"Yes." It costs me everything to say it, my body screaming in protest. "But you won't."
"No," she admits, a confession dragged out of her soul. "I won't."
I don't wait another second.
I stand up, my height forcing her to crane her neck back as I fist her dark hair. I fist the hem of that restrictive emerald skirt, the fabric groaning as I hike it up to her waist to get to her skin. I slide my hands under her ass, the silk of her stockings slick against my palms before I hoist her up.
She doesn't fight it, her legs locking around my waist and exposing her pussy, the lace of her panties soaked through with the thick, sweet cream of her arousal. I don’t kiss her; I possess her. My mouth crushes hers, my tongue forcing its way past her teeth to fucking devour her.
She tastes like coffee and desperate, high-strung need.
Her lips yield instantly under the pressure of mine. I sweep inside, claiming her mouth with a thoroughness that borders on devotion. I taste every corner, every inch of her, my tongue tangling with hers in a wet, slick dance.
She makes a high, keening noise and melts against me, her body losing all its structural integrity. If I wasn’t holding her, she’d be on the floor. Her arms wrap around my neck, her fingers digging into my hair, pulling me closer, harder.
This kiss is pure possession.
I carry her across the two feet of cramped floor, pinning her against the wood-paneled wall. The scattered pistol parts on the desk rattle behind us as I crush my weight into her. The impact knocks a calendar off its hook, but neither of us cares.
I grind my hips against hers, letting her feel exactly how hard I am, how desperate I am for her. I can feel her pussy—drenched and throbbing—grinding through my jeans, the friction of her soaked lace hitting the head of my cock with every frantic breath she takes. She is ruining that expensive wool skirt, staining it with the evidence of how much she wants me to fill her to the brim.
I break the kiss to breathe, pressing my forehead against hers. We’re both panting, the air in the small room thick and humid. Her eyes look dazed, her lips red and swollen, slick with my saliva. She looks thoroughly wrecked.
"Still think this is fake?" I rasp, my voice rough and wrecked.
She stares at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly against mine. She licks her lips, tasting me, and the sight makes my vision swim with red.
"No," she whispers, her voice trembling. "That was… very real."
"Yeah." I press a hard, quick kiss to her jaw, then another to the corner of her mouth. "And we’re just getting started."
"You have no idea what you’ve walked into, Counselor," I mutter, biting gently at her lower lip, soothing the abuse I just inflicted. "You think you can handle me? You think you can control this with a contract?"
She quivers, her hands sliding down from my neck to rest on my chest, right over my heart. "I think… I think the contract is void."
"The contract is just paper," I agree. "This? This is blood."
I run my hand up her thigh, sliding my fingers under the hem of her skirt. She gasps, her muscles clenching, but she doesn't stop me. My fingers brush against the silk of her stockings, finding the strip of bare skin above them. Soft. So incredibly soft.
"Please," she whispers, though I don’t know if she’s begging me to stop or begging me to touch her.
"Please what?" I challenge, my thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. "Use your words, Counselor."
"Please… kiss me again."
The plea gut-punches me. The vulnerability in her eyes strips away the last of my defenses. I growl, burying my hand in her hair again, and crush my mouth to hers. This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, a rhythmic fucking of her mouth that promises exactly what I’m going to do to the rest of her body as soon as I get her alone for more than five minutes.
We’re interrupted by the sound of someone pounding on the metal door of the office.
"Chase!" It’s Austin. "Store’s full of customers, man. Unless you’re killing her in there, get your ass out here."
We freeze. The reality of the world outside the room comes crashing back in. The Outfitters. The permit battle. The town council. The fact that she is technically the enemy.
I pull back slowly, resting my forehead against hers one last time. "Don't move."
I let her legs slide down my waist until her heels touch the floor. She wobbles, grabbing my arms for support. She looks devastating. Her hair is a wild halo around her face, her blouse is untucked and wrinkled, her lips are ravaged.
If she walks out there like this, everyone will know.
