Page 95 of Problematic

Liv’s eyes cut to the camera. Her brows lifted. For one demented second, I thought she’d heard me. Then she gasped as she teased her clit with the tip of the toy, grinding against it in hot, needy little motions.

My restraint snapped, and I grabbed the mask.

The office door opened at the same time.

Vale stood there, tablet in hand, face pale with professional dread.

“Sir, the southern—”

“I’m leaving.”

His gaze dropped to the mask in my hand.

Then, unfortunately, lower.

He looked away so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

I shoved the mask under one arm and crossed to the weapons wall. I checked one pistol, then abandoned it. No guns. Not tonight. Guns were for enemies. I didn’t need weapons for Liv.

I needed restraint. Unfortunately, I had misplaced that sometime after seeing her slide her hand under that shirt.

Vale watched me with the exhausted horror of a man who had seen many bad versions of me and just realized “in love” might be the worst one.

I pulled the mask on, and the world narrowed into two slits. Dark edges. My breathing grew louder inside the shell. The mask made me safer for her. It kept the bond from completing. It kept my face hidden, my mark contained, my truth one step removed.

It did nothing for the state of my dick.

Vale’s eyes stayed aggressively on my shoulder. I left him in the office.

The private elevator descended too slowly. Everything moved too slowly. The numbers crawled. The cables hummed. My phone burned in my hand, the feed still on.

Liv was still on the bed. She was taking her time working her clit. Good girl.

The elevator doors opened into the private garage. My car waited in the bay, black, armored, blessedly fast. I slid behind the wheel and started the engine with one hand, phone propped on the dash mount with the other.

Which was exactly the kind of idea that got men wrapped around trees. I pulled out anyway.

The feed jolted when Liv shifted. Her knee slid wider, baring herself fully to the camera. I nearly drove into a pillar in the garage.

“Fuck.” My cock pulsed, leaking precum into my boxers. The car corrected with a shriek of tires. A valet demon flattened himself against the far wall, eyes wide.

I lowered the window as I passed.

“Forget that happened.”

He nodded so fast one horn hit the wall.

I hit the street. New Abaddon blurred.

The tower district gave way to glass and neon. Streetlights smeared yellow across the windshield. Traffic moved aside because the car knew how to use the whine of the engine to suggest murder, and most people valued their continued existence.

On the screen, Liv’s back arched slightly off the bed as her moans grew more confident.

My hand tightened on the wheel. The car drifted toward the center line. A delivery truck honked. I snapped back into my lane.

The bond dragged at me harder the closer I got to Harlow. It had been a thread before. Now it was a hook through my ribs, pulling with every breath. My mark burned under the mask.

She was still on the screen. Still pretending she hadn’t engineered my complete psychological collapse with a camera.