"You don't own me, Roman. You don't get to control every aspect of my life just because we?—"
"Because we what?" I lean closer, my mouth inches from hers. "Because I've had you bent over my desk? Because you've screamed my name while I was inside you? Say it, Eva. Finish the sentence."
Her hands come up, pressing against my chest. For a moment I think she's going to push me away, but her fingers curl into my shirt instead, gripping the fabric. "You're impossible."
"I'm necessary." My hand slides up her arm, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. "You need my protection, whether you want to admit it or not. And you need this." I cup her face, my thumb tracing her lower lip. "You need me as much as I need you, and it terrifies you."
"I hate you." But even as she says it, her body betrays her. She leans into my touch, her lips parting slightly beneath my thumb.
"No, you don't." I let my gaze drop to her mouth, then lower, to where her blouse has come partially untucked from her skirt. I imagine ripping it open, watching buttons scatter across my office floor. I imagine cupping her breasts, feeling their weight in my palms, making her gasp. "You hate that you want me. You hate that I make you feel things you can't control."
I stare into her eyes. "But you don't hateme."
Eva shoves me, hard. I let her push me back a step, surprised by the force of it. "Don't tell me what I feel."
"I know you're attracted to me." I reach out, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I know you think about me as you remember how I felt inside you, how I made you come apart."
Eva's composure shatters completely. She shoves me again, harder this time, her hands against my chest. "You arrogant bastard! You think you can just?—"
I capture her wrists, pulling her against me. She struggles, fury and desire warring in her expression, and fuck, she's beautiful like this. Wild and uncontrolled, all that careful professionalism stripped away to reveal the passionate woman beneath.
Eva makes a sound that's half sob, half moan. "I hate you," she whispers again, but this time, there's no conviction in it.
"Prove it." I release her wrists, giving her the choice. "Walk away. Leave my office. Go back to your apartment and your normal life. I won't stop you."
For a long moment, we stand frozen, her brown eyes searching mine. I can see her weighing her options, calculating the cost of staying versus leaving. The air between us crackles with electricity, with weeks of suppressed desire and anger and fear.
Then Eva pulls me down into a desperate kiss.
Her mouth crashes against mine with bruising force, all teeth and tongue and hunger. I groan into her kiss, my hands sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her flush against me. She can feelhow hard I am, how much I want her, and she grinds against me with a moan that goes straight to my cock.
"Fuck," I mutter against her lips, my accent thick. "Eva?—"
"Shut up." She bites my lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Just shut up and touch me."
I don't need to be told twice. My hands slide up her sides, feeling the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts. I cup them through her blouse, and she arches into my touch with a gasp. Her nipples are hard beneath the fabric, begging to be touched.
Eva's hands are everywhere, pulling at my shirt, fumbling with my belt. There's nothing gentle about this, nothing tender. This is anger and desire and desperation all tangled together, two people who should stay apart but can't seem to stop touching each other.
I spin her around, pressing her against my desk. Papers scatter to the floor, but neither of us cares. My hands slide up her thighs beneath her skirt, and I discover she's wearing stockings. The feel of the silk against my palms makes me groan.
"Roman." My name on her lips is half plea, half demand.
I push her skirt up to her waist, revealing black lace panties that make my mouth water. I can see the damp spot on the fabric, evidence of how much she wants this despite her protests. My fingers hook into the waistband, and I pull them down slowly, watching them slide down her legs.
Eva kicks them aside and spreads her legs slightly, bracing herself against the desk. The sight of her like this, bent over my desk, ready for me, nearly undoes my control.
"Tell me you want this," I demand, my voice rough. "Tell me you want me."
She looks back over her shoulder, her brown eyes dark with desire. "I want you. God help me, I want you."
That's all the permission I need. I free myself from my pants, positioning myself at her entrance. She's so wet, so ready, and when I push inside her, we both groan at the sensation. She feels incredible, tight and hot and perfect.
I start moving, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. Eva pushes back against me, meeting each thrust, her moans filling my office. This isn't gentle lovemaking. This is claiming, possessing, two people channeling fury and fear and impossible desire into each other's bodies.
"Harder," Eva gasps, and I oblige, pounding into her with enough force to make the desk shake. My hand slides around to find her clit, and Eva cries out, her inner walls clenching around me. "Roman, I'm?—"
"Come for me," I command, my accent thick. "Let me feel you."
