His fingers spasmed against me, all the layers of dress and tulle and crystal embellishments and underwear far too much for the raw contact I needed. He rubbed me through all the layers, rough and clumsy, making me gasp and buck. “Don’t block me again,” he growled.
I glanced over my shoulder as I pushed out a breath of a laugh, catching the dark look in his eyes. “Still mad about that, huh?”
“Furious,” he said, fingers tangling into my hair as he yanked my head back to kiss me. It was awkward and messy and electric. I tried to twist in his arms to kiss him better, but he kept his handlocked on my crotch, his arm a band of steel that kept me from moving away. His cock pulsed against my ass, needy and insistent.
As his fingers dug into my dress, his other hand fisting my hair, I began to realize there was something seriously wrong with me. I liked being twisted to the point of discomfort and held down so I had nowhere to run. I liked when he took control.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my fingers curling into the table.
His grip in my hair slackened slightly. “Same things as you, sweetheart.”
“We can’t.”
“Says who?”
“You’re my client. And you’re annoy—” I gasped as his palm gripped me hard, squeezing me with the kind of ownership that made me want to melt.
“Annoying?” he finished for me, amusement lacing his tone.
“Very. But nothing special. A run-of-the-mill control freak,” I said between breaths as his palm pressed where I needed friction the most. “Spotted it a mile away.”
His hum made heat spill through my middle, and then he grabbed my dress and bundled it up until his bare palm was against my thigh. “I think you enjoy being a brat, Deena.” When he said the word “brat,” Callum—Cal—slid his hand up and pressed it against my soaking-wet underwear. He probed at my entrance, rubbing the fabric against me, and my legs trembled. We groaned in unison.
He crowded me against the billiards table, hand pinning me in place, and dropped his voice while his lips brushed my ear. “How about just this once, sweetheart, you try being good?”
His heat and scent and presence were all that existed, but I fought my desire to submit fully to him. “Let me guess: all I have to do is exactly what you say?”
“Smart girl,” he rumbled, and the praise sent desire dancing through me. I wanted to be smart and good and perfect for him, just to hear him say those things to me, in that voice, until the end of my days.
And I hated myself for being so fucking predictable. Even after everything I’d done, all the independence I’d fought for, I was about to give it up for some guy who was blessed with an extra dose of charisma? I snarled at him, and he responded by spinning me around and kissing me hard and messy. His teeth scraped against my bottom lip while his fingers clawed at my dress. Distantly, I hoped the fabric wouldn’t wrinkle easily, because he took precisely zero care as he yanked it up and bundled it against my stomach.
I scrabbled at his clothing, tugging at the luxurious fabric of his shirt. This was so much more than I’d bargained for, but what had I expected? I knew the kind of man he was. Demanding. Commanding. Used to getting his way. I’d felt a shadow of that on the phone, when the sharpness of my orgasm had left me reeling.
The reality of him was always going to be a force to be reckoned with.
His fingers were unhesitating as they jerked the gusset of my drenched underwear aside. With no warning other than one soft grunt when his fingertips touched my arousal, Cal shoved two long, thick fingers inside me.
I gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, eyes widening to meet his.
I’d never seen this look on his face before. It was triumph and lust. Worship. Ownership.
He said only one word: “Ride.”
My hips moved, the friction and pressure of his hand so achingly perfect. He watched me through hooded eyes, chest heaving with every breath.
“Beautiful,” he said, and my hips jerked. He used his free hand to tilt my chin, brushing his lips against mine. “So gorgeous, love. Better than I imagined. Ride my hand and don’t stop until you shatter.”
I was flushed and out of control. I could do nothing but cling to him and do exactly as he said, my body no longer my own. I gripped his shoulders, little moans slipping through my lips on every breath.
“You want everyone to hear you?” he chided, his fingers sinking deeper, thumb circling my clit. “Want everyone to know you’re mine? Is that why you’re being so fucking loud, Deena? Or is it because you’ve been waiting for this moment for months?” He curled his fingers inside me, pulled them out, and added another.
I cried out, then buried my face against his neck. Cal wrapped his free arm around my shoulders, his hand cupping the back of my head, his other hand never stopping its torturous, beautiful service.
“Be quiet for me, beautiful,” he ordered softly. “Come on my fingers and don’t make a noise.”
“Annoying,” I grumbled against his throat, and Cal chuckled. The hand on my head softened as it held me against him. My legs trembled and twitched, and a climax shimmered in the distance.
“Been thinking about making you come since the moment you walked into my office and made a fool of me,” Cal said, his voice so low I had to strain to make out the words over the rushing of the blood in my ears.
