Rose gold satin clings to my body in waves of calm, controlled touches. The material whispers across my skin in a gentle caress, each dip and curve of my body enhanced. The floor-length gown is certainly as extravagant in feel as it is in appearance. I've never looked so regal in all my life, and I don't doubt for one second that the reason I've gone all out for tonight's charity event is the same reason why I got little to no sleep last night.

Reaper.

After promising me release in the form of a no-touch punishment, the man fucking stood me up. Left me desperate. Like I've got nothing else better to do that wait around for him to decide when I should receive my release. 

Fuck that!

Two can play at his game and I'm sure seeing me in this dress will do unimaginable things to him. I'm purposely wearing my hair up to expose the skin on my neck and—despite there being nowhere to strap a weapon to my body—I'm wearing the tightest dress I own. If anything, Reaper is the one being punished tonight.

"Eva?"

His voice caresses my skin, much like the way this satin dress does.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

I respond by opening the door for him, all plans to seduce gone the second I lock eyes with his. Reaper is wearing a black suit, tie absent. Where one would normally sit lies his exposed chest, begging to be touched. Kissed.

Not. Fucking. Fair.

His stance is strong as he fills my doorway, body radiating power. His scent is its usually combination of sex appeal and addiction, each deep inhale threatening my resolve. I want to grab him by his collar and smash my lip against his. To taste him. Fuck him. But the promise of no touching rears its ugly head and—not for the first time since Reaper came back into my life—I'm reminded to ignore my feelings and take a step back.

"You look nice."

"Only nice?" he asks, likely knowing every dirty thought that just ran through my head.

"Yes."

"Well, in that case... you look nice too."

He steps into my bedroom, forcing our bodies closer.

"Give me your panties," he orders, voice firm.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your panties, Eva. Give them to me."

I slide my white, lace thong down my legs, no questioned asked.

"Good girl."

The things that phrase does to me.

"Now what?" I ask, breathless by all accounts. "I can't attend a ball without underwear."

"No, you cannot," he responds, smirking.

He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a fresh pair of panties, similar to the ones he just took from me.

"Wear these instead."

I take the bundle from him, noticing immediately just how soft the lace feels against my fingertips. There's a small, pink bow on the front and beneath that—at the base—is a silicone-type texture.

"Are these vibrating panties?" I ask, voice slightly feral.

His eyes widen in delight.

"Put them on and you'll find out."

I slide the lingerie up my legs, unable to stop myself from giggling as I position the things in place. Reaper watches me the entire time, not touching me per say, but certainly doing so with his gaze. His teeth sink into his lower lip as he regards me with close attention, the slight strain in his jaw revealing more than perhaps he would like.

"Struggling, Reap?"

"Nope, I'm fine," he insists, sounding anything but.

I laugh. "You don't sound fine."

He readjusts his trousers, ignoring the delight in my voice.

"We should get going."

"Where's Richie?" I ask, following him into my living room.

The panties rub against my sensitive flesh, already proving enjoyable in their need to touch me in places I so truly desire.

"I gave him the night off."

I smile, happy with the fact that Richie—unlike the rest of us—doesn't have to show face at tonight's event. A smile that, all too soon, turns into a grimace when the lace of my panties glides against my clit.

"Struggling, Evangeline?"

"Yes," I retort. "So, why don't you press "go" on your controller and make me come like the pleasing man you are."

"There is nothing pleasing about giving you what you want so soon into the night."

"Reaper!"

I'm begging, but I don't care.

"Patience, Eva."

"Fine! I'll do it myself before we go."

I spin on my heel, heading towards my bedroom where the promise of release awaits me. I'm all for allowing Reaper to take control but he cannot expect me to attend tonight's party orgasm-less. With the way I'm feeling, I'll either spontaneously combust or get off right when I'm sipping my lemonade.

"Eva!"

Reaper loops around me and pins me against the wall, somehow managing to do so without physically touching me. His arms cage me in, their strength desirable in a way I only ever feel when around him.

"I haven't given you permission to do that."

His tone is soft, despite the harshness of his words.

"So?"

"So, you will go to that party and you will come when I let you come."

Fuck!

His instruction—although infuriating—sets my soul on fire. Everything about this is exactly what I need. It's what I've been craving for the last twelve months.

"Understood?"

"Yes."

He narrows his gaze, face inches away from mine. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

His smirk is immediate, as is his absence. He pulls away from me moments later, leaving me with nothing but dampness between my legs and a chill to my body only he can remedy. 

"Let's go."

I follow him to his car, passing three other soldiers on my way out. I'm trying to get to know them all by first name, but it's difficult when they rotate so frequently. One is permanently stationed outside my front door now and another at the entrance of my apartment complex.

"Does Torin know you've stationed his men here?"

"Yeah."

"And he's okay with it?" I ask, climbing into the passenger seat.

Reaper enters his side and shrugs. "He has no choice."

"Why not?"

"Because," he says, putting the car in gear and peeling off. "When it comes to you, everything is non-fucking-negotiable."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, I care about you, Eva."

Oh.

"You may annoy the shit out of me, but I care."

"Not enough to give me an orgasm when I want one," I retaliate, smirking.

His lips twitch, smile beautiful in the evening glow.

"I care about you too," I inform, gazing out the car window.

Nothing more is said as we drive to the venue. The occasional glance is passed between us, but other than that... nothing. More and more, silence is becoming comfortable and despite there being a lot to unpack with that, now is not the time.

"Miss. Gallagher, welcome!"

We're greeted at the door by a man whose soul purpose for the evening is to organise everyone's coat. I offer him mine and smile when he compliments me on my dress, returning the gesture with his tie. When Reaper steps in front of him, his eyes turn from infatuated to completely mesmerised. I watch as he checks out Reaper's impeccable form, mouth practically salivating at the sight.

"Enjoy your evening," he offers.

Reaper leans in, breath tickling the shell of my ear. "Permission to touch you, Miss. Gallagher?"

I nod, prompting him to gently place his hand on my lower back where he—with poise and grace—leads me towards the main ballroom. The hall is decorated to perfection, submerged in golds and reds. Fairy lights illuminate the entire space, casting a magnificent glow. Roses in full bloom sit around the perimeter, their scent a delight on the senses. I briefly run my fingertips over one, its petals soft to the touch.

"Eva!"

My good friend—Xavier—comes gliding over, purple suit immaculate.

"You look like a wet dream."

"Thanks," I reply, laughing. "...I think."

He regards Reaper, smile impenetrable.

"Any plans for this evening?" he asks, studying the hall and its many occupants.

I follow suit, taking note of the many people present.

"Well, I'm in need of a new investor," I reply. "The last one... didn't work out."

"I heard about that," humours Xavier, side-eying Reaper. "Not a fan of sharing your toys, Romano?"

"Never have been," replies Reaper, smirking.

I refuse to partake in their amusement.

"Please don't encourage him. If he stabs any more potential clients, my business will fail."

"Please!" delights Xavier. "Dylan Henderson is not an ideal client. He's a prick with more money than sense."

Reaper laughs.

"Besides, haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?"

Xavier scours the room, stopping once his gaze settles on a familiar face. "Cillian McCarthy is in need of somewhere to put the small fortune he recently won in Vegas."

"Vegas?"

Reaper sounds surprised.

Xavier nods. "Rumour has it, he's broadening his horizons. Taking his business to the States."

"It's only a matter of time before others follow," he replies, deep in thought.

I wonder if Michael has intentions of going global and taking our business to the States. Logistically, it would make sense. We certainly have the means to do so, although I'm not sure how that would work with the families already over there. I've not met any of them, but mafia is ripe in states such as New York and Nevada.

"You should talk to him," encourages Xavier, still watching Cillian.

I study the mob boss, always so taken aback by his handsome face and genuine smile. I've seen Cillian in action and—to put it politely—the man is bat shit crazy. You wouldn't think it just by looking at him. In fact, his charming flare and impeccable sense of humour would fool anyone into thinking he was a "normal" man devoted to his two daughters and stepson.

"Perhaps I will," I share, snatching two champagne flutes from the table in front of me. "Look after this one, will you?"

I gesture towards Reaper before taking off, tunnelling towards Cillian McCarthy and his fuck tone of money. He's a strait-laced guy and one hell of a businessman, meaning I'd do well to simply give it to him straight. Men like Cillian don't respond well to well-meaning proposals and flashy presentations. He likes facts. Figures. A no-nonsense partner.

"Cillian!"

His smile is blinding as he excuses himself from a small group to address me.

"Eva Gallagher. You look wonderful, darling."

I kiss his cheek, in awe of his grace.

"Thank you," I reply, smiling. "Drink?"

I present him the spare glass, which he gladly accepts. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I want your money," I tell him.

He chokes on his champagne, barking out a loud laugh thereafter.

"God god, woman. I applaud your boldness."

"Reaper stabbed my last investor, so you can thank him for my directness this evening."

His eyes briefly scan the room, no doubt in search of the man in question.

"I heard about that," he offers. "What on earth prompted such a response?"

Cillian's Irish accent thickens the more he lends himself to gossip. He pretends the concept is beneath him, but he's just like all the other mafia bosses. They rely on gossip and scandal to keep their position of power.

"Henderson made a lewd remark."

"Regarding you, no doubt?" he asks.

I nod, sipping my champagne "Of course."

"And Reaper got... territorial?"

"However, did you guess, Cillian?"

His smile is bright, full of wonder. "That boy is as in love with you now as he was the day you met."

His admission robs me of my breath. As far as I'm aware, Cillian was amongst those who knew nothing of mine and Reaper intense—albeit brief—relationship.

"I'm not sure I understand..."

"Oh. Come on, Eva. If I'm to give you all my money, at least spare me the bullshit and admit that you are romantically involved with your bodyguard."

As if coming up with an appropriate response to that isn't bad enough, the sudden vibration in my panties just about ends me. I glare at Reaper from across the room, silently compelling him to shut the damn thing off.

"Eva?"

"We're not—I'm not romantically involved with Reaper," I insist. "Not anymore."

My voice lacks power, and the lack of confidence is certainly noticed by Cillian. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," I assure, fighting the urge to give way to my pleasure.

I will not orgasm in front of this man.

"Just wanted to set the record straight. That's all."

The pulsing between my legs is almost unbearable, pussy crying out for the release it was so wrongfully denied before. Once again, I look across to Reaper, finding him casually leaning against the wall, hands in pockets. He's still talking to Xavier, only now Torin and Imogen have joined.

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you'd make an excellent couple."

I laugh, not entirely sure why. "I can assure you we would not."

"What makes you say that?" he asks, far too inquisitive for my liking.

I know Cillian and I know his line of enquiry only comes from a place of kindness, but I'm in serious need of an orgasm and if Reaper doesn't let up on the intensity of these vibrations soon, I will come right here, right now.

"I—we—"

"Eva?"

The vibrations stop.

"We already tried. It failed."

"Because you were engaged to Torin at the time," he insists. "Now that you're single, what's stopping you?"

"Many things," I reply, tone suggesting I'm done talking about this particular topic. "Things that, to this day, still stand."