The ceo's obsession

The elevator ding was soft-almost polite.

But in the silence that followed, it sounded like a death knell.

Mason shoved Harper behind him in one fluid motion, body shielding hers completely. His hand found the pistol he'd left on the dresser, fingers closing around the grip before she even registered the movement.

"Stay low," he hissed. "Bedroom closet. Now."

She didn't argue. Adrenaline still sang in her veins from the interrupted orgasm, from the photo of Lily, from everything. She scrambled across the silk sheets, dropped to the floor, and crawled toward the walk-in closet at the far end of the room.

Mason moved like smoke-silent, lethal-positioning himself at the bedroom doorway, back to the wall, gun raised.

Footsteps in the hallway. Two sets. Measured. Professional.

The penthouse security should have stopped anyone at the lobby. Should have triggered alarms. Nothing.

Someone had bypassed everything.

A voice-calm, cultured, faintly amused-drifted from the living area.

"Blackwell. I know you're here. And I know you have the girl."

Mason's jaw clenched. He recognized the voice instantly.

Elliot Langston.

The rival developer hadn't come himself-he'd sent someone who sounded far too comfortable giving orders in another man's home.

Harper pressed herself against the closet doorframe, heart hammering so loud she was sure they could hear it. She could see Mason's profile: every line of him taut, ready to kill.

The footsteps stopped just outside the bedroom.

"We can do this the easy way," the voice continued. "Hand over Harper Voss. We walk away. No one bleeds tonight."

Mason's answer was a single shot-clean through the doorframe, right where the voice had been.

A grunt. A body hitting the floor.

Then chaos.

The second intruder returned fire-automatic, suppressed pops that shredded the drywall inches from Mason's head. Plaster exploded. Mason rolled left, came up firing twice. A wet thud. Silence.

Harper bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Mason waited-counting heartbeats-then moved into the hallway.

She couldn't stay hidden.

She slipped out, barefoot, hoodie still the only thing covering her. She grabbed the heavy crystal decanter from the nightstand-makeshift weapon-and followed.

The living room was carnage.

Two men down. One with a neat hole between the eyes. The other clutching his throat, gurgling.

Mason stood over the second, boot on the man's chest, pistol aimed at his forehead.

"Who sent you?" Mason asked quietly.

The man laughed-blood bubbling on his lips. "You already know."

Mason pressed the barrel harder. "Where's the sister?"

"Safe... for now." The man's eyes flicked to Harper standing in the doorway. "Pretty little thing. Langston said she'd be worth the trouble."

Mason's finger tightened on the trigger.

Harper stepped forward. "Wait."

Mason's gaze snapped to her-warning.

She ignored it. Knelt beside the dying man. Voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

"Where is she?"

The man grinned through red teeth. "Warehouse... old textile mill on the river. Midnight handover. You show up alone, Blackwell stays away, she walks."

"Liar," Mason growled.

"Maybe." The man coughed. "Maybe not. Tick tock."

His eyes rolled back. Body went slack.

Mason exhaled through his nose-fury radiating off him in waves.

He hauled Harper to her feet. "We're leaving. Now."

She shook her head. "They have Lily."

"We'll get her. But not by walking into an obvious trap."

He dragged her toward the private elevator-different one, hidden behind a panel in the kitchen. As the doors closed, he punched a code. The car dropped fast-express to the sub-basement garage.

Inside the confined space, tension crackled.

He turned to her-eyes dark, pupils blown.

"You should have stayed in the closet."

She lifted her chin. "I'm not some damsel."

He stepped into her space, backing her against the wall. One hand braced above her head. The other slid under the hoodie-cupped her bare breast, thumb brushing the still-sensitive nipple.

"You almost got yourself killed," he growled.

Heat flooded her again-fear and desire twisting together.

"And you almost let him live long enough to tell you more."

His mouth crashed down on hers-brutal, claiming. Teeth. Tongue. Punishment and promise.

She kissed him back just as hard-nails raking his shoulders, hips grinding against the thick ridge in his pants.

The elevator dinged.

Doors opened to a waiting black armored SUV-engine already running.

Mason broke the kiss, breathing ragged.

"Get in."

She did.

He slid in behind her. The driver-new face, silent-pulled out without a word.

As the car accelerated up the ramp and into the night, Mason pulled her onto his lap-straddling him in the backseat.

His hands shoved the hoodie up, exposing her completely.

"Here?" she gasped.

"Here." His fingers dug into her hips. "I need to feel you alive. Right now."

He freed himself-cock springing out, hard and leaking.

No foreplay. No teasing.

He lifted her-positioned her-and sank her down onto him in one brutal thrust.

She cried out-half pain, half ecstasy.

He clamped a hand over her mouth. "Quiet. Or the driver hears every sound you make."

She bit his palm instead.

He groaned-low, guttural-and began to move her. Up. Down. Setting a punishing rhythm.

Each thrust drove him deeper. Her clit ground against his pelvis. The angle hit that spot inside her relentlessly.

She rode him-desperate, frantic-nails scoring his neck.

He buried his face between her breasts-sucking, biting, marking.

Sweat slicked their skin. The car rocked with their movements.

She clenched around him-close, so close.

"Not yet," he snarled against her skin.

"Please-"

He flipped them-pinned her to the seat on her back, legs over his shoulders.

Deeper now. Harder.

"Look at me," he ordered.

She did-eyes glassy, lips swollen.

"When we get Lily back," he rasped, pounding into her, "I'm going to lock you in my bed for a week. No clothes. No leaving. Just you, coming on my cock until you forget your own name."

The filthy promise shattered her.

She came-silent scream behind his hand, body convulsing, milking him.

He followed seconds later-growling her name as he flooded her, hips jerking erratically.

They stayed locked together-panting, trembling-as the car slowed near the river district.

Mason pulled out slowly. Tucked himself away. Fixed her hoodie down like nothing had happened.

He cupped her face-gentle now.

"We're close. Stay in the car when we arrive. My team is already in position."

She nodded-still dazed.

But as the SUV turned onto the abandoned mill road, headlights caught something on the warehouse wall.

A fresh mural-hastily sprayed.

Her own style.

A giant crimson heart... pierced by a black arrow.

And beneath it, in dripping white:

SURRENDER OR SHE BLEEDS

Mason's expression went stone-cold.

He killed the engine.

Looked at Harper.

"Change of plan."

He handed her his spare pistol-small, sleek.

"You know how to use this?"

She took it. Nodded once.

"Good."

He leaned in-kissed her softly this time. Lingering.

"If anything happens to me... run. Don't look back."

She gripped his shirt. "Nothing's happening to you."

He smiled-dark, dangerous.

"That's the spirit."

Then he stepped out into the night.

Gun raised.

Heading straight toward the warehouse doors.

Behind him, Harper whispered to the empty backseat,

"I'm not running."

She opened her door.

Followed him into the dark.

And somewhere inside the mill, a girl's muffled sob echoed.