Page 45 of Desperate Actions

I only get hard for her.

She is the embodiment of desire for me, and I am hers whether or not she knows it.

We enter the hotel through a private entrance, the kind only high rollers, billionaires, and men like me have access to.

The elevator is empty, sleek, silent. A direct line to the penthouse section.

And the second those doors close, I lose my restraint.

I grab her and press her up against the wall, my hands locking around her waist, my body caging her in.

Her breath hitches, her pupils blown wide, lips parted like she’s waiting for me to ruin her.

I dip my head, my voice a rough promise against her lips, “Everything starts now.”

Chapter 12-Aella

Holy. Fuck.

I am married.

To Sammy Ramirez.

I should be panicking. Right?

Or questioning my sanity.

Or doing literally anything other than standing here, staring at him like he’s some kind of dark fantasy come to life, my heart beating itself into oblivion.

But nope.

All I can think as the elevator moves is—he’s going to kiss me again.

And when he does?

I’m screwed.

But with any luck?

I actually will be. Screwed, that is.

Any minute now.

Though preferably in a private room and not the elevator. Not that I’d say no.

I swallow hard, my pulse a riot, my body torn between screaming in terror and launching myself at him like a lunatic.

Because I’m not stupid enough to think this means he loves me or anything.

This isn’t about forever.

This is about sex.

Keep repeating that, Aella.

I have to.

Because that’s the problem. I think I already love him. And I’m not sure I’ll survive it if he walks away.

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