I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, needing more of everything he's giving me. The desk creaks beneath us but I don't care. Let the whole house hear. Let them know that their boss is claiming his prisoner in ways that have nothing to do with money or debts or family obligations.
"Look at me," he commands when I let my eyes drift closed. "I want to see you."
I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze as he moves inside me. There's something fierce in his expression, something that looks dangerously like possession. Like he's claiming me in ways that go far beyond the physical.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it pushes me over the edge.
I come apart in his arms, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over me. He follows a moment later, burying his face in my neck as he finds his own release.
For a long moment, we stay like that—breathing hard, holding each other like we're afraid the other might disappear. The reality of what just happened settles around us like smoke, heavy and inescapable.
I'm pregnant with his child, and I still haven't told him.
I'm falling for my captor, and that's the most dangerous thing of all.
"Hannah," he says quietly, his voice rough.
"I know." I press my forehead against his shoulder, not ready to face whatever comes next. "I know this changes nothing."
But even as I say the words, I know they're not true. This changes everything.
I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek, steady and strong. "I'm still your prisoner."
"You're collateral."
"Same thing."
"No," he says, his arms tightening around me. "It's not the same thing at all."
I can't shake the feeling that everything has changed, whether I want to admit it or not.
The secret sits between us like a ticking bomb, growing more dangerous with each passing moment.
The thought terrifies me almost as much as the realization that part of me doesn't want to be anywhere else but here, in his arms, pretending that this impossible situation could somehow have a happy ending.
12
HANNAH
The silk blouse feels different against my skin as I pull it on. My lips are swollen from his kisses. I can feel the ghost of his hands on my body and the taste of him on my lips. He steps away, doing up his pants and putting physical distance between us while the emotional connection crackles like electricity in the air.
The moment of intimacy is over, and the questions that have been burning inside me for two weeks surge back to the surface.
"I need to understand," I say, pulling on my jeans with hands that aren't quite steady. "About my father. About his involvement with your family."
Dante looks down at his shirt and seems to remember I tore off the buttons. He shrugs it off, balls it up and tosses it into the trash.
My body immediately reacts to all that naked skin. Skin covered in a tapestry of tattoos. Skin I want to run my tongue across.He walks to a closet, opens the door and pulls out another shirt. Jealousy tears through me. Does the man often have afternoon rendezvous that require a fresh change of clothes?
I don’t care.
He’s not mine.
I watch as he puts on the shirt and starts to button it up. The passionate man from minutes ago has been replaced by the cold, calculating pakhan, though I can still see heat in his eyes when he looks at me.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything." I settle into the chair across from his desk, trying to project a confidence I don't feel.
