LUCIEN
The reportson Romero sit open on my desk, page after page of activity that shouldn’t exist. Shipments rerouted through docks I don’t control, shell companies being set up, cash flowing into hands I thought I’d severed years ago. Anthony’s notes are precise, clinical — but I can read between the lines. Romero is trouble and I need to be rid of him.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my jaw, trying to will the knot in my chest to loosen. It doesn’t. Because every time I picture him building his empire back up, I picture Briar in the middle of it.
It’s been days since she was attacked, and though the bruises have all but faded, I haven’t stopped seeing them. I haven’t stopped hearing her voice on the phone that night, shaky and tight, trying to sound braver than she was. I’ve kept her close since then. Closer than I should.
She’s been back at work two days now, moving slower than she wants to, stubborn as hell about pretending she’s fine. I’ve watched her all morning from my office, pretending I’m reading contracts while every nerve I have is tuned to her — the quiet shuffle of her papers, the soft timbre of her voice when sheanswers the phone, the way she keeps brushing her hair behind her ear when it falls forward.
I can’t concentrate on anything else.
Before I think better of it, I call out, “Miss Locke.” My voice shaper than I wanted it to be. “Come in here.”
I see her look up, a slight frown touching her forehead before she rises and walks toward my office. She’s wearing a simple navy dress today, cinched at the waist, and the sight of her sends a thrum of heat through me I’ve been trying to ignore for hours.
She steps inside, notebook in hand like she expects me to ask for notations. “Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Close the door,” I murmur.
She hesitates, before she does what I order. The soft click echoes louder than it should, making the room feel smaller somehow. I stand, rounding the desk slowly, watching her the way a predator watches prey. Her gaze tracks me, amusement lighting her eyes, but she doesn’t back away. She never backs away.
“Lucien,” she starts carefully, her voice low, “is there something you want?”
“Yeah.” I stop in front of her. “You.”
Her breath catches, the faintest sound, and before I can think better of it, I cup her jaw, tilting her face up toward mine. Her skin is warm under my palm, soft and impossibly smooth. The heated look in her eyes makes me want her with a fire that can’t be doused.
I lower my head and kiss her. It’s not careful, not controlled. It’s everything I’ve been holding back since our shower together, every restless night, every time I’ve told myself to leave her the fuck alone, that she was injured and needed to rest — all of it crashing into this single, desperate moment.
She melts into me, her lips parting under mine. I clasp her hip, anchoring her against me. Her hands rise until they rest onmy chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like she can’t help herself either.
I deepen the kiss, tasting her, needing more than I should want, and she leans back slightly against the edge of my desk, letting me step closer.
My body cages hers in, my breath uneven as her hands slide up to my shoulders, pulling me close. I press between her knees, grind my cock against her hot core, savoring her soft gasps between breaths.
“Lucien.” Her words are full of need and desperation and the sound of it wrecks me.
Her hand drifts between us, brushing against the hard line of my cock through my pants. I hiss out a sharp breath, my forehead resting against hers. “Briar,” I warn, my voice strained. My need tangling with where we are. We’re in my office, anyone could walk in, and yet in truth, I don’t give a fuck. She doesn’t heed my warning and strokes my cock, and any restraint I had unravels.
“What?” Her voice is a Siren’s call I can’t deny. “It’s been days and I’m feeling much better.”
Before I can stop her, she slips out from under my grasp, smooth as sin, and spins me so my back hits the desk. I blink, still catching up, when she drops to her knees in front of me.
Fuck.
I drag in a steadying breath, but it’s useless. Blood pumps hard and fast through my veins, each beat pounding in my ears. Her eyes lift, locking on mine, and my cock responds instantly, hardening at the teasing glint dancing there.
Without a word, she unfastens my belt, nimble fingers popping open the button, then slowly unzips my pants. My dick springs free, thick and heavy, and I watch, captivated, as she licks her lips — a gesture so damn filthy it sends heat knifing up my spine.
“Not here,” I warn, but the words are hollow. Bastard that I am, I don’t pull her up or even attempt to stop her. I’ve wanted this — dreamed of this — for weeks. Her pretty lips wrapped around my cock, her tongue teasing the head, driving me insane.
There’s no way in hell I’m stopping her now.
Her warm hands close around me, guiding me straight into her mouth. Christ. The sight of her on her knees, wanting to please me, is one I’ll never forget. I lean back against the desk, bracing myself, and reach behind her neck, sliding my hand into her soft hair as I urge her to take me deeper.
My cock hits the back of her throat and a low moan rips from me. My balls draw tight, an ache building low and fast in my gut. I’m not going to last long.
“That’s it. Suck it good.”
