“I don’t want to talk,” I said.My voice sounded steadier than my hands.“I don’t want comfort.I don’t want you to be patient.”
He was very still.The kind of stillness that reminded me of the dinner, of Dmitri and Viktor and the coordinated silence that made my instincts scream things I couldn’t name.
“I want you to help me forget today happened.”I stopped in front of his chair, close enough to touch, close enough to see the slight dilation of his pupils.“Can you do that?”
He studied me.The lamp light caught his face, and hunger moved in his expression.Dark.Barely held under iron control.When he spoke, his voice was low and rough.
“You came to my study already wet for me.”His nostrils flared, and something predatory sharpened his features.“I could smell you the moment you walked through the door.”
Heat flooded my face.Shame and arousal tangled together, my body’s betrayal called out for both of us to acknowledge.I should have been humiliated.Instead, my pussy clenched at his words.
“Yes,” he said.“I can do that.”
Nothing else.No questions.No hesitation.
I kissed him.
Hard.More teeth than tenderness, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him up from the chair.The anger came with it, the fury I had been choking on all day, at him, at the stalker, at my father, at everyone who had ever made me feel small and helpless and trapped.At my own treacherous body for craving the man who had ruined me.I poured it into the kiss like poison, and he drank it down without flinching.
He let me lead.His hands stayed at his sides, fingers curled loosely, until I grabbed them and put them where I wanted them, on my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise.He strained with the effort of holding himself back from taking whatever he wanted.He could have taken over at any moment.Could have flipped us, pressed me against the desk, done whatever he pleased.Instead he held himself in check and let me have the reins.
“You want me to be a good girl, Raphael?”I bit the words against his mouth.“You lost that right when you lied to me.”
The edge of the desk hit my back.“Harder,” I demanded.
He obeyed.
His hands hiked my skirt up around my waist, rough and efficient.Mine tore at his belt, his zipper, impatient and graceless.When he lifted me onto the desk, the wood cold against my bare thighs, I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him closer.When he pushed inside, I made a sound that was more anger than pleasure, and I didn’t care.
“You can hate me all you want,” he growled against my throat.“Your pussy tells a different story.”
It wasn’t tender.It wasn’t romantic.It was exactly what I had asked for, burning away the terror, feeling powerful instead of afraid, using his body to exorcise my own demons.
His mouth on my throat.My nails scoring down his back through his shirt.The desk shuddering under us with each thrust.I took everything he gave me and demanded more, and he gave me that too, matching my desperation with a patience that infuriated me because it meant he was still holding back.
“Your room,” I gasped when I needed more, when the desk wasn’t enough, when the angle was wrong and I wanted him deeper.“Now.”
He didn’t argue.Just lifted me like I weighed nothing, carried me through the hallway, kicked open the bedroom door.When he dropped me on the bed, I didn’t wait for him to set the pace.I shoved him onto his back and climbed on top, taking control, using his body the way Clara had told me to use everything else he had.
I rode him hard.Angry.Desperate.His hands gripped my hips but didn’t steer.He let me take, let me use, watched me with those dark eyes that saw too much.
“That’s it.”His voice was a low rasp, more animal than man.“Fuck yourself on my cock.Show me how much you want what you say you hate.”
“Fight all you want,” he growled, his voice barely human.“You’re still going to come for me.”
A sound rumbled from his chest, low and animal, vibrating through his ribs into my thighs.Not quite human.
I didn’t care.Didn’t want to examine it.Just wanted to burn.
My hands braced on his chest.His heartbeat steady and slow beneath my palms, slower than it should have been given what we were doing.His control showed in the way he held himself still when every line of his body said he wanted to move.
His name tore out of me when I came.Not soft.Sharp.Almost an accusation.I screamed his name and hated myself for it, hated my treacherous body for craving the man who had destroyed me.
And then he swelled inside me.
The sensation was impossible, unexpected, a pressure that locked us together and made pulling away unthinkable.Before I could process it, his hands clamped down on my hips and he surged up beneath me.
He wasn’t letting me set the pace anymore.
