Page 47 of Reckless Hearts

But suddenly, he does something else.

…He slips his fingers between my lips.

And then I taste it. I taste…me. I instinctively go to push his hand away, but he grabs my raised hand and holds it firmly in place.

“No no, darling,” he murmurs. “I want you to taste your messy little cunt. Nowsuck. I promise you, you tastedivine. Nowsuck.”

My throat bobs as my tongue tentatively licks at my fingertip. I can taste myself. Sweet and earthy.

Slowly,hisfinger still in my mouth, he pullsmyhand close to him, opens his lips, and sucks my finger—the very finger that was just inside of me—into his mouth. I stare at him with wide eyes and a throbbing face, still tasting myself off of his finger.

This shouldn’t be so erotic.

So intimate.

Finally, he pulls away. And just like that, the spell is broken. He turns abruptly, picking up his empty glass and walking across the almost-empty loft to the bar cart. As he pours himself a drink, I quickly pull on my bra and panties, along with the rest of my clothes.

He arches a quizzical brow as he turns back to find me clothed.

“That was fast.”

I chew on my lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Well, we’re done.”

“Are we, now.”

I glance back at him and nod brusquely. “Yep. I did what you asked. Now, you can transfer ownership of those companies back to—”

Deimos starts to laugh. Coldly. Mirthlessly. When I just stare at him, he arches a brow in amusement.

“You’re joking, right?”

My brow knits. “I…”

“We’re so far from done, Dahlia, that you can’t even see the tunnel yet, at the end of which you mayone daysee a pinprick of light.”

When the horrible realization dawns on me, I want to say it hits me like a slap. But part of me knew that this was too easy, if tonight was all it took. That was just wishful thinking on my part.

Or is my real wish for this to keep going…

I shove the treasonous thoughts way down deep as I clear my throat, hold my head high, and look right at him.

“Well? How long, then.”

He casually takes a sip of his drink. “As long as I like.”

“No,” I mutter. “That’s no answer.”

“Are you attempting to negotiateafterI’ve already…” his smiles darkly. “Made myacquisition? They’re not teaching you very well at business school.”

“How.Long,” I growl.

“Dahlia, these discussions take place—”

“HOW LONG!”

“A year.”

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