Chapter 102: The Art of the Tease

Chapter 102: The Art of the Tease –Deanne– Caine drove around the city. No more traffic, but downtown Chicago still buzzed with life. A bar, maybe? I needed to get my mind off things. Sleep wasn’t going to happen anyway—not with the clutter in my head. Like Livana’s unexpected stunt handing the ace to Damon. We were both waiting to hear about the status of Alejandro’s head. Lovely. Those undercover government agents were still monitoring us. Not like my boss is some wanted criminal or anything. They have zero evidence. But her mother used to work for them, and the device she built? A little too dangerous for comfort. "So?" he asked. "Just find somewhere. Whatever decent pub or bar exists in this city," I muttered, and he turned the wheel. "I thought we were getting food?" "Yeah, they serve food too—don’t they?" I turned to him with a raised brow. "Why a bar?" "I want a drink." "Okay." We pulled up to a place called The Big Bar. Fancy, luxurious—probably trying too hard. I wasn’t in it for the vibe. I was here for the fries and distractions. I’d dressed casually, oversized jacket and all, concealing the body that always got too much attention. I only wear fitted stuff for work, and only when it’s absolutely necessary. Flaunting isn’t my thing. It makes me too aware of myself. Inside, the host led us to a vacant table. We sat down, and I caught him checking his wallet. I slid my card across the table. "Nah," he waved it off. "You can treat me next time. I told you—I’m buying you fries." I chuckled. "Yeah, right." I flashed a grin. The menu arrived, and I pointed to everything that made my mouth water. "You’ll have juice," I told him, deadpan. He pouted. "You’re such a buzzkill." He then looked at me and then the surroundings. "Aren’t you hot? It’s warm in here," he asked, rolling his sleeves up. "Nope. I’m fine." I scanned the room and spotted one of our little government shadows ordering an iced tea. "Should we invite them over?" I asked, tilting my chin in their direction. "Hmm, nope. I thought this was a date?" he smirked. I tilted my head and gave him a look. "I’m kidding, Ice Queen." He rolled his eyes just as our orders came in. It was getting warm. I slipped off my coat and draped it over the back of my chair, placing my purse on the table. I leaned back and skimmed the drinks list again. Our beverages arrived first, and he just stared at his iced tea like it had personally offended him. "How about a Piña Colada?" I offered sweetly. "Later." He rubbed his stomach. "I’m still stuffed." "But I’m starving." "Are you pregnant or something?" I raised a brow. "Pregnant?" "Oh, right. You’re a lesbian." I snorted at his sarcasm. Truth is, I was hungry because I’d been moving all damn day—walking, prepping lunch, dinner, breakfast, and snacks like some unpaid domestic goddess. Add a brutal workout to that, and of course I was starving. "We look like homeless people compared to them," Caine muttered, glancing around. He wasn’t wrong. The place was crawling with people dressed like they were attending a fashion gala instead of hitting up a bar. Glamorous outfits, bold lips, and enough perfume in the air to choke a small animal. Some were clearly here to flirt. Others? Fishing for sugar daddies—or mommies. Hook-up central. But the real highlight? The occasional face from the underworld. Yeah. That kind of underworld. The ones with connections and body counts. "Well, we are eye-catching that way," he grinned. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong. I wore fitted denim jeans, a turtleneck that hugged too many curves, and enough self-consciousness to match. People say it’s a blessing—this figure—but if they only knew. Being beautiful, curvy, and "ideal" all at once? It’s a damn curse. He leaned in slightly, coughing into his hand. "Nine o’clock," he murmured. I took out my mirror from my purse and casually checked. Senator Gray? Sure, he didn’t know us. It looked like he was hosting a mini-party—oozing charm and class. Gentlemanly. Sophisticated. The kind of man who probably knew which fork to use for escargot and actually cared. He had jet-black hair, a slender, pointed nose, and a face that bordered on model material. Almost too handsome. Tall, well-built, and the type of man who made women do double takes—and triple-check their lipstick. "I heard he lives nearby," I mumbled. I paused, blinking. "Wait—he’s Senator Gray, right?" I whispered. He nodded. We exchanged glances. Curious ones. I remembered that woman, the one looking for a Gray residence. The man in that penthouse? His name was Gray too. And just one look at this guy confirmed it—they looked alike. "Hmm. Interesting," I murmured. "You’re thinking what I’m thinking?" Caine asked, sipping his drink. "Yeah." I narrowed my eyes, the corners of my lips lifting slightly. Detective mode? On. This might actually get fun. My gaze wandered—unfortunately—to a couple aggressively making out. If they got any bolder, they’d be naked and doing it right there on the damn couch. Get a room, you two. Literally. "Oh? You wanna do that too?" Caine teased, nodding toward the human suction cups. "Nope. But I’ll let you know when I’m in the mood," I said with a wink, teasing back. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. This idiot. I know he wants it too. "If you’re that bored, you can go hook up with any woman... or man... or whatever else floats your boat." I added. "I prefer you," he said with a smirk, sipping his iced tea like a mic drop. Bold of him. "You wouldn’t be able to keep up with my appetite," I shot back, flirtatious and unbothered. "Hmm. Interesting. I also have a big appetite, Ice Queen. Let’s see who wins. Wanna bet?" Wait—was he serious? Still, I didn’t flinch. Not in this game. "I’ll think about the bet." Our food arrived, and for a moment, everything else melted away. I stared at the plates like they were a gift from the heavens. God, I was starving for carbs. The flirty back-and-forth? Temporarily on hold. Priorities. –Livana– I was sore. Just a little. But as soon as I opened my eyes, the ache turned into something else entirely—I was horny. Needy. Craving his touch like oxygen. I turned toward my husband, instinctively reaching out, but the bed was empty. My hand slid across the sheets, still faintly warm from where he’d lain. Even though I could see now, I stayed in character. I moved like I was still blind. Still that same Livana, the one who saw with everything but her eyes. "Good morning, my goddess," Damon said, his voice silk and smoke. I heard the soft thud of his footsteps, then the familiar shift of the mattress under his weight. I turned toward him, careful to keep my eyes unfocused, blind-like. My gaze landed nowhere in particular—but I could sense the heat from his half-naked body, the faint scent of mint and his cologne mingling in the air. "Warm water," he said gently. I sat up and extended both hands. He slid the mug into my fingers, and I brought it to my lips. The warmth soothed my throat, the dryness melting away as I sipped. "Before I tell you what happened—" "Make love to me," I interrupted, my voice sharp and breathless with want. He paused. Silent. "Drink more first," he said, calm and commanding. I obeyed. "Bathroom," I said next, "I need to wash first." I heard him place the mug on the bedside table. Then he lifted me into his arms, as if I weighed nothing. The scent of him enveloped me—fresh, warm, male. I buried my nose against his chest until we reached the bathroom. "Leave me," I told him. "No. I can wash you—especially between your legs," he said, voice dipped in mischief. "No," I repeated, firmer. "Leave." A beat of silence, then the door closed. I tilted my head toward the sound, confirming he’d gone. I turned on the bidet and let warm water flow between my legs, washing away any trace of sleep—or lust. Then I dried myself, rinsed my face, and took a swig of mouthwash. My robe wrapped around me, I stepped out again. He was waiting. His chest was right in front of my nose, radiating warmth. He didn’t say a word. Just picked me up like I was a small log, so casual, so familiar. The moment he removed my robe, his lips crashed against mine. I opened for him instantly—mouth, body, everything. Our tongues tangled, his taste intoxicating. Minty. Clean. So perfectly Damon. I wrapped my legs around his waist. I didn’t need to ask. He knew. But I still whispered it anyway, voice low and wicked: "Make sure I come nonstop, please." He groaned against my ear. "It’s a pleasure, my love," he said, nibbling my earlobe. "Oh darling... you’re getting bolder," he chuckled darkly. And then, it was just us. Movement. Moans. Hands. Skin on skin. Over and over until we lost track of time. After what felt like hours of near-nonstop lovemaking, Damon curled around me, our naked bodies pressed together. Nothing but our heartbeats filled the room. Slow. Synchronized. "Love," he whispered. "Hmm?" "About our subject..." "Okay?" I murmured, not ready to break the haze just yet. "They had Alejandro’s head," he said quietly. "They promised to deliver it to Pedro Madrigal." I stiffened. "Are you sure it’s his? We’re not being tricked?" "Yup," he murmured, sealing the confirmation with a kiss. "Now..." he grinned, wicked and boyish, "Let’s go for another round." I couldn’t help it—I grinned too. But even in that moment of warmth and lust, my thoughts flickered toward the storm ahead. Now that Alejandro is gone... Tyrona will come for blood.