“You won’t be. Not for them.”
“But for you,” she says, revealing a spark of challenge, want, and a thread of fear.
“Yes,” I admit. “For me. When you say I can.”
We let that sit. She presses her fingers to the bandage, wincing, her face pale. I slide the pain pill over to her. “Take it. You need your head clear for the hospital.” She gives me a look, then swallows it with water, her mild reluctance surprisingly making my cock twitch.
I cup her face, my thumbs brushing her jaw, steadying her trembling breaths. Her eyes, wide and trusting, meet mine, and something cracks inside me, something unfamiliar and dangerous. I push it down.
“Breathe,” I murmur, my hands lingering until her pulse steadies, her body softening under my touch.
I step back, pulling my comm. “Orlov, private garage. Two SUVs. Clinic entrance cleared. ICU window three-thirty to five. Masks, gloves, alias band prepped.” She confirms moments later—route map sent, thirty minutes for prep. Done.
“You’ll be on your way soon,” I tell her, “but we still have time for one thing.”
Her brow lifts. “What’s that?”
I grin, dark and hungry. “Your punishment.”
CHAPTER 19
CASSANDRA
“My punishment?”
“You denied me just now,” he says, stepping close, his dark blue eyes pinning me. “That won’t do. You’re mine, if you recall.”
The words cut sharp, but there’s warmth in them too—an anchor, not just a chain. He’s right, and the truth ignites me, heat spreading low and fast. Still, the fear from last night lingers.
He doesn’t miss it. He never does.
“You’re shaken,” he says. “That doesn’t spare you, it just means I decide how far to push.”
He sits on the edge of the conference table and pulls me between his knees. His grip on my waist is firm, commanding. A sweep of his hand clears the tabletop, papers scattering everywhere.
His thighs cage mine, need taking over as the hard line of his cock strains against his trousers. His hand finds my bandaged arm, checking. “Still strong,” he says as his other hand slides to my thigh, squeezing, claiming. “Use your words,” he orders.
I swallow, pulse kicking. “I want your mouth,” I say, voice trembling, eyes locked on his, “on me, sir.”
He takes the red ribbon from my wrist and laces it around my wrists in back, tying a quick, comfortable knot. The silk bites softly, a reminder of my surrender, and I love it, heat pulsing with each tug. My chest juts out, rising and falling with each eager breath.
His lips crash into mine, kissing me slowly, deliberately, his tongue tracing mine, stealing my breath. His mouth moves to my throat, sucking lightly, then biting, marking me.
He stands up and turns me around, backing me against the table. He places his hands on my hips and lifts me up, pulling me to the edge and spreading my thighs wide. My skirt rides up, exposing my lace thong, already soaked, the scent of my arousal mingling with his musky cologne. His fingers trail my inner thighs, teasing the damp lace, and I moan, hips twitching, desperate for more.
He kneels, his breath scorching, the fabric a torturous barrier.
“Look at me,” he orders, and I obey, his dark eyes pinning me in place as he pulls the thong aside, exposing me. His tongue flicks my clit, my low moans sounding obscene in the quiet of the conference room.
He starts slow, his tongue flat and broad, lapping upward from my entrance, the pressure perfect. The heat of his mouth seeps in, a teasing warmth that has me gasping, my pussy lips tingling as he circles the edges, tracing the outline of my sex.
“Count,” he says.
I groan. Just like back in the secret room, he’s going to make me count down until release.
“One,” I gasp as he sucks lightly on my clit, drawing it into the wet heat of his mouth, his lips sealing around the bud, tugging gently until my hips buck against his grip.
He pauses, his breath a hot puff against my throbbing core, leaving me trembling, my pussy aching in the sudden absence.
