Page 37 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“No, Miss Bennett,” he says, the smile fading.

“Who did?”

Mr. Moretti regards me for a moment, lines forming between his dark brows. “If you’re not careful, that curiosity will eat you alive.”

“What if I want to be eaten?”

Salvatore stares more intently, leaning into the sink, his gaze fixated on me. “The world is a wide, wondrous place, but some things are better left unsaid.”

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do,” he says, leaning closer. “You like to know all relevant information before making an informed decision. You scribble notes down in that writing booklet of yours, covering all details, leaving no stones unturned. I like that about you,” says Mr. Moretti. “In fact, Miss Bennett, your meticulous approach to work is one of the main reasons why I hired you. Going against the grain, carving your own path regardless of other people’s opinions, generally leads to success, and you have proven to be a good assistant.” Mr. Moretti continues watching me. “You can ignore all the opinions in the world, Miss Bennett, doing the opposite of what your family and friends tell you to do, but as your boss, you must listen and take everything I say as gospel.” Pinning me a look, our faces inches apart, he says: “Focus on the work in front of you and do as you are told. In this instance, I need you to forget about the details and stay on the path I have carved out for you. Not all roads lead to success, Miss Bennett, especially this one.” He taps the folder in demonstration.

“But it was just an old polaroid,” I say, feigning confusion. “Why does it matter?”

Mr. Moretti cages me into the wall, his dark figure looming over mine. “Do not take me for a fool, Miss Bennett.”

“I’m n-not,” I stutter, his spiced cologne wrapping around me like a blanket.

“Yes, you are.” Pinning me a dark glare, Mr. Moretti takes a step back and rips his shirt, buttons raining to the floor like hailstones.

White cotton shreds around hard muscles as he tackles off his shirt.

I hold eye contact, but curiosity eventually takes over, my eyes lowering to the faded crow tattoo stretching across his chest. I take note of the rigid wing edges, the opened beak, the eyes…

Nothing about this is a coincidence.

My gaze wanders to other parts of him. His shoulders look strong enough to hold up the entire world, his chest contorted and filled out. Scars line his body. The large one streaked across his torso grabs my attention.

“What kind of fights have you been in?”

“What did I tell you about asking questions?” groans Salvatore, his hot breath sending wisps of shivers down my spine.

Before I can reply, he takes control of my hips, spinning me around and slamming me into the wall.

A gasp escapes my lips, desire settling between my legs as Salvatore reaches under my skirt, grabbing my pussy.

He shoves my panties down, lifting my ankles as he encourages me to step out of them.

“Open wide.” He taps on my jaw, placing the panties inside of my mouth. “This should teach you to be quiet,” he says, flashing me a smirk as he reaches between my legs, hoisting my skirt up.

Once he has me right where he wants me, he slaps my pussy.

I groan, electricity shooting through my entire body. The panties muffle the sound as I bite down on the material, using the lace as a vice to keep myself contained.

“Taste yourself, Miss Bennett,” grunts Salvatore while unbuckling his belt. “Do something more useful with that tongue and lick the wetness from your own panties. Questioning my motives will only get you in trouble,” he warns, slapping my pussy a second time.

White-hot electricity shoots through me. “What if being in trouble excites me?”

“Oh,” says Salvatore, cackling lowly. “It shouldn’t, sweetheart.” He reaches between my legs, strumming my pussy while looking deep into my eyes.

My vision fades, darkness taking over as my eyelids close. The weight of gravity changes around me, my back sliding down the wall as I lose the will to live, and the ability to breathe. My boss controls the air, choosing when I get to breathe… and when I get to orgasm.

He releases my clit, sticking his fingers into his mouth as he sucks my juices.

“Good girl,” he affirms. “Your skirt looks better lifted.”

Pinning me a glare, he trails his finger toward my clit, stopping right at the top.