Prologue
Prologue
Sebastian
Her body shudders underneath me, fingers clawing uselessly at the silk sheets, voice breaking on my name.
“Sebastian,”Emily gasps, nails scraping my back as I pound into her harder.“Fuck, please—”
I silence her with a brutal thrust, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head, my hips slamming against her ass, the slap of skin against skin filling the hotel suite. She’s tight, soaking wet, her thighs trembling as she tries—and fails—to take all of me. Good. I like when they cry a little. When they realize they can’t handle the way I fuck them. I keep driving into her until she’s nothing but broken moans and begging, the sheets twisted around her hips, the city lights beyond the window painting her in flickering gold. My name spills from her lips again...soft, desperate, needy.
I hate it.
I reach down, grab her hair, yank her head back so she gasps.
“Come,”I growl against her ear.“Now.”
She shatters instantly, body convulsing around me, sobbing my name like a prayer. I don’t slow down. I fuck her straight through it, using her trembling body like it’s mine to break.
And when I finally come—hard, punishing, spilling inside her with a guttural groan. I don’t bother kissing her. I don’t whisper sweet lies against her skin. I pull out rough, leaving her empty and whimpering, and rise from the bed without a word. She rolls toward me, reaching for my arm like she thinks this is something more than it is.
“Sebastian—”
I cut her off with a glance.
Cold. Flat.
Final.
“You got what you wanted,”I say, voice sharp as the bourbon I pour into the glass by the bar.
“Now go.”
Her face crumples.
Good.
Maybe next time she’ll know better. I step out onto the balcony, the night air crisp against my sweat-slicked skin. The city sprawls beneath me, glittering, hungry, ruthless. Just like me. I take a slow sip of the bourbon, savoring the burn. Inside, I hear Emily gathering her clothes, sniffling quietly as she slips out. I don’t watch her go. I don’t care. None of them matter. They’re all the same. The beautiful faces, wet mouths, aching bodies trying to use sex to carve out a piece of me they’ll never get. They fuck me hoping to change me. They all fail.
I set the glass down, pick up the file sitting on the patio table, the one my father’s assistant sent over earlier. Tomorrow’s interview candidate. Fresh blood. Top of her class. Ruthless reputation. No connections I could leverage—or crush—if she got messy later.
I flip the folder open lazily—And stop.
Arielle Hart. The photo is small. Professional. Sharp hazel, green eyes. Full lips, red lipstick and pressed tight like she doesn’t trust the world. And maybe the world gave her a good reason not to. Something about her hooks deep under my skin.
Something dangerous. Something I should ignore. I smile coldly, the city lights burning against the glass. Tomorrow, she’ll walk into my world thinking she’s prepared. She’ll think she can survive me.
Cute.
I drain the rest of the bourbon in one long pull.
Let the games begin.
