Chapter 45

I cling to him as he works me with his fingers. My breath stops and stutters in my chest as I get closer, closer, clo⁠—

“No, no. That’s not a good girl. I didn’t say you could come yet,” he scolds when I’m almost there. “I want you in my bed.”

He lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to his bedroom. The room is massive, dominated by a king-sized bed with dark sheets.

He lays me down carefully. But the gentleness doesn’t last. His eyes darken as he looks down at me, spread out on his bed.

“Take off your dress,” he commands.

With trembling fingers, I comply, pulling the fabric over my head and dropping it to the floor. My underwear follows, leaving me naked under his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he says, voice rough.

He undresses quickly, efficiently, revealing that body I can’t seem to get enough of. The scars. The tattoos. The evidence of a life I’ll never fully understand.

When he joins me on the bed, I open to him willingly, eagerly. There’s no hesitation now, no doubts. Just want. Need. Hunger.

“Condom,” I manage to gasp as he positions himself between my thighs.

He reaches for his nightstand, retrieving one and rolling it on. Then he’s pushing inside me, filling me completely.

I cry out at the intrusion, the stretch. It’s both pain and pleasure, too much and not enough.

“Did I say you could close your eyes?”

I wrench my eyes open, meeting his gaze. In this moment, with him inside me, I feel seen in a way I never have before. He watches me in a way that no one ever does.

As if he can’t look away.

As if I’m the center of his universe.

I know it’s an illusion. Tomorrow, he’ll go back to his world of power and politics and arranged marriages.

But tonight, in this bed, he’s mine.

I’ll take what I can get.

“Move,” I plead. “Please.”

He does, starting a rhythm that’s both punishing and perfect. His thrusts plow me into the mattress, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.

“Vince. Vincent. Please⁠—”

“Please what?”

“Make me come. I need— I need⁠—”

He slips a hand between us, finding my clit again. “Like this?”

“Yes! God, yes!”

It takes only a few circles of his thumb to send me over the edge. I shatter beneath him, his name torn from my throat as pleasure consumes me.

He’s right behind me. He erupts inside me and I clamp down as he empties himself, pulsing, shivering, snarling.

Afterward, he doesn’t immediately pull away. He stays inside me, his weight a welcome burden, his breath hot against my neck.

When he finally rolls to the side, he takes me with him, tucked me against his chest like he wants me to stay.

That’s the most dangerous part.

More dangerous than the gun in his desk. More dangerous than the men who tried to kill him. More dangerous than the Russian mafia and all its violence.

The way he holds me afterward—that’s what will kill me in the end.

“Stay tonight,” he says, his voice rumbling against my ear.

I should say no. There’s a sad, miserable apartment and a sad, miserable life waiting for me to step back into it. They both know I’m fooling myself by pretending I can fit into this grim and twisted fairy tale.

Instead, I nod against his chest.

“Just for tonight,” I warn.

I’m lying to myself as much as to him.

Because I know I’ll be back tomorrow night. And the night after that. Even as I tell myself it’s just physical. Just an addiction I need to work out of my system. Even as I promise myself not to fall for a man who belongs to a world I’ll never be part of.

Even as I whisper in the darkness of my own mind: It’s just sex. It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t you dare fall in love.

… Oops.

32

ROWAN

We’ve fallen into a pattern.

A dangerous, addictive, catastrophically beautiful pattern.

I tell myself every morning that it needs to stop. I can’t keep doing this. This way lies heartbreak and misery—and, yes, more orgasms than my body can handle—but it’s mostly bad stuff otherwise!

Then night falls. And all my resolve crumbles.

“Focus, Rowan,” Vince’s voice cuts through my thoughts as I sit across from his desk, supposedly taking notes on the firm’s upcoming Hong Kong merger.

“This is me, focusing.”

“Is it? You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“Are you?” He stands, circling his desk and coming to stand in front of me. “Because you’ve been staring at my mouth for the past five minutes.”

My breath catches. “We’re at work, Vince.”

“I’m aware.” His eyes go molten. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Vince, someone could walk in⁠—”

“The door is locked. And no one would dare.” He leans closer, mouth inches away from mine. “Were you thinking about the same thing as me? Because I was thinking about last night, when I bent you over the kitchen counter and fucked you so hard you couldn’t speak.”

Just his words send heat flooding between my legs. “I…”

“Or maybe not. I thought perhaps you were still reminiscing about when I pushed you to your knees and came in your mouth.”

“It… That…”

He taps a finger against my lips like a metronome. “Was it the car ride that’s got you so out of sorts? Honestly, two little fingers shouldn’t be enough to throw such a gear in the works.”

“Y… You…”

His grin is wicked, vicious, un-fucking-deniable. “Ah, I know what it is. It’s that you want more.”

The grin disappears. He’s violently present all of the sudden. Every single scrap of his attention is focused on me and me alone. On ripping the answers he wants out of my throat.

“Say it, Rowan. Say you want more.”

I swallow. I never really had a chance here, did I?

“Yes,” I whisper. “I want more.”

His smile is victorious as he reaches for the hem of my skirt. “Stand up.”

I obey without hesitation. We both know I’m powerless to refuse him anything at this point.

“Turn around,” he commands. “Hands on the desk.”

I feel him lift my skirt, his fingers sliding beneath the waistband of my panties to tug them down. They catch around my ankles, trapping me.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, his palm gliding over the curve of my ass. “Such a good girl, always so ready for me.”

I hear his zipper. The crinkle of a condom wrapper.

“We shouldn’t,” I protest weakly, even as I widen my stance in invitation. “Diane could call. Someone could need you.”

“Everyone knows not to disturb me when I’m in meetings with my executive assistant.” His fingers find me, testing how wet I am. “And you’re very, very wet, Ms. St. Clair.”

I bite my lip to stifle a moan as he positions himself behind me.

“Tell me what you need,” he orders.

His voice has that rough edge, the one that makes my insides melt. I can barely think straight with him pressed against me like this.

“You,” I whisper, arching back. “God, Vince, I need you.”

“Not good enough.” He holds back, teasing, tormenting. “Be specific.”

The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Every brush of him against my entrance sends sparks shooting up my spine.

“Please,” I whimper. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He pushes inside me with one powerful thrust, and I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out.