Page 27 of The Owner's Temptation

Instead, Ilet them look.

I just became the ultimate forbidden fruit, and they all want to take a bite but none of them can.

My nipples tighten against the soft fabric of my dress. Heat pools low in my stomach, spreading between my thighs, soaking through the lace of my panties.

Theywantme.

AndGod help me,Iloveit.

Something is emboldened within me, and I turn my back to them. My head is the last thing that turns as I slowly look away, heading back to the elevator. The predators here want to give chase and catch their prize but it’s against the rules.

Because the black masks belong to the Devil.

And it’s that thought that runs through my mind, some kind of possession taking me over that makes me push the button for the topmost floor. My wristband, the key that makes the floor light up as the elevator rises.

The doors glide open with a soft chime, and I step intoThe Devil’s Playground.

Heat wraps around me immediately, thick and cloying, laced with the scent of expensive cologne, leather, and sweat mingled with the unmistakable perfume ofsin.

The room is massive, dimly lit, and thrumming with pleasure. Velvet seating. Mirrored walls reflecting bodies locked together in hypnotic, indulgent rhythms. The air hums with moans and whispered filth, a sensual symphony of surrender.

But none of it holds my attention.

Not whenhe’sright in front of me.

A woman is stretched out, arms pinned above her head, legs spread wide and bound with sleek black cuffs. She’s laying on a contraption, suspending her in a work of wicked engineering, floating midair, held up by chains that disappear into the darkness above.

She’s helpless. Powerless.

And at the mercy of the man between her legs.

The Devil himself.

His face is hidden, buried between her thighs as he devours her.

Theonlything I can see is the mask resting on top of his head.

Sculpted black. Curling horns.

It’shim.

Not just a title. Not just a whispered legend.The Devil is real.

A shiver rolls down my spine as his hands flex, fingers digging into her thighs as he holds her open. I watch, rooted to the spot as his head moves, the slick sound of his tongue stroking into her making my own thighs clench.

Her moans rise, a breathless, broken wail as sheshattersaround his mouth.

But he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t evenpause.

The second orgasm crashes into her too quickly, too forcefully, and she thrashes, her restraints rattling with each desperate cry.

“Green!” she gasps. “Green!”

She’s begging for more.

And fuck, he gives it to her.

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