I hear the sound of a drawer opening, closing. Then his hands are at my hips, tugging the pajama bottoms down along with my underwear until they pool around my ankles. The cool air of the office touches my heated skin, making me hyper-aware of how exposed I am, bent over his desk with him standing behind me.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, one hand tracing the curve of my bottom, down to where I'm wet and ready for him. "So perfect."
His finger slides inside me, testing, preparing, and I moan at the invasion, my hips pushing back instinctively to take him deeper.
"So eager," he says, satisfaction heavy in his voice. "So ready for me."
"Yes," I gasp as he adds a second finger, stretching me in a way that burns but also satisfies some deep, primal need. "Please, Sutton."
"Not yet," he says, understanding what I'm asking for. "Not today. Today I'm going to make you come like this, with my fingers inside you, my body over yours." His free hand slides around to find my breast, pinching the nipple in time with the thrusts of his fingers. "And then I'm going to spill myself on this perfect ass, marking you as mine in the most primitive way possible."
His words, crude yet somehow poetic, send a fresh flood of arousal through me. I shouldn't want this—shouldn't want to be claimed so completely, so possessively. But I do. God help me, I do.
"Mine," he growls, his fingers finding that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. "No one else will ever have you like this. No one else will ever make you feel like this."
"No one," I agree, gasping as his thumb circles my clit in counterpoint to the thrust of his fingers. "Only you, Sutton. Only ever you."
His rhythm increases, driving me higher and higher toward that peak of pleasure. I can feel his control slipping, his breathing harsh against my ear as he drapes his body over mine, pinning me to the desk with his weight.
"Come for me," he demands, his voice rough with his own need. "Let me feel you come apart around my fingers."
And I do, the orgasm crashing over me with an intensity that leaves me crying out his name, my inner muscles clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure courses through me.
He works me through it, murmuring praise and endearments against my neck, only withdrawing his fingers when the last tremor subsides. Then I feel it—his own release hot against my skin, marking me just as he promised.
We stay like that for a long moment, his body covering mine, both of us breathing hard, coming down from the heights of pleasure. Finally, he straightens, helps me turn over, pulls me into his arms.
"Mine," he murmurs against my hair, his arms tight around me as if afraid I might disappear. "All mine."
And as I lean into his embrace, surrounded by his strength and his scent and the evidence of his desire for me, I realize that I want to be his. Completely, irrevocably his. Not because of gratitude for what he's done to Raymond, not because of the safety he provides, but because something in me recognizes something in him—a matching piece I didn't know I was missing until now.
eight
. . .
I standin the doorway of Sutton's home office, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. It's been two days since he destroyed Raymond's life on national television, two days of heated touches and whispered promises that left me aching for more. Tonight, I want everything. Every part of him. Every inch of what he's been holding back since he found me in the rain. My body thrums with a need I've never felt before—not just desire, but a desperate, clawing hunger to be completely possessed by this man who has claimed me in every way except the one that matters most.
He sits behind his massive desk, the blue light of his computer screen casting shadows across the sharp planes of his face. He hasn't noticed me yet, or at least pretends not to, though I'm certain he knows I'm here. Sutton always knows where I am, as if some invisible tether connects us across any distance.
I take a deep breath, gathering courage I didn't know I possessed until I met him. Until he showed me what it means to be wanted, to be protected, to be cherished. The silk nightgown I'm wearing—another of his gifts—whispers against my skin as I step into the room, the door clicking shut behind me.
That sound pulls his attention from the screen. His dark eyes find mine, and the intensity in them steals the breath from my lungs.
"Cecily," he says, my name a caress on his tongue. "It's late."
I nod, taking another step toward him. "I couldn't sleep."
His gaze travels down my body, lingering on the places where the silk clings to my curves, and heat floods my cheeks. I've never been looked at the way Sutton looks at me—like I'm something precious and rare, something to be savored.
"What do you need?" he asks, his voice dropping to that register that makes my stomach tighten with anticipation.
I take another step, and another, until I'm standing directly in front of his desk. "You," I say simply, the word barely audible even to my own ears. "I want you, Sutton. All of you."
He goes still, a predator scenting prey, his eyes never leaving mine. "You don't know what you're asking for," he says, but his voice shakes slightly, betraying the control he's fighting to maintain.
"I do." I move around the desk, eliminating the barrier between us, until I'm standing directly in front of his chair. "You've given me everything. Safety. Freedom. A future without fear." I reach out, my fingers trembling as they trace the hard line of his jaw. "Let me give you something in return."
His hand shoots up, capturing my wrist in a grip that's firm but gentle. "This isn't about reciprocation," he says, his eyes burning into mine. "This isn't a transaction, Cecily."
