That tongue should be a registered weapon. I press one hand to his chest. Not to push him away. To stay upright. "What was that?"
His gaze drops to my mouth. "Proof."
My brain tries to assemble an argument. It fails. His taste sits on my lip, warm and dark, and my body pulses around the memory of it. My panties cling wet to my skin. The office air brushes too cool against my throat. His hand still holds my waist, and every place he touches brands me inside.
I should leave. Every sane part of me lines up in neat little rows and presents the case. Boss. Prince. Secrets. Coffee plantations. Mate. Tongue.Extremely dangerous tongue.My omega listens politely, then reaches for him again like the argument bored her.
His head lowers.
I meet him halfway.
The second kiss ruins the first.
His tongue slips between my lips, and this time the heat does not strike once. It spreads. It melts over my tongue, sweet and sharp, a dark rush of coffee and rain hissing against hot concrete. My hands climb to his neck. His skin burns under my palms. His mouth moves over mine with fierce precision, wild, yet not careless, but close enough to show me the edge. My thighs tremble. His arm bands around my waist binding me. The hard line of his body meets mine, chest to breasts, thigh to thigh, and the thick ridge behind his trousers presses against my belly. A needy sound tears out of me. He swallows it, then gives it back with a low growl that pours straight between my legs.
The heat takes the room apart.
Desk. Window. Notebook. Brazil. Questions. All of it lives outside the circle of his arms. His tongue strokes mine again, and slick dampens me further until I ache from its scorch. I am kissing my boss. I am kissing a prince. I am kissing the one man in this building with a mouth that has made every moral argument in my head sit down and shut up. His hand slides up my back, fingers spread wide between my shoulder blades. He does not grab my ass. Does not shove my skirt up. Does not takemore than I give. Somehow that restraint makes the kiss filthier, because I can feel what he wants through every controlled breath.
I bite his lower lip.
He breaks.
A snarl roughens his breath, and then I am on the edge of his desk, teleported in an instant by his hands cupping my ass. His hips press between my knees. Papers shift under my thighs. The coffee beans in the bowl rattle again, and this time I laugh into his mouth because it’s either laugh or beg. He kisses the laugh out of me.
His tongue strokes deeper, and my body answers with another slick, aching pulse. I grip his shoulders and surrender to it, to him, to the hot, impossible drag of his mouth and the gold flame of his eyes when he pulls back just enough to look at me.
"Beatrice," he says.
My name is a warning. A plea. A line drawn with shaking hands.
I should say stop.
I should climb off his desk and retrieve whatever dignity I have left.
I don’t. Instead, I pull him back down by his collar and open my mouth for more. I want more.Dear God,so much more.
Chapter 4
Sky
The kiss consumes me. Her mouth opens under mine, yielding and demanding at once, and the taste of her—vanilla, heat, and the bright electricity my body already registers as mine—sends a pulse of need through me so sharp I have to break away or climax against her like a teen. I press my forehead to hers, breathing hard, my ears rotating to track every sound in the room: her breath, her heartbeat, the ventilation system, the elevator chiming below, the blood moving through her throat where my mouth already wants to mark.
"Not here." The words scrape out of me. Her fingers twist in my shirt. "Anyone could—"
"I know,” she says. “But, oh God, I don’t care.”
The desperation in her voice nearly destroys the last civilized part of me. I catch her wrists, gentle but firm, her pulse racing against my thumbs, her temp is elevated but not feverish. Triumph tears through me. She wants this.Wants me. Despite the danger. Despite the power imbalance. Despite every reason a rational woman should run from a Layn Alpha already half-mad with mate sickness.
"I will not claim you on a desk where any employee could walk in and find you exposed and vulnerable. I don’t know who you were with before, but nobody gets to see you like–"
“No one.” She cuts me off before she looks away and back again. “No one has seen me like this. Shit, I’ve never seen me like this. Truthfully, it’s kind of scary.”
“No,” I say. Far louder than necessary. “You don’t have to be afraid.” I force my voice to normal levels. “Never. You’re mine. Mine to keep and protect.” I look around the office. “But not here.”
Her eyes widen, dark and bright. "Then where?"
I answer by lifting her.
