I let my thumb trace the hollow of her throat, the bare skin where the chain should be. Her breath catches under my hand. Her pulse quickens under my thumb.
She’s here, and she’s looking at me like that. I’m done with patience.
I close my hand around her knee and pull. She slides along the desk until she’s directly in front of me, legs falling open on either side of my chair. I take her in from this angle. All of her, the line of her throat, the rise and fall of her chest, her eyes on mine from above. I reach up and hook my fingers into the waistband of her leggings. She lifts her hips without being asked, and I peel them down her legs and off, dropping them to the floor. Her underwear follows.
I pull her forward to the edge of the desk and she lets out a breathy gasp.
I run my tongue over her in one long, unhurried stroke, tasting her. She makes a sound above me and her hand goes to my hair. I do it again, slower, deeper, and her thighs shift apart, and her breath comes faster. I take my time here. Long, slow strokes, the tip of my tongue tracing her while she tilts her hips forward, trying to direct me where she wants me. I don’t go where she wants me. Not yet.
I circle her entrance and press inside just enough to feel her clench, then pull back, unhurried, and she makes a frustrated sound. Her grip in my hair turns sharp.
“Maximus.”
I run my tongue up and stop just short of her clit, and I hold there, not breathing, not moving.
Her hips rock forward in desperation.
I drag the flat of my tongue up over her clit slowly, full pressure, and seal my lips around it and suck.
“Oh.” It punches out of her. “Oh.”
I release and circle her clit with the tip of my tongue in tight passes. I know exactly what she needs, and I give her slightly less than that, building in increments. Her thighs press against my shoulders. Her free hand grips the edge of the desk. When her hips are moving steadily with me, I slide two fingers inside her and feel her clench hard around them, and I curl them forward while my tongue keeps its rhythm, steady and merciless, and I don’t stop.
“Maximus.” Her voice breaks on the second syllable. “Please.”
I increase the pressure and speed.
Her head drops back, her grip tight on the desk. Her whole body shaking.
She comes hard, hips rolling against my mouth, and it hits me like a live current. I guide her through it, hands spread on her thighs, and I stay there until the shaking eases. Then I soften my tongue and make one slow, easy pass over her, gentler than before, and feel her shiver with it. Her grip in my hair goes loose.
I press my mouth to the inside of her knee once. Then I pick her underwear up from the floor and slide them back up her legs. The leggings follow. I smooth them into place. I rest my forehead against her knee. Her hand moves from my hair to the back of my neck.
Her breathing changes. A hitch. Then another.
“Why did you do that?” Her voice is unsteady. “You’re angry with me. You left. You walked out the front door, and you didn’t come back for a full day. We haven’t even talked about it. And then you sit down and you…” She stops. Swallows. “Why?”
I lift my head.
She’s crying. Not the way she cried in the passage after the trigger broke, not the graceless kind she buried in my chest. This is quiet. Tears tracking down her face without sound, her jawlocked against the rest of it. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t understand what I just gave her.
“Because you’re mine,” I say. “Being angry with you doesn’t change that. Nothing changes that.”
Her lips press together. More tears. She lets them fall.
“I thought you might not come back. I thought you might not want me.”
What it cost her arrives in one wave.
“I’ll always come back,” I say. “I’ll always want you. That’s not negotiable.”
She nods once. Her hand tightens on the back of my neck.
“I’m sorry.” She wipes her face with the back of her hand. “About the ring. About all of it.”
“The ring isn’t your fault.” I stand and take her face in my hands. Brush the wetness from under her eyes with my thumbs. I hate to see her cry. I want to destroy anything that causes her pain.“Konstantin was already in position. That’s his strategy, not your failure.”
“I was out there alone.”
