“Anyway,” Grant continues, oblivious. “The clientis willing to triple your retainer if you can get the newspaper to kill the op-ed.”
Suddenly, the air in the room shifts. I didn’t hear him move or get up, but suddenly, a warm, broad hand slides onto my bare thigh under the table.
I nearly leap out of my skin. My breath hitches, catching in the back of my throat.
“Madi? You still there?” Grant asks.
“I’m… I’m good,” I choke out, gripping the edge of the table. “Busy here. Just… technical difficulties. Continue, Grant. I’m listening.”
Beckett’s hand is a brand. His fingers are moving upward with terrifying intent. He’s not looking at the paper anymore. He’s looking at me, his eyes dark, possessive, and entirely unbothered by the fact that I’m currently advising on a multi-million dollar crisis.
He slides his hand higher, his palm grazing the damp heat between my legs. I’m already wet, a treacherous reaction to the way he’s claiming me while I’m supposed to be the one in control.
“I’ve got some confidential files to open here,” I say to the camera, my voice trembling just enough that I have to cough to cover it. “I’m turning my camera off, but keep talking. I’m listening to every word.”
I click the camera icon. Total darkness. I hit the mute button for a heartbeat.
“Madi?” Beckett asks.
He doesn’t wait for an answer before he slides two fingers inside me.
I gasp, my head hitting the back of the chair. “We dated… very briefly,” I whisper-hiss, my heart hammering against my ribs.
He thrusts his fingers deep, his thumb finding my clit with precision. “And he calls you Madi? Whenyou’re working?”
He sees it. He sees the disrespect I’ve been swallowing for years in this male-dominated shark tank. He isn’t just jealous; he’s offended on my behalf. And his way of correcting it is to make sure I can’t think of anything but him.
“Beckett, I have to—”
“Turn the mic back on,” he commands.
My eyes widen. “Are you insane?”
“Turn it on. Let them talk. I want to hear how important you are while I do this.”
He moves his fingers again, a slow, torturous rhythm. I click the mute button off.
“—so if we can just get a statement by ten,” Grant is saying. “What do you think, Madi? About the timing? We need to know if you’re on board.”
Think? I can’t even remember my middle name. Beckett is relentless. He grabs my left leg, hoisting it up so my foot rests on his knee, spreading me wide for him. He’s looking at me with such raw, territorial heat, I feel like I’m melting into the chair.
“The timing…” I start, then swallow a moan as he circles his thumb. I grip the armrest so hard my knuckles turn white. “The timing is… critical. If we…ah… if we wait too long, we lose the lead.”
“Exactly,” Grant says.
Beckett thrusts harder, his fingers hitting a spot that makes my toes curl. Every time Grant calls me Madi, Beckett lays claim to another inch of me. It’s not a punishment; it’s a branding.
“You okay? You sound out of breath,” another voice asks.
“Fine,” I lie, my voice strained. “I think I’m coming down with something. Don’t stop… talking.”
Beckett’s smirk is lethal. He’s working me into a frenzy, his eyes never leaving mine. I’m vibrating, the pleasure building into a sharp, tight knot that’s seconds away from snapping.
“We need a face-to-face,” Grant says. “Can we meet tomorrow, Madison?”
The use of my full name—ironically because he’s annoyed I’m being “difficult”—hits me right as I reach the edge.
“Yes,” I gasp, my eyes fluttering shut. “I’m coming.”
