Page 10 of Filthy Business
I’d waited for this moment for eight years.
And he was always the key.
I didn’t know how much he knew. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
But the mother and son—they were the real rot.
Luke and Leona Trentham.
Thieves in pearls and cufflinks. A pair of parasites.
Icy rage crawled up my chest as I looked into the mirror. My reflection stared back—poised, flawless, unrecognisable.
I wasn’t that helpless girl anymore.
???
I discreetly unbuttoned my blouse. Just one button—that was all I needed tonight. I’d seen the way his eyes roved over me. Every time I entered the room, he looked at me like a man starved. One more button, and he wouldn’t be able to think straight.
I sat at reception, waiting for him.
Magnus was there within minutes.
He was even more attractive in person than in the photos I’d collected over the years. The subtle silver in his beard, the way his jacket hugged his broad shoulders, the tired, guarded look in his eyes—it was all better in the flesh. More raw. More breakable.
To say he’d become my obsession was an understatement.
This was one DILF I’d ride until kingdom come.
Every decision I’d made since I was sixteen had led me to this night.
“Iris, I apologise. I got caught on a call.”
“That’s no problem, sir,” I said, wide-eyed, sweet as syrup.
God, it felt good. Watching him flinch every time I called him sir—
Like he couldn’t decide whether to reprimand me or bend me over the nearest table.
His hand rested on my lower back as he guided me outside into the bustling London streets. Firm. Possessive. Exactly as I expected.
I followed his lead, letting the pressure of his palm steer me toward his chauffeured car.
“Oh, I thought we were going to walk,” I said sweetly as the driver, Nick, opened the door.
“After our chat, I decided to make reservations at a different restaurant,” he said smoothly.
I ducked my head to hide my smile and slid into the seat, making sure my skirt rode up just enough to reveal the top of my stocking.
He settled beside me. Nick shut the door.
Magnus turned toward me—but his smile faltered.
A flicker of red struck his cheeks as his eyes dropped to my crossed legs.
His index finger hooked into the stiff white collar of his shirt and tugged.
Poor Daddy. Flustered already.
