Chapter 227 Falling Back To The Tower

Chapter 227 Falling Back To The Tower
He pulled back a fraction of an inch. His chest heaved.

"Tomorrow, we walk into the Wolfe skyscraper," Sebastian outlined the new reality. "We walk into the executive boardroom. We do not stand on opposite sides of the table. You sit at my right hand."

"The European cartel requires a response," I reminded him. My mind aligned with his strategy. We fused our physical desire with our corporate ruthlessness.

"Armand Moreau sent a truck through my front gates," Sebastian said. "I will send his ships to the bottom of the harbor."

He grabbed my waist. He lifted me off the floor. I wrapped my legs around his hips. He carried me up the grand staircase.

The mansion transformed. It ceased to be a battleground. It became a kingdom. The cold marble and the heavy oak doors witnessed the shift in power. We ruled the space without apology.

He carried me down the long hallway toward the master suite.

We reached the heavy double doors. He kicked them open.

The room sat dark. The moonlight spilled across the massive king-sized bed.

He crossed the threshold. He tossed me onto the mattress. The plush duvet absorbed the impact.

He stood at the foot of the bed. He unbuttoned his ruined, blood-stained shirt. He let the fabric fall to the floor. The jagged scars on his chest and arms glowed pale in the dim light. He looked like a god of war demanding his tribute.

I sat up. I reached for the lapels of my charcoal blazer. I shed the corporate armor. I tossed it aside.

He crawled onto the bed. He caged me between his massive arms. He lowered his head, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin of my throat. He bit down, a hard, territorial nip that sent a spike of heat straight to my core.

"I claim every inch," he whispered against my pulse.

"Take it," I offered.

The final walls crumbled. We existed in a space free of legal definitions and moral judgments. The universe contracted to the size of the mattress.

He moved his hands down my sides. He mapped the curves of my body with a new, undisputed authority. He knew every line, every reaction, but the context changed everything. He touched a free woman. He touched his partner.

The friction of his skin against mine ignited a fire. I arched my back. I sought closer contact. I wanted the weight of his body pressing me into the sheets.

He obliged. He covered me. The solid wall of his chest crushed against my breasts.

We moved in unison. The rhythm felt primal. It felt essential. We purged the remaining adrenaline of the long night through physical exertion. We replaced the memory of the freezing alleyways and the corrupt judges with the heat of our shared breath.

The climax broke over me like a storm. I shattered under his touch, crying out his name into the quiet room. He followed a second later, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he spent himself inside me.

We collapsed into the tangled sheets. The silence of the master suite stretched, thick and satisfying. The world outside the iron gates ceased to matter.

I rested my head on his shoulder. I traced the edge of a scar on his collarbone.

"The board meets at noon," I murmured. My eyes felt heavy. Sleep beckoned, a safe, deep rest I lacked for months.

"Let them wait," Sebastian replied. He pulled the duvet over our bodies. He kept his arm wrapped tight around my waist.

I closed my eyes. The war felt distant. The peace felt earned.

The shrill ring of the secure line on the nightstand pierced the quiet dark.

My eyes snapped open. The exhaustion vanished.

Sebastian cursed. He reached across the mattress. He grabbed the phone.

He answered the call. He put the device to his ear.

"Speak," he commanded.

I watched his profile. The relaxed lines of his face turned rigid. The warlord woke up.

"Are you certain?" Sebastian asked. The ice in his voice froze the blood in my veins.

He listened for another ten seconds. He ended the call.

He turned his head. He looked at me. The gray eyes held a new, terrifying shadow.

"Who was it?" I asked. I pushed myself up on my elbows.

"Bob," Sebastian stated.

"What did the scout say in the basement?"

Sebastian dropped the phone onto the mattress. He ran a hand over his face.

"The scout did not throw the brick through our front door to send a message from the European cartel," Sebastian revealed. The words dropped like lead weights into the quiet room. "He threw the brick because he ran for his life."

My brow furrowed. "Running from who?"

Sebastian stared at the dark wall. "Victor Salazar."

"Victor is in a federal cage," I argued. The logic failed to align.

"Not anymore," Sebastian said. He met my gaze. "Bob pulled the police scanners. The federal penitentiary is on lockdown. An hour ago, a coordinated strike team breached the solitary confinement wing. They slaughtered the guards."

The air in the room vanished.

"The mad dog is loose," Sebastian grated. "And he is hunting us."