“Change of plans.” I stepped into his office and closed the door behind me.
That’s when he saw the cut.
He went completely still, his eyes moving from my face to the leather across my shoulders and back again. “Indira...”
“I made my choice,” I said simply.
He stood slowly, like he was afraid sudden movement might make me disappear. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I moved closer to his new desk. “I’m sure about you, about us, about what we’re building together. Even knowing everything I know now.”
“You chose the new one.” His voice was rough with emotion.
“I chose the man you’ve become.”
He came around the desk and stopped just inches away, his hands hovering near my shoulders like he was afraid to touch me. “May I...?”
“You may.”
His fingers traced the edges of the cut with reverence. “You look incredible. Like you were always meant to wear my cut.”
“Your cut, my choice,” I said. “That’s what makes us work.”
“Everything’s different this time.” He cupped my face in his hands. “I love you, Indira. More than I thought it was possible to love someone.”
“I love you too.” I glanced at the desk, then back at him. “I want you to fuck me on this desk.”
He blinked, clearly not expecting that particular declaration. “What?”
“This desk.” I moved past him and placed my hands on the surface. “The first real memory I want in your new office. In your new life. Something that belongs to us.”
Something shifted in his expression—hunger replacing tenderness, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “Indira...”
“I want you to fuck me on this desk.” I started unbuttoning my blouse. “Our fresh start deserves a proper christening, don’t you think?”
He moved toward me like a man in a trance. “Are you sure?”
“I’m wearing your cut, aren’t I?”
He crossed to the door in two strides and locked it. The click echoed in the silence.
“The door,” I said softly, remembering what I’d thrown in Crystal’s face.He didn’t even bother to lock it.
“No one sees you but me.” His voice was rough as he came back to me. “Ever.”
Then his mouth crashed down on mine, desperate and hungry. I kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring a year’s worth of separation and rebuilding and hope into the connection between us.
His hands found my waist, pulling me against him as the kiss deepened. I breathed him in—sandalwood and leather and something underneath that was justhim, familiar and intoxicating. I could feel him hard against my stomach, feel the tension in his body as he held himself in check. Waiting for my lead. Letting me set the pace.
I finished unbuttoning my blouse and let it fall open, revealing the black lace bra I’d worn underneath. His breath caught.
“Jesus, Indira.” His voice was reverent as his eyes traveled over me. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He traced his fingers along the edge of the lace, barely touching, making my skin prickle with anticipation. Then he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to the curve of my breast, his tongue tracing the same path his fingers had taken.
I gasped, my hands finding his hair, pulling him closer. It had been so long—months of wanting him, of remembering how good we’d been together, of denying myself this because I wasn’t ready to be this vulnerable again.
But I was ready now. More than ready.
