Page 91 of Finding Lord Landry

“You want to help me, Kenji?” I ground out, barely recognizing my own voice in the animal growl. “Truly help me?”

Kenji’s eyes widened, and his calm facade wavered—a reflection on water disturbed by a ripple below.

I leaned closer until we were existing in the same space, breathing the same breath. “Then get on your fucking knees.”

The air sparked around us, filled with the scent of perfume, faded cigar smoke, and leather. The sound of silverware clinking on china and conversations filled with bursts of polite laughter filtered into the curtained-off space. My cheeks heated with my own audacity, as if anticipating the rush of blood that would come when he slapped me. Hard.

But the slap didn’t come.

Instead, Kenji lifted one eyebrow and whispered, “Yes, my lord.”

Then, he sank gracefully to the carpet.

NINETEEN

KENJI

Landry Davis was one of the most laid-back people I knew. Nothing rattled him, nothing riled him. He was the textbook definition of go-with-the-flow… usually.

Now, rage coiled around him like a living thing, crackling in the air between us. After watching him bury himself in distraction and deflection for the better part of a week, the shift was electric. Raw. Unfiltered. And really fucking arousing. And I was so fucking here for it.

I wanted all that passion, all that pent-up frustration, to finally come out once and for all. My body hungered for his. My mouth salivated from the lack of his kisses. My skin prickled with need for his touch. And my heart cried out for any shred of affection he was willing to offer me.

I wanted his goddamn cock in my mouth.

So I knelt at his feet obediently and waited for him to take what he needed.

Landry’s nostrils flared slightly. “Nowyou do what I say?” he murmured in disbelief. He shook off his jacket and flung it to the side before reaching for his shirt cuff to remove the antique silver link.

“Yes.” My voice sounded sultry and breathy in the small space. “I… care about you.”

Landry’s jaw worked as he slid his cufflinks into his pocket and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms flexed as they moved. “Careabout me? Give me a fucking break. You’re the ice king, Kenji. You only care about getting off. Which is fine. It doesn’t matter to me anymore.” He eyed me up and down. “Take off your jacket.”

Though I knew he didn’t mean them, his hard words and dismissive tone hurt. I removed my jacket carefully, folding it and laying it down beside me on the floor. My cufflinks came off more quickly than his, but before I could get my sleeves rolled up properly, the metallic sound of Landry’s zipper shot electricity through my veins.

I met his eyes and tried to stay calm. “I know you’re lying. This matters to you.Imatter.”

My eyes focused on his strong hands reaching in to pull out his cock—hands that had manipulated me, commanded me, caressed and adored me. I wanted them on me again.

Landry’s voice cracked over gravel. “I could fuck you right here, leave you on the fucking floor with my cum leaking out of you, and not give a single shit.”

My cock throbbed between my legs. The man was lying, but he looked so fucking hot doing it.

“Okay. If that’s what you want. If that would…help.” I was provoking him on purpose, terrified he might change his mind.

I was on the cusp of getting a reaction out of him—of putting my mouth on him, of feeling his gentle fingers tangle in my hair—and I wanted him too wild with need to care how many wealthy nobles stood just beyond the thin curtain.

His aquamarine eyes darkened hypnotically. “It wouldhelpif you sucked me off,” he gritted out.

“Yes, my lord,” I repeated, fighting to keep the giddy joy from showing in my eyes.

He pressed the head of his cock into my open mouth, and my groan of relief was loud enough to carry through the curtain.

Landry shot me a warning glare but ruined the effect a moment later when his eyes fluttered in pleasure. “You look so good on your knees for me,” he murmured.

After three years, I knew how to unravel him quickly and relentlessly. Within moments, he was gasping and begging, his commands jagged with desperation.

I relished the power I had over him like this. Always had. He was expressive and vulnerable in a way he rarely was outside the bedroom.

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