Page 108 of The Tower

He stands, pulling me up beside him, then leads me back to the window. I stand there, my body on fire, as he finds the zipper of my gown, then slowly draws it down. The fabric slips away, pooling at my feet and leaving me in nothing but a strapless bra and lace panties. I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but all I feel is wanted.

His gaze travels over me with such heat and appreciation that it’s like a physical caress. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, then pulls me to him, his hands roaming my back, his fingers slipping under the band of my panties, his mouth claiming mine with fervor that makes me think of a starving man finally being served a meal.

I clutch the linen of his shirt, then practically rip the buttons off to get it open. I feel wild, alive, and right now all I want is to feel his skin against mine. He helps me, shrugging out of the fabric before pulling me close again, the heat of his chest burning against me.

His nimble fingers unfasten my strapless bra, and it falls to the ground between us. He’s still mostly dressed, whereas I’m in nothing but a scrap of lace pretending to be panties. The asymmetry of our states of undress makes me feel even more exposed, more vulnerable.

He takes a step back, then slowly looks me up and down, his gaze like a physical touch that leaves heat wherever it lands. I start to cover my breasts, the instinct to shield myself from his hungry eyes overwhelming, but I’m halted by his curt, sharp, “No.”

The command hits me like a slap, though his voice barely rises above a whisper. My arms freeze mid-motion, suspended awkwardly. The intensity in his eyes steals my breath—raw desire mixed with something possessive that makes my core clench with need.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he orders, his voice rough with want. “I want to see what’s mine.”

Mine. The word sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cool air kissing my naked skin. I obey, clasping my hands behind me, the position thrusting my breasts forward. His eyes darken as they fixate on my hardened nipples.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the curse more arousing than it should be. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Princess?”

He circles me like a predator, his gaze leaving trails of fire across my skin. I can feel the heat of him at my back, his breath stirring the fine hairs at my nape. My body responds shamefully, nipples tightening further, wetness gathering between my thighs.

One finger traces the curve of my spine, sliding lower and lower before teasing me through the lace of my panties. I bite my lip to stifle a moan.

“I can smell how wet you are,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice like dark velvet. “Is that all for me, Princess? Is your tight little pussy getting wet just from me looking at you?”

The crude words from his sophisticated mouth send a bolt of pure lust straight to my core. It’s deliciously filthy—and arousing— coming from Liam Grimm, the man who speaks in boardrooms with such eloquent precision.

His hands grasp my hips from behind, fingers digging into my flesh as he pulls me back against him. I feel the hard ridge of his cock through his pants, pressing insistently against my ass. He grinds against me slowly, deliberately.

“Feel what you do to me?” His teeth graze my earlobe, sending electric shivers down my spine. “I’ve been hard for you for so long, Princess. Dreaming of stripping you bare, bending you over, fucking you until you scream my name.”

He moves around to face me again, one hand sliding up to circle my throat in a hold that’s firm but not constricting. His thumb strokes over my racing pulse as his other hand cups my breast roughly, squeezing until I gasp.

“These perfect tits,” he growls, pinching my nipple between his fingers until I whimper. “I’ve wanted my mouth on them since I first saw you. Wanted to mark this perfect skin, leave evidence that you belong to me.”

Without warning, he bends and takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make me cry out. His teeth graze the sensitive peak before he soothes it with his tongue. My knees nearly buckle as pleasure spikes through me.

“Liam,” I gasp, my voice barely recognizable, husky with need.

He releases my breast with a wet pop, looking up at me with eyes gone nearly black with desire. “Yes, Princess? Something you want to ask for?”

His hand slides down my stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of my panties, stopping just short of where I’m aching for him. I can feel how wet I am, how ready. I’m certain he can feel the heat radiating from me.

“These are soaked,” he murmurs, tugging at the lace. “I think they’re ruined. Should I rip them off you? Or would you rather ask me to take them off?”

I press my thighs together, trying to ease the throbbing ache between them. His hand slides between my legs from the front, cupping me through the damp fabric. I can’t help but rock against his palm, desperate for friction.

“Such a needy little cunt,” he says, the filthy word making me moan. “But you know the rules, don’t you? You don’t get to come until you beg me for it.”

As I nod, a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. “Are you ready for that, Princess? Ready to beg for what you want?”

My heart races, anticipation and desire warring with the last vestiges of my pride. But I know what I want now. “I—” I start, then hesitate.

His expression softens slightly, though the heat in his eyes remains. “It’s not surrender,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “It’s power. The power to ask for exactly what you want. To claim ownership. Hell, to grab control.”

His finger traces a line from my collarbone to the center of my chest. “Tell me, Sasha. What do you want?”

My breath catches at his touch. “You.”

“Go on,” he urges, his finger continuing its journey downward, between my breasts, across my stomach. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”