I walk into Ronan's New York penthouse and have to pick my jaw up off the floor. It's stunning. Clean, white marble, a spiral stairwell that leads to an upper level. The huge living space is surrounded by floor to ceiling windows giving with a perfect view of Central Park and the massive skyscrapers reaching to the sky behind it.

I press my palm to the glass as I take in the beautiful city. The heaving, choked sobs of a child pull me from my admiration and I frown, turning in the direction of the awful sound. One of Ronan's men descends the stairs with a small girl thrown over his shoulder. He reaches the bottom step and puts the child down, stepping away as though she burned him.

She can be no older than four with a head of dark ringlets sticking up in every direction. She sniffs, rubbing her little fists in her eyes.

“Don’t cry, pequeno,” I say softly. She lowers her hands and glances at me shyly. I walk toward her and drop to a crouch. “What’s your name?”

“Rosie,” she says through tears.

“Hi Rosie. I’m Camilla.” I swipe my thumbs beneath her eyes, wiping away her tears. I know why Ronan has her. I’ve ordered children taken and even killed for their parent’s sins, but it’s not something I relish. I would never admit it, but children are somewhat of a weakness for me. Perhaps that’s why I so easily order them used when needed. I’m aware of my weakness and therefore I over compensate.

“I want my mommy,” Rosie says, hiccupping on a sob.

“Ah, pequeno, you’ll be back with her soon. I promise I’ll look after you until then.” I smile at her and she rushes to me, throwing herself into my arms. I hold her close and stand up, turning right into Ronan. He lifts a brow, his gaze dropping to the child before lifting back to my face. Her small arms clutch at my neck, fingers fisting my hair.

“We need to get you something to eat,” I say, brushing past Ronan. I set Rosie on a stool at the breakfast bar and make her some toast. She watches my every move. When Boris walks in, the girl audibly whimpers and I turn on him. "Out!" I snap.

His eyes go wide and he hesitates for a second before I lift a brow, sending him scampering from the room. I place the toast in front of her and she takes a small bite before her eyes fill with tears again. I need something to distract her with. I rummage through the drawers until I find a piece of paper and a pen. "Rosie, why don't you draw me a picture of a mermaid?" I push the pen and paper towards her and bend over the breakfast bar, bracing my folded arms on the top. She takes the pen and starts drawing, quietly scribbling away.

I spend the rest of the evening watching Rosie until she starts to yawn, rubbing at her eyes. Scooping her up from the sofa, I carry her into one of the spare bedrooms. The enormous double bed swallows up her tiny frame and she stares up at me with wide eyes. "Don't leave me," she says.

I smile. "I won't."

"Daddy tells me a story at bed time."

This is pushing it, but she looks at me with so much innocence. "Okay. Once upon a time, there was a princess called Rosie..."

I jolt awake when fingers brush my cheek. Blinking my eyes open, I look at the shadowy figure bearing over me. The dim glow of the New York City lights play over the angles of Ronan's face.

"Krasivaya." His rough voice makes me shiver as I push up from the chair. I crack my neck from side to side, trying to get rid of some of the stiffness.

"What time is it?" I groan.

"Eleven."

I glance at Rosie, starfished in the massive bed. How can someone so small take up so much space?

He offers his hand and I take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. "Did I miss anything?" I ask.

"No."

Ah, Ronan Cole. A man of so very few words. I glance at the child again. "I should probably stay in here with her."

A deep wrinkle sets between his brows. "Stay with the child? Why would you?"

I roll my eyes. "Because she's scared and your men are brutes." He stares blankly at me as though he can't comprehend why I would be worried about a child. "She's. A. Child, Ronan," I say slowly, shaking my head. I don't know why I bother. "Go to bed," I say against his lips. He threads his fingers through mine and pulls me toward the door. "Ronan," I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. "What is wrong with you?"

"There is nothing wrong with me," he says, studying me as though I've grown an extra head. "You’re the one who is acting odd. Watching a child..." He tugs for me to follow, but I don't move. "Very well, I'll have one of the guards watch her."

"The guards will scare her." I sigh in exasperation.

"It is either a guard she wakes up to or alone. You sleep in my bed, little kitty. Nowhere else."

I inhale a deep breath. There are some arguments that are not worth having with Ronan. I might love him and he might love me, but Ronan Cole is lacking in basic humanity. I will not win this fight.

"Okay, but they have to wake me as soon as she wakes."

"Very well." He pulls me from the room, instructing one of his men to keep watch over the child.

As soon as the bedroom door closes, he spins and presses me up against it. His lips crash over mine, a violent storm on a warm summer’s evening. He tastes of sin and pleasure and everything I want and crave.

His fingers fist my hair, yanking my head to the side before his lips meet my neck. I tremble in his hold as he touches me like a man starved, pulling me away from the door and backing me towards the bed. My legs bump against the mattress and he spins me, pressing his hand between my shoulder blades until I'm bent over the bed. My breath hitches when he yanks my dress up, and drags my underwear down. Fingers trail along the inside of my thigh and he kicks my legs apart before sinking two fingers deep inside me. A choked moan slips past my lips and he laughs.

"Ah, always so wet for me."

His fingers move in and out leisurely, but it's not what I crave from him. I want his brutality. "Ronan, harder," I demand.

His hand shifts and I still when I feel his thumb push against my ass. "Careful what you wish for."

I bite my lip, trembling with need. His fingers thrust in deep once more and his thumb pushes into my ass with a sting. In seconds, I'm coming, breaking apart around his clever fingers and crying out his name.

He pulls away from me and my head falls forward as I hear the clink of his belt buckle and the rustle of clothing. "Get on the bed." I shift onto the bed on my hands and knees and he settles behind me. He spits on my ass and I almost groan at how dirty it is. His cock nudges against me, promising such filthy things. I want to roll in squalor with him.

"I want you to give me your ass, little kitty," he says.

Relaxing, I push back against him, relishing in the low hiss that slips between his lips as he slides inside me. I'm so full, utterly owned by him in this moment, and then he starts to move, fucking me mercilessly as my fingers fist the sheets beneath me. His hand dips between my legs, his fingers sliding across my clit, stroking and teasing until my body feels like a ticking bomb just waiting to go off.

"Squeeze me," he says before he slaps my ass. I tense around him and he groans. "Tighter, little kitty." He fists my hair, yanking my head back before slamming his lips over mine in a brutal kiss. He buries himself so deep inside of me, and I explode around him, my vision dotting as every muscle in my body clenches tight. His movements becoming stiff and jolted, a groan rumbling from his chest. My limbs give out and I collapse face down on the bed.

I am so very weak for him…