I shifted my angle slightly, hitting deeper, and reached down to replace her fingers with mine.
"Come for me," I demanded, circling her clit with firm pressure. "Let go, little fox. Let me see you fall apart."
The endearment seemed to trigger something in her. She cried out my name, back arching off the desk as her climax claimed her, inner walls clamping down on my cock in rhythmicpulses that threatened to drag me over with her. I fought it, determined to watch every second of her pleasure.
Her eyes flew open in the midst of her release, locking with mine with an expression of wonder and surrender. The raw vulnerability in that gaze, the complete abandon, the trust implicit in letting me see her like this—it shattered my last vestiges of control.
I thrust once more, hard and deep, burying myself to the hilt as my orgasm tore through me.
I came with a guttural groan, emptying myself inside her in hot pulses, marking her in the most primal way possible.
Mine, some ancient part of me insisted.
Mine, now.
For long moments, we remained joined, breathing ragged, bodies trembling with aftershocks. Her face was pressed into my neck, her arms still wrapped around me as if she couldn't bear to let go. I held her equally tight, something protective and fierce rising in me at her vulnerability.
"Third rule," I murmured against her hair, "no regrets."
She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against my chest.
"Is that for me, or you?"
A perceptive question.
One that made me pull back slightly to study her face, flushed with pleasure, eyes bright with satisfaction, and something more complex.
"Both, perhaps."
I helped her off the desk, steadying her when her legs trembled. The sight of her dress around her waist, hair tousled from my hands, lips swollen from my kisses, sent a fresh wave of possessiveness through me.
Mine, a primitive part of me insisted.
Not Miles's.
Not anyone's but mine.
The thought brought with it a sudden, sharp awareness of exactly what I'd done. What line I'd crossed.
I'd taken my son's ex-girlfriend on my office desk. Had claimed her in the most primitive way possible, marking her internally in a manner I'd never done with any other woman. Had broken every ethical boundary I'd established in my professional and personal life.
And I couldn't bring myself to regret it.
That was the most disturbing realization of all—not the act itself, but my complete lack of remorse.
The knowledge that I would do it again, would take her again, would claim her in every way possible if she allowed it.
She was watching me, those green eyes missing nothing.
"Having second thoughts already?" she asked, pulling her dress back into place with a composure that impressed me. "So much for rule three."
"Not second thoughts," I said, helping her with her zipper.
"Just... clarity."
"About?"
I considered deflecting, offering some platitude that would preserve my dignity, my image.
