers,” Kane murmured, still recording the room with his special glasses. “I’ll take another lap. I have a lot to capture.”

“Get as much as you can.”

“Then I should participate some. Blend in a bit more.” Kane winced before he slipped away.

Haisley swayed, hands sliding inside Nash’s shirt as if she was desperate to touch his skin. “I’m trying to focus, but everything is so intense. Ifeelthe blood racing in my body. I ache. I need. Please…”

Around them, others were lost in various states of perversion. He caught Gray’s suspicious stare on them again. They’d draw less attention if they gave in and participated. And Haisley’s pleading wasn’t an act. The combination of GHB and MDMA had stripped away her inhibitions, leaving her nerves raw and her sensations magnified.

“Please,” she begged again, this time loud enough for others to hear. “I’m burning up. I’ll do anything. Make it stop.”

Swallowing a curse, Nash pulled her off the pedestal and dragged her behind it, putting his back against the nearby wall. He lifted her nearly nonexistent dress to her hips with one hand. With the other, he shredded her thong, then made quick work of his fly before he leaned over her back and growled in her ear. “You want me?”

“Yes!” she cried.

“Say it.”

“I want you.”

“Inside you?”

She nodded frantically. “Deep.”

“This won’t be gentle,” he warned.

Her body shuddered with excitement. “Good.”

He’d done what he could to warn her. He hoped she wouldn’t forget or hate him later.

Fingers curling around her thigh, he slipped his hand over her cunt. “You’re wet. And swollen.”

“I’m aching. I’m dying.” She gripped the pillar, scratching at the plaster. “Fuck me…”

Jesus, he was a strong man, but his strength had limits. And she’d just shattered his.

He nudged her feet apart with his own, settled the throbbing head of his cock against her pussy, then rammed inside her in a series of rough, insistent strokes. Her head snapped back. She screamed out in pleasure, the sound blending with the piped-in music, the ecstasy in the air, and the drumbeat of his own need.

“More,” she demanded.

Nash gripped her hips. In a vague corner of his mind, he knew his fingertips would leave bruises, and some part of him wanted to see his marks on her tomorrow. Reveled in the knowledge that he would, in fact. So he gave her what she asked for, shoving his way deeper and deeper inside her until she rose on tiptoes and clung to the pillar, writhing back against his cock.

“Feel good?” he asked as he slipped a pair of fingers over her clit and rubbed in merciless circles.

“Yes…”

“Louder.”

“Yes!”

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