Devils contract, p.20
Devil's Contract, page 20
I cry for all I’ve lost, and all my mistakes, but mostly, I cry because I know without a shadow of a doubt that Dex Cohen is the only man I’ll ever love.
I just don’t know if our love is enough to erase the pain we’ve caused each other.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Katja
The sun is coming up as I take a fortifying breath and step out of the elevator on the thirteenth floor. I haven’t slept a wink all night, too busy replaying the last few weeks over and over, trying to decide if I’m brave enough to trust Dex again or not.
I have no idea where to find him, but I’ve decided to start at the disastrous scene of our big blow-up the day before. As I stand outside of his office, I put my ear to the closed door once more, listening for signs of life inside. Hearing none, I pull my master key from the pocket of my yoga pants and unlock the door.
The room is dark, but I can see that it’s completely trashed. I remember losing my temper and throwing some papers and folders the day before, but I know I didn’t do this. Glass items are broken, lamps are on the floor, books have been trampled and ripped, and chairs tipped over on their sides.
It isn’t until my eyes reach the couch that I see him, curled up on his side, his arm hanging over the edge above an empty bottle of bourbon on the floor.
My heart lurches in my chest, recognizing the pain he took out on the items in the room. Still, a small part of me feels relief because his pain is a sign that he and Z just might have told me the truth.
Moving closer, I take this unguarded moment to study him. He’s always been incredibly handsome, with a wicked wit, but seeing him asleep reminds me of the boy I used to know. The one who took the blame, and the belt, for so many of my antics. The same man who apparently has been watching over me even though I kicked him out. I can still feel the ache in my chest that first appeared when I found the truth in his desk, but it’s changed. It’s not just about the secrets he kept, or the fact that he didn’t tell me himself… it’s the idea of being without him.
It’s heartache.
We’ve done so much damage to each other over the years. We’re still messy and imperfect and carrying more than a little baggage—but he’s my other half. My partner. The dark to my light, and the only person who could ever make the pain in my chest go away.
I lean down, softly swishing a lock of his hair out of his face. Dex stirs in his sleep, and I gently palm his cheek. As he starts to wake, I watch for his reaction to my presence. Disorientation gives way to clenched eyes and a wince of pain.
“What time is it?” he mumbles.
“Early.”
It only takes him a few seconds before he bolts up into a sitting position, his eyes wide with surprise.
“You’re here,” he says, a mix of disbelief and hope in his voice.
“I’m here.” I gesture around us. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
A sad smile comes to his sexy lips. “You were preparing to burn it down yesterday if I’m not mistaken. I just finished the destruction you started, sans fire risk to the rest of the hotel.”
“Touché,” I reply, looking him over while he’s seated on the couch. “You look like shit,” I say and I mean it. I’ve never seen Dex Cohen as disheveled and broken as he looks right now.
“Yeah, well I haven’t got much sleep,” he counters.
“This is a hotel you know. We have rooms and those rooms have beds.” I’m not sure why I’m being playful with him. I’m still furious for how he played me, but I’m not exactly innocent either and I’m just so tired of fighting.
Dex pins me with a heated glare. “There’s only one bed in this hotel I want to sleep in, and it wasn’t available to me last night.”
“Oh, and why is that?” My pulse is climbing, knowing how much we both have at stake as we tiptoe through the minefield of mistakes we’ve both made.
“Because I fucked up,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Yes, you did.” I pause briefly before adding, “But so did I. I never should have kicked you out the way I did after Dad died.”
I hold my breath, waiting to see what he’ll say to my confession. I don’t have to wait long.
“No, you shouldn’t have.” I can hear a grain of hope in his voice.
Recognizing this as my chance to say my piece, I add, “I’m not going to thank you for humiliating me or for lying to me but… I know you saved The Whitney… and my Paris apartment, and who knows what else. So… thank you.”
Dex finally pushes to his socked feet, teetering just a bit before finally standing. To his credit he doesn’t come any closer as he answers me. “I don’t want your thanks, Katja.”
My breath hitches again before I whisper, “What is it you want then?”
Pain fills his eyes as he almost begs with only two words. “Your forgiveness.”
Dex is many things, but in that moment, I just don’t believe he could possibly be this good of an actor. His pain is as real as my own.
Taking the biggest leap of faith of my life, I rush into his arms. “I do forgive you. Can you forgive me?”
“Already done, princess.” His bear hug is so tight I have trouble taking a deep breath.
“Are we going to be okay?” I ask quietly.
“If anyone can, it’s us,” he answers, and I believe it. I can feel it in the strength of his arms as he holds me against him, clinging to me like a lifeline. Minutes pass while we silently hold each other, trying our best to glue our shaky relationship back together again.
As our bodies sway, our undeniable sexual attraction reignites. A sigh of desire passes over my lips when I feel his thick shaft growing, pressing against my body.
“I need you,” he whispers.
I nod against his chest, so desperate for the connection that all I can get out is a single word. “Please.”
Dex only loosens his hold on me long enough to grip me at the nape of my neck, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. Our tongues duel as his other hand falls to squeeze my ass. My knees give way under me, but he’s there to catch me, holding me against his body as I become lightheaded from the overflow of emotions.
This feels right, here in his arms. As he kisses me breathless, his hands roam down my body, stopping to squeeze my breasts through my thin top just as I unbutton the dress shirt he’s had on since yesterday. We’re both rushing, desperate to reconnect in the most intimate of ways.
Dex pulls out of our kiss long enough to bark an order. “I need you out of these pants, baby.” Ever helpful, he moves his hands to my waist to help yank away my clothes and I toe off my shoes as he bares me.
My fingers go to work unbuckling his belt, pushing his pants down far enough for his semi-hard cock to spring free. Wrapping my hand around his length, I start stroking the velvety skin faster until the core of his shaft is hard as steel. My pussy clenches, anticipating how good it’s going to feel to have him inside me again.
Dex’s motions are demanding as he spins me around, shuffling us together until we close the distance to his desk. Impatient, he reaches out with his left arm and swishes everything on the desk to the floor.
I don’t have time to worry about the mess because his other hand is already pressing against my back, bending me until I have to plant my hands on the desk to catch my upper body as he lines up behind me, using his foot to spread my legs nice and wide for easy access.
“Hang on tight, princess. I’m going to make sure you feel this tomorrow.”
His raunchy promise is the only warning I get before he’s balls deep inside me. His hands grip my hips so hard it almost hurts as he yanks my body back while he thrusts forward, crashing into me again and again until I cry out my first orgasm.
He is a man on a mission. There is no finesse. Only brute force as Dex claims my body as his again and again. With each stroke, I’m getting wetter and wetter until the sound of our bodies slapping together becomes the X-rated soundtrack in the air.
“Dex!” I call out as he moves one hand to my hair, yanking it so hard that my head snaps back. I arch as he maneuvers his shaft even deeper with our new angle.
His lips are on my neck, nibbling softly in direct contrast to the almost brutal rutting of his cock.
I feel his breath against the shell of my ear. “Your pussy is perfect, baby. So tight. So wet.”
I flush with pleasure at his dirty compliment. His thrusts become more erratic as he nears his climax, and I want it more than anything. In our short week as lovers, I’ve started craving the hot as hell moans he makes just before he loses control and shoots his cum inside me. Today, he calls out my name just as he peaks, finally holding his hips still while his twitching cock stays nestled deep.
We cling to each other as we catch our breath. I feel empty when he softens and slips from my body. I know we’re making a mess when our combined wetness drips down my inner thighs, but it feels so good to be back in his arms, I don’t care.
His lips are back on my body, nibbling along my bare shoulder and up to my neck. Then he spins me in his arms until he can lower his lips to mine again, this time in a softer, more reverent kiss. By the time he pulls out of our kiss we’re both breathing hard. He leans down, intimately resting his forehead against mine.
I keep my eyes closed as I finally speak again. “Dex… I’m scared. How do I know I can trust you?”
He leans back, using his thumb to gently brush my cheek until I open my eyes. Once he’s sure he has my attention, he answers. “The same way I’m going to trust you not to kick me out again the first time we disagree, and believe me… we will disagree at times.”
I know he’s right, but I also know he loves The Whitney as much as I do.
“I think we should sign the new contract today.”
An expression I can’t quite read passes over his face just before he adds, “Not yet.”
My pulse spikes. After all we’ve been through, is he backing out now?
A sexy grin lights up his face before he adds, “I want to negotiate one more thing.”
I hear the playfulness in his voice so I answer in turn. “You’re being greedy,” I accuse, hugging him tighter.
“Yep,” he agrees.
“So, what is it you want now? I’m already giving you half ownership of The Whitney.”
Dex lifts me off my feet and I’m forced to wrap my legs around his waist to hold myself up just as he gives me my answer. “You. In my bed every night for the rest of our lives.”
If I had any doubts about how I really feel, they disappear in that moment. All the pain and betrayal from the day before falls away, leaving only love in its wake.
“Deal,” I reply, and it feels like an ‘I do,’ as I smile at him. “But… only if you let me sleep in every once in a while. I may love you, but I’ll never love getting up at the crack of dawn.”
“You love me?” he asks, an odd vulnerability in his voice.
I wipe the smile off my face, getting serious again before answering truthfully. “I think I’ve always loved you in one way or another. I was just too afraid to admit it, even to myself.”
“No more being afraid, for either of us, okay?” he prompts.
“I’ll try,” I answer truthfully.
My insides flutter as his face lights up with the devilish smile I love. “You’d better try, or I might have to come up with some new consequences to help convince you how much I love you.”
Not ready for the romance to end yet? Keep reading to get a peek into Dirty Ledger, Book Two in the Dark Pen series. Dirty Ledger will be released on May 16, 2022 but is already available for preorder!
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Rowan
As the taxi pulls into the portico of The Whitney, my friend Laura makes one last-ditch effort to change my mind. “You sure you don’t want to come back to my house? We could keep the party going?”
I love Laura dearly, but spending time at her place also means spending time with her older brother, James, and that is a hard no.
“I’m tired,” I lie, and I’m sure she knows it. It’s barely after one in the morning, which is an early Saturday night for us. I feel a little guilty, so I offer an olive branch. “Call me tomorrow when you get up. We can go to Sunday brunch. My treat.”
“Fine,” she pouts. “But I totally know the real reason you’re ditching me. There are worse things than marrying my brother you know. It would make us real sisters,” she says as the doorman opens the door next to me.
I turn to her and give her a hug before looking into her eyes. “You’re already like my sister, and for the last time, I’m not marrying your brother. He isn’t my type.”
She giggles, still tipsy from the drinks we pounded at the last club. “I hate to tell you, but your parents will disown you if you try to marry one of the guys that are your type.”
She isn’t wrong, but that’s a problem for another day.
The lobby is nearly empty at this hour and I’m relieved by the calm as I spin out of the revolving door. In the distance, I hear the music coming out of the lobby bar. Glancing at the time on the phone in my hand, I see it’s already one-fifteen. They’re only a few minutes from last call.
It’s a long shot, but I divert in the direction of the music. The last thing I need is more booze, but I wouldn’t mind bumping into the sexy-as-hell friend of the owners of the hotel, Katja Belov and Dex Cohen. I’ve tried several times to get Katja to set us up, but for some unknown reason, she refuses, which of course only makes me that much more interested in him.
The click-click of my high heels echo through the three-story grand lobby of the hotel I’ve lived in for the last six months. If it were up to me, I’d never move out. I love everything about living at The Whitney from the location, to the amenities, to having an entire staff of people at my beck and call twenty-four seven.
But move out day has been set, thanks to my father pulling the plug on my hotel funding at the end of the month. He hasn’t minded paying for me to stay in the city over the summer while my parents ‘roughed it’ out at The Hamptons, but now that they’re back in our newly remodeled townhouse less than a dozen blocks away, he’s balking at footing the bill for my continued independence. Even though I have pointed out it’s a lot cheaper than a loft of my own.
The lights are dim in the opulent bar, but as I scan the nooks and crannies of the space, disappointment sets in. It was a long shot.
The cute guy with the tats and muscles doesn’t spend much time in the public areas of the hotel. Hell, the only thing I’ve learned about him from some of the housekeepers willing to gossip with me is that they call him Z. I haven’t even been able to find out what the Z stands for yet. We’ve done little more than exchange small talk, but the way my pulse shoots up when he’s around, I’ve been hoping we might get to know each other a bit better—in my bed, between my sheets.
I sigh, spinning to head toward the elevator bank but I run smack into another guest standing right behind me.
“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” I apologize, taking a step to my left just as he takes a step in the same direction. We both chuckle.
“Want to dance?” he asks.
I glance up to see a dark haired, tan man leering down at me. I can’t put my finger on it, but my spidey sense activates.
“Sorry,” I answer. “I’m all danced out for the night.” It’s the truth and I’m anxious to get my feet out of these shoes.
“Oh? You didn’t have fun tonight at Club Paradise?” he asks, moving even closer instead of letting me pass.
“Oh, I had fun— wait… were you there?” I ask, knowing I would have remembered seeing a man with a wicked scar like he has over his right eye.
“Naw, not tonight.”
“Then… how did you…” Internal alarm bells start to go off.
He reaches out, boldly laying his hand on my arm. “I follow you on IG. Loved the pictures of you and your friends tonight. I was kinda hoping you’d post another video of you ladies grinding against each other like you did last weekend.”
The skin where he’s touching me starts to crawl as his mouth forms a predatory smile. I may not be A-list famous, but I have more than enough online followers to be considered a powerful influencer on social media. Still, this man isn’t my typical follower. I doubt he’s interested in my make-up and fashion advice or photos of the cuisine I sample around NYC.
Yanking my arm out of his grasp, I try to recover. “I’m sorry I bumped into you. Have a nice night.”
Stepping around him, I hurry across the lobby, determined to get to the elevator and then behind the closed door of my suite. He has me rattled.
I wave at the front desk agent as I walk past, using the opportunity to glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed. When I get to the elevator bank and have the lift to myself, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves as the doors whisper shut.
By the time I step off the elevator on the sixth floor, I sigh with relief at escaping the stalkerish guy in the lobby bar.
My cell is in my hand as I approach my door and I love that an app on my phone acts as my electronic key since I go literally nowhere without my phone. Pushing open the door, I see the soft lighting the turn-down housekeeper left on when they touched up my room while I was out.
I’m just reaching down to take my shoes off my aching feet when I hear the door behind me hit something soft instead of banging closed like normal. I don’t even get the chance to turn around before arms encircle me from behind, squeezing me so tight it knocks the air out of my lungs.
The door finally bangs shut just as I recognize the same chuckle I heard a few minutes ago in the bar.
Fight or flight instincts take over and the self-defense moves I learned in high school PE come to life. I lift my foot to stomp down on my attacker and then fight to turn my body so I can slip from his grasp, but it fails.
“I knew you’d be a feisty one. My favorite kind.”
It’s tempting to panic, but I know fear won’t help. My mind races through my options. Realizing I still have my crossbody purse on, I reach down to open the zipper as I continue to flail to break free. I feel around until I can grab the small canister of pepper spray I carry and yank it out.
