"The Feds raided one of our warehouses. They were looking for your car. And they connected the banker to the pharmaceutical company. They're building a case, and they're getting too close."
Her face goes pale as she closes the laptop and stands, pushing her sleeves up. "What does that have to do with me?"
"It has everything to do with you. You're supposed to be cleaning the records, making it impossible for them to trace the banker's work back to us. But they found connections. Old payroll logs. Transaction histories. Things you should have scrubbed."
I'm letting my frustration out and I shouldn’t be. I see what she's doing. I know who she is and what skills she has. It's not her fault. This is all Lombardi’s fault but he's not fucking here and I'm too upset and feeling out of control to remind myself of that or stop myself from lashing out at her. My temper is flaring.
Her eyes narrow. "I'm doing everything I can, Rafe. I'm not a professional hacker. I'm a bank teller who happens to know how to write some code. If the Feds are finding connections, it's because the banker left them there, not because I missed them."
"Then find them and fix them."
"I am finding them. But there are thousands of entries, and every time I dig deeper, I find more holes. Marco built this system to be impossible to untangle. It probably took him years, and you're asking me to do it in a matter of weeks. It's not realistic."
"I don't care if it's realistic. I care if it gets done."
She takes a step closer to me in her defiant way and I am ready to punch something. "Then maybe you should've hired someone who actually knows what they're doing instead of kidnapping a random woman and forcing her to clean up your mess."
God, I could smack her. I'm so angry, and I know I'm not angry with her. I just want so badly to make all of this chaos stop. When my temper flares like this, there's no stopping it, and she's just the person in front of me taking the brunt of it.
"Then let me go. If I'm such a burden, if I'm so useless, just let me go." Her finger pokes into my chest and I grab her wrist hard.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. You just won't."
I step forward, gritting my teeth, and she backs up until her shoulders hit the wall. I plant my hands on either side of her head, caging her in, and see the defiance in her eyes, the refusal to back down even though I tower over her.
"You don't get to talk to me that way," I growl at her, and I know where this is going. I need a release, a way for all this rage to vent and blow away before I make stupid choices.
"I will talk to you however I fucking want to. You're not my god." Riley's shouting now, staring up at me with her eyes burning with fury.
Her chest is heaving, and I watch her tongue draw over her lips. This is how it always starts. It shouldn’t be, but it is. I get pissed. She gets mouthy. I get stiff as a board and she doesn't realize she’s turning me on.
"Are you as turned on as I am?" I ask as I stare down at her, and I see the flush creeping up her neck, the way her pupils have dilated.
Riley doesn't have to speak. The simple way she tilts her chin up, like she's expecting me to make the first move, is enough. I lower my mouth to hers and the contact is explosive, all the frustration and anger and tension pouring out in a single moment. Her hands come up to grip the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, and I press her harder against the wall, claiming her mouth with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.
She kisses me back with the same desperation, her fingers tangling in my hair, and I feel every ounce of the fight between us transform into something hotter I can't control.
My mouth devours hers while my hands tear the sweater over her head and fling it away. The bra snaps free next, lace ripping under impatient fingers, and her breasts spill into my palms. She arches hard, gasping into the kiss as I roll her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers until they ache.
“Get these off me,” I growl, already dragging my shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor. She shoves the fabric down my arms and attacks my belt next. My pants and boxers drop and she wraps her fist around my cock the second it’s free, stroking me roughly, like she owns my body.
I hook my fingers into her waistband and strip her leggings and panties down her thighs in one swift pull. She kicks them free, completely bare now, eyes blazing.
“Christ, you’re dripping down your thighs already,” I rasp, sliding my hand between her legs to find her soaked. Two fingers plunge inside and she clenches around them like she’s starving.
“Quit playing…" she pants, and her hand pulls me closer to her body until my cock feels the hollow of her thigh.
I press her harder against the wall, my length sliding along her moisture teasing her, coating myself in her wetness while she whimpers and rocks against me. My free hand grips her thigh, hitching her leg higher around my hip so every roll of my hips drags the head right over her clit.
“Feel how fucking hard you make me?” I groan against her mouth. “This is what your mouth does to me every goddamn time you mouth off to me."
She moans, fingers digging into my shoulders, trying to pull me closer. “Then stop torturing me and give it to me already.”
“Not yet,” I rasp, thrusting against her folds, slow and filthy. “First you’re gonna come just like this, soaked and begging on my cock.”
I keep her pinned to the wall, cock sliding back and forth through her slick folds, the head nudging her clit with every slow roll of my hips. She’s trembling already, thighs shaking around my waist, breath coming in sharp little gasps against my mouth.
