He takes one step towards me, his hands coming out as if he’s going to grab me, then he shakes his head hard and jumps back.

Without another word, he spins sharply on his heel and stomps out of the room.

The lock clicks into place a second after the door slams behind him.

7

Simon

Meredith, let me count the ways that I loathe thee.

Loathe and crave.

Should those words ever be used in the same sentence? Can I possibly loathe someone so much that I crave her presence? I remember as a child my mother telling me once that the opposite of love is not hate but apathy. You have nothing inside you to feel for another.

Love and hate can be interchangeable at times because of how much you feel for someone.

Do I feel apathy for Meredith like I do for so many others in my life? No, decidedly not.

I don’t love this woman who causes me so many headaches, but I can’t quantify the exact feeling I have for her. How should I know? It’s not like I’ve ever felt anything for a woman beyond the need for sexual release.

I’ve never been attracted to a woman like I am to her.

It’s mystifying to me. I’m not gay, like some of the men in our circle think. I prefer the female form, but I’ve never preferred one woman specifically.

In my life, I have quite a few restrictions for how I normally deal with these types of urges. I use a singular agency for my sexual desires. They know the girl must be clean, sterile, and above all else silent.

She is not allowed to touch me or talk to me, and must be willingly tied down.

I cannot have some willy-nilly young woman moving about while I divest myself of my baser instincts.

Lying in the bed, looking up at my ceiling, I cannot stop the replay of memories as they flash through my mind. The way her tight stomach beared down on my rigid cock. The amount of precum soaking through my pants. The round, silky-smooth skin of her ass cheeks.

The way her tan skin turned bright pink.

She needed to be spanked, I can feel it in my depths. She needed to be brought to task for her misdeeds. She’s as unruly as a school girl. I truly doubt anyone has ever said no to her quite like I did tonight.

Will she learn her lesson, though, is the biggest question I have. Can I trust her to behave, to act logical? I doubt it.

Can I trust her in the morning when I leave for work?

No.

And damn the emotions I feel running through my body at the thought of being so damn far from her.

What are they even about? I feel desire to keep her here, to stay here, and make sure she is safe. But safe from what? Me or herself?

Damnation. Closing my eyes, I start the slow cycle of counting myself down to sleep. Normally this helps in times of my mind running too fast, or if I am trying to solve an issue with the business.

But not now.

Now all I can think about is her body pressing into mine when my tongue battled hers.

Damn.

With a will that surprises even myself, I force thoughts of her aside. I need to think about the damn bombing. What do I know and what do I not know?

The Russians for the longest time have been our biggest enemy, and they’ve gone to ground so to speak.

After the loss of Yuri, Sasha, and the good doctor Mirov, things have gone dark.

I’ve already watched the video of the bombing and have spotted the two men who inserted it near the DJ booth. It was clever to smuggle it in a briefcase, but it’s quite upsetting that the security men that night didn’t fucking spot it.

Thankfully, Peter did.

If the men who fucked up so badly weren’t already dead, I’d be seriously tempted to question them to my fullest abilities.

How the fuck they missed something as big as two fucking men setting up a damn bomb… It’s beyond me.

Again and again, I’ve watched the insertion of the bomb. It looked like the security inside the club was deliberately looking away from those two men.

But for what reason? Were they paid off? I’ve met some of the men who were working there tonight, and both heads of security were solid. They were paid well and knew fully well who they worked for.

Knew for a fact what happens to those who betray Lucifer.

I’m running the computer programs I’ve designed specifically for tracking the banking information of our employees and nothing’s shown up so far.

Nothing.

All of them are on the up and up. No bartenders skimming money from the till. Limited drug activity with the strippers, and no extortion rackets of the business. Everything there was moving along at a predictable pace.

Izzy Sweet Books | Billionaire Romance Books | Disciples Series Books
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