She reaches for my right hand, brings it between her legs without asking, and drags my fingers through her. Once. Twice. Slow, filthy strokes that coat my skin in her slick heat. She's drenched, so wet the sound is unmistakable, and the scent of her arousal floods the room like a drug. She presses my soaked fingers to my mouth, smearing herself across my bottom lip, my tongue, the corner of my jaw, down the column of my throat until I taste nothing but her. Then she leans in, voice ragged against my ear. "Feel how easily I get this wet just thinking about owning you?" she whispers. "That's what you're walking away from if you don't rewrite the contract exactly how I want it." My knees go painfully numb, before I feel them again. She sees it. Her smile is slow, cruel, victorious. She steps back into the crimson silk, zips it with a sound like a blade sliding home, and smooths it over her hips as if she didn't just destroy me in under thirty seconds. _______________________________________________________________________________ Two powerful women. One vicious high-profile murder case. A private contract that binds them in ways ink never warned about; obedience traded for torment, defiance punished with slow, aching pleasure. Milan Moretti: an untouchable Chicago prosecutor, wealthy and feared, who rules courtrooms by day and claims craving women by night, denying release until they break and beg. She never loses. Never bends. Never obsesses... until Zara Winslow, her brilliant, defiant mirror, crashes back into her world and awakens something feral. Forced together amid media storms, extreme tension and secrets, their rivalry explodes into a binding agreement where desire is leverage, punishment is exquisite, and control slips into consuming obsession. Who will shatter first in her hands?

Just as Annabeth's hands reached to grab the back of her jacket, Sonya pivoted smoothly, one arm coiling around Annabeth's waist like a whip. There was a sharp gasp-Annabeth's-and then her spine slammed against the edge of the bar, the breath knocked clean from her chest. Sonya's forearm pressed hard across her collarbone, pinning her in place with infuriating ease. "If you wanted my attention, sugar, all you had to do was ask," Sonya murmured, her voice sultry and rough, lips inches from Annabeth's. "Get off me," Annabeth snarled, squirming beneath her hold. Sonya arched a brow, leaning in even closer until her body molded against the younger woman's-thigh to thigh, hip to hip. "You're feistier than the girls next door," she whispered against the shell of Annabeth's ear, her breath hot. "Careful now, Anna. I've always had a thing for resistance." Annabeth jerked against her, face twisting in rage. "Let. Me. Go. You stink of whiskey and whores," she spat, kicking against Sonya's shin. Sonya didn't flinch. "Say please," she drawled, her voice silk and steel, utterly unbothered. "Manners go a long way in this town." "Never," Annabeth hissed.

"Giana, I let you get away with your disrespect long enough. You do not tell me to shut up. Disrespecting a Moltisanti is like disrespecting God." The shorter woman scoffed as best as she could seeing her air supply was being cut off. "Oh, so you think you're a god now?" Lucia twisted their bodies pressing Giana against the wall with a thud. "Con il modo in cui potrei averti in ginocchio implorando pietà." ["With the way, I could have you on your knees begging for mercy."] \\\\ Giana wanted nothing more than to graduate and finally move far away from her father who was the Mayor of Chicago and the public eye. But during winter break, she finds all her plans are put on hold when she's kidnapped and forced to spend the next few months at the Moltisanti Estate. Updates every other day!