I try to hold his gaze, to summon the courtroom icy glare that has withered grown men, but the heat radiating off him melts my resolve. My body decides before my brain does. My pussy tightens with a heavy, liquid throb I can no longer ignore, my thong already soaked through from the ride up.
Chase reaches out, his calloused hand wrapping around the back of my neck. His grip is firm, possessive, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind my ear. "Liar. You do it all day. You fight, you argue, you uphold the law. You’re exhausted, Cassandra. I see it in the tension of your shoulders. I taste it on you."
He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. "You want someone else to take the wheel. You want to begood."
The air leaves my lungs.Good.When he says it, the word carries no moral judgment. It sounds like a command. A promise of total consumption.
"Chase," I whisper, unsure if I offer a warning or a plea.
"Tell me you don't want this, Cassandra," he murmurs, his other hand moving to my waist, pulling me flush against his hardness. The thick, heavy ridge of his cock presses through his denim, a stark, undeniable reality against my belly. "Look me in the eye and tell me you aren't already wet for me, and I'll let you walk. But we both know you're not going anywhere until I’ve had every inch of you."
I open my mouth to speak, to cite the conflict of interest, the precarious nature of our fake relationship, the insanity of sleeping with the enemy I am supposed to be regulating. But the words die in my throat. I lean into his touch, my body arching against him.
"I didn't think so," he growls.
He kisses me then. The display in the shop was a provocation. This is a hostile takeover. His mouth crushes mine, hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping inside to claim me with a thoroughness that curls my toes. No hesitation, no tentative exploration. He kisses me like he owns the air in my lungs.
I whimper, my hands bunching in his t-shirt, pulling him closer. Leather, heat, and unadulterated male power overwhelm my senses. The friction of his stubble against my chin is abrasive and perfect.
Chase lets out a low, vibrating growl and spins me around. He doesn't lead me to the rug. He shoves me toward the heavy oak table, his hands on my waist as he forces my chest down against the cool wood. I am bent double, my ass bared to him while the dying embers of the hearth cast his shadow over me like a shroud.
"Stay," he commands.
I freeze, hands gripping the edge of the table, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My spine arches, exposing the pale line of my throat to him while my hips are pinned, helpless and waiting. My rational mind screams at the submissive posture, but my blood sings.
The sound of a zipper tears through the quiet. The heavy thud of denim dropping follows.
"Chase..."
"Quiet," he says, his voice dropping an octave into pure, gravelly authority. "You talk too much, Counselor. Right now, you just need to feel."
He steps up behind me, his large frame encompassing mine. One hand splays flat on my lower back, holding me down against the unforgiving oak, grounding me. The other hand reaches around to the front of my skirt, bunching the fabric and hiking it high over my waist.
Cool mountain air hits my thighs for a split second before his warm, rough hand replaces it. He traces the line of my inner thigh, his fingers calloused and seeking. I tremble, head dropping forward.
"So drenched," he murmurs against my neck, biting lightly at the sensitive cord of muscle there. "God, your pussy is soaking through your panties. Were you thinking about this on the ride up? Thinking about my cock inside you while you held onto me?"
"I..." My voice breaks. "Yes."
"Fucking take it."
His dominance strikes hard, shattering the last of my resistance. My hips buck involuntarily against the table.
He doesn't bother sliding them off. He hooks his thumbs into the lace of my panties and snaps the waistband. The sound of the silk shredding echoes in the quiet cabin, a violent, raw declaration that he is done waiting. He tosses the ruined scraps to the floor and steps between my spread legs. There is no going back. The fake relationship, the town council, the zoning permits—it all dissolves. Only this room remains. This man, and the heat pooling between my legs.
Chase doesn't wait. He doesn't prepare me. He takes.
The broad, blunt head of his cock—angry, engorged, and weeping precum—presses against my clit before sliding down tothe opening of my pussy, stretching my soaked, needy flesh wide before he forces his way in.
He is massive, a thickpillarof hot muscle that claims every bit of me until I think I'll tear apart under his sheer size.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust; he just shoves forward, burying his full length into my wet heat until his balls slap against my skin.
I cry out, the sensation of being filled so completely bordering on pain before tipping into overwhelming pleasure. He is thick, stretching me wide, filling every empty space inside me until I feel full to bursting.
Once fully sheathed, he pauses, allowing my body to adjust to the intrusion. He leans over me, his chest pressing into my back, breath hot against my ear, pinning me hard against the wood.
"Mine," he growls. "You feel that? You’re wrapped around me so tight. My lawyer. My prize."
