WHISPERS IN LEATHER

The job wasn’t at the club this time.

Cain had something *special* in mind.

The three women stood in a high-end loft in the heart of the city, sleek and cold with panoramic windows that overlooked the skyline. Cain's men had dressed them in tailored black lingerie beneath silk robes—nothing was left to the imagination.

Grace adjusted her robe. “What exactly are we doing here?”

Luca leaned against the kitchen island, sipping a whiskey. “Entertaining. Distraction. Intelligence.”

Ava raised a brow. “You want us to seduce intel out of someone?”

Cain appeared then, stepping into the room like a storm cloaked in control. “Not someone,” he said, “*men* who think they’re smarter than me. You smile, you tease, you touch—but you don’t get f**ked. Not unless you want to.”

His eyes landed on Grace last, his voice dipping low.

“And some of you look like you’re already dangerously close.”

Grace flushed but didn’t drop her gaze.

Cain’s stare lingered, burning hot enough to leave a mark.

Then he was gone.

The “guests” arrived just after ten—businessmen with sleek watches and dirty secrets, all unaware they were walking into a gilded trap.

Grace played her role with a glass of wine in hand and a slow, sultry smile. One man leaned in too close, his breath thick with bourbon and power. His hand brushed the side of her thigh beneath her robe, and instead of flinching… she let him.

She leaned down, lips near his ear, and whispered, “What does Cain Russo have on you?”

The man chuckled. “Everything.”

Across the room, Ava straddled the lap of a Russian arms broker, her fingers teasing the buttons of his shirt, her mouth just brushing his jaw.

She wasn’t thinking of him.

She was thinking of Luca—again. And how earlier he had cornered her in the hallway, hand sliding between her thighs through the slit of her robe.

“You’re made for sin,” he whispered, lips grazing her neck. “Let me show you how deep it goes.”

She hadn’t let him finish.

She was saving that for later.

Sam found herself pinned against the wall in the kitchen, one of the younger investors gripping her waist with a desperation that made her head spin.

“Stop,” she whispered breathlessly—but didn’t push him away.

Her body ached in places her husband hadn’t touched in years.

Cain watched it all from the security feed, alone in a back room.

His eyes followed Grace.

The way she moved. The way she smiled like she could bite.

When the investor slid his hand under her robe, Cain leaned forward, his jaw tightening.

Then he pressed a button on the mic.

“Grace. Bedroom. Now.”

She heard it through the earpiece hidden behind her hair. Her heart jumped.

But she stood.

And obeyed.

The bedroom was dimly lit, floor-to-ceiling windows baring the city. Cain stood there, hands in his pockets, looking out like he owned every building below.

“Close the door.”

Grace did.

Cain turned, slowly. His eyes locked onto her like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You were about to let him touch you.”

Her robe slipped slightly, revealing one bare shoulder. “You told us to play.”

“I didn’t say you could be *used*.”

His voice was low. Dangerous. And there was something else in it now—*possession.*

He stepped forward. One hand gripped her chin, tilting it up. His thumb dragged slowly across her bottom lip.

“You walk that line so well,” he murmured. “One step too far, and you’ll be mine completely.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

And then, whisper-soft: “Maybe I already am.”

Cain’s mouth crashed onto hers—bruising, claiming. His hand wrapped in her hair as he pulled her close, tongue sliding past her lips like he was taking what had already been promised.

It was raw. Hungry. Not love. Not even lust.

Just *power*.

When he finally pulled away, she was breathless, dazed.

“Back to work,” he said, lips still close. “But next time you flirt with someone else…” He dragged his mouth along her jaw. “I’ll make sure they watch when I remind you who you belong to.”

She left the room with shaking knees—and wet lace between her thighs.