LOYALTY OR LUST

Grace shut the door behind her, her back pressed to the cool wood, heart thundering in her chest. Her lips were swollen from Cain’s kiss, her thighs slick with arousal she hadn’t had a chance to even acknowledge.

She had never been kissed like that. Never been *claimed.*

Her fingers trembled as she smoothed her robe, trying to compose herself. It was no use—her skin burned with the imprint of his hands. Her body had already betrayed her.

*He didn’t even undress me,* she thought. *And I would’ve let him.*

She forced herself back into the loft’s open lounge, head high, eyes sharp.

Ava was leaned back on the velvet couch, letting the Russian’s hand ride dangerously high on her thigh. She shot Grace a wicked smirk—*you too, huh?*—as their eyes met.

Grace sat beside her, too aware of every pulse in her body.

“I swear,” Ava whispered, low and sultry in her ear, “I don’t know if I want to screw Cain… or take his empire.”

Grace turned her head, their mouths inches apart. “Why not both?”

Before Ava could reply, Luca appeared behind her, his hands sliding down Ava’s shoulders like he’d been given permission. “Ladies,” he said smoothly, “our guests are entertained, but the boss says the show isn’t over.”

His voice dropped, wicked and warm.

“You're the encore.”

The lights dimmed. The music shifted—slower now. Darker.

Cain’s guests gathered near the low stage built in the center of the loft. Cain himself stood in the shadows, a glass of dark liquor in hand, watching everything.

A spotlight clicked on.

Sam stepped forward first. Her robe slipped off her shoulders, revealing black lace and skin that flushed under every gaze. She wasn’t shy anymore.

Ava joined her, heels tapping seductively across the floor as she circled the man who’d been eyeing her all night. Her hips swayed. Her mouth curled into a dare.

Then Grace stepped into the light.

The room silenced.

Every eye locked on her—but only Cain’s made her shiver.

She didn’t remove her robe. Not yet. She let it hang, loose and suggestive. She danced like she didn’t care who was watching—but every step was meant for *him*.

Cain’s jaw was tight. His hand gripped the crystal glass too hard. When Grace turned her back to the crowd and looked over her shoulder—*that look*—his control snapped.

He handed his drink off and disappeared from the crowd.

She felt him before she saw him. The heat at her back. The quiet fury.

“Keep dancing,” Cain growled softly, right at her ear. “But don’t you dare touch anyone else.”

Grace tilted her head, taunting him. “Getting jealous, Cain?”

His hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. She gasped as he ground into her from behind, his arousal pressing hard and thick against her barely-there lingerie.

“No,” he murmured, lips brushing her neck, “just getting impatient.”

Without warning, he turned her around and backed her toward the private elevator. No one stopped them. No one *would.*

The doors shut behind them. The second they did—Cain lost restraint.

He slammed her against the mirrored wall, mouth devouring hers. Her robe fell away. His hands were everywhere—possessive, rough, perfect.

“You’re mine tonight, Grace,” he said against her throat, “and I’m not asking this time.”

She didn’t want him to.