Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

TRISTAN

Hanging up, I rest my phone on the stool that sits beside my large soaking tub.

The brief conversation about correcting her has left me with my cock bobbing through the sudsy surface of the water. It doesn't help that I was already thinking about sinking inside her again.

Because it's the only fucking thing I think about.

It's not just her tight cunt, though. Nor the adorable way she bites her bottom lip and lets out a tiny, breathy whimper when I press into her. Her desire to submit— to me —is such a fucking turn-on. And I'd be lying if I tried to deny how much I also enjoy her bratty-ness and knowing how much she's going to test my creativity with correcting her.

Earning her submission and complete obedience is going to be so much fucking fun…

I'm half tempted to grab my keys, drive across the city, and fuck her until the sun is rising over Central Park. But as much as I want to spend the rest of this night buried inside her, I want the gift she's about to give me more.

If she agrees to my demands in the morning— which she will— arrangements need to be made for her safety. If it were just one night at the club, the Bratva could've deemed her nothing more than a passing fling. They won't hold that notion long with the amount of time she'll be spending here or how much she'll be around me. They'll know she is important to me, and that will make her a liability. A pawn that they'll happily use against me.

The ways I'll ruin and corrupt her by making her mine, I can live with those. I will selfishly put her in harm's way if it means I can have her. But I'm not a fool. I'll do everything in my power to protect what's mine.

I pick my phone up and text Conor.

How fast can you set up surveillance tomorrow?

CONOR

What are we talking?

Video.

Just a few discrete cameras so I can keep an eye on someone.

Audio?

No.

An hour. Maybe two.

213 6th Avenue.

She'll be out by 10:30am.

She???

I'm the only one who gets the info to log in.

Understood?

Got it.

One more thing.

Bring me back all her panties.

I don't even want to know, do I?

Don't answer.

I don't want to know.

He wants to know.

Dropping the phone back on the stool, I climb from the tub, quickly towel off, and head into the bedroom. I slide between the sheets in hopes of garnering a few hours of sleep.

But I can't stop thinking about her.

Those pouty pink lips, and how much I want to see them wrapped around my cock. To feel her warm mouth sliding over me. Watching her struggle to take my cock, as her deep coffee-brown eyes stare up at me through her thick lashes.

Knowing the pleasure I'm going to get as she learns to handle me. How fucking good it will feel the first time I pass over her tongue and slide into her throat. Admiring her with pride as she repeatedly takes me deep .

Brought back to reality and the disappointment that is my hand in lieu of her mouth, I continue to fervently fist over my length. I knead at my sensitive tip until I spill onto my stomach.

It's no comparison to coming in her.

Reaching down to the floor, I find my towel and quickly clean the remnants of my release from my abs. I toss it to the floor and settle into my pillow.

Layla Stevens is going to be mine.

I sent Layla a text around eight this morning to let her know that there was going to be a slight change of plans. Instead of having her come to the club, I want to take her to brunch. Where we can have a discreet conversation and agree to the terms of our arrangement without the possibility of my cock being inside of her first.

Or at least severely mitigating the possibility of it.

It's been nearly two hours without a response. I fully expected her to sleep off last night, but I also expected her to be up with ample time to get ready to meet me this morning. Ringing her as I drive through the city, I'm met with a sleepy voice on the other end. "Hello?"

"Rough morning?" I flip on the blinker to make a right turn. "I just left the club and am on my way to pick you up."

"I thought I was meeting you there," she groggily responds.

"You were," I confirm. "I text you hours ago letting you know. As well as a few instructions for our meeting. I suggest you read them and get ready. I'll be there at 10:30 a.m."

Without giving her time to interject or request more time to allow her to navigate what I can only assume is one hell of a hangover, I hang up the phone.