Yeah, they’d always been volatile, had spent as much time arguing as they had making love.
They were going to do this. She knew that. There was no turning back now—if he tried, she might very well hold him down and take him by force. Years of need were simmering beneath the surface. She had to have this.
Keeping her eyes on him, she stripped off her jacket, strolled across the office, and laid it on a nearby chair. Then she slowly undid the buckles on the holster, slipped it from her shoulder, and gently rested it on top of the jacket.
He was watching her, his gaze intent, fixed on her like a predator searching for weaknesses in its prey. He appeared outwardly calm, but she could sense the pent-up emotion beneath the surface waiting to explode. A strange primordial fear gripped her, and she held herself still as though she might set off some cataclysmic explosion with the wrong move.
She tried to remind herself that he was a boring businessman who spent his whole life sitting behind a desk, but the description wouldn’t hold. He’d always had an almost savage masculine beauty, his face all harsh angles, sharp cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw, the fierce slash of his black brows.
Her gaze dropped, snagging on the bulge at his groin. He wanted her.
And she wanted him with a desperation that scared her witless. The last working cell in her brain screamed at her to run. But she wasn’t a coward. At the thought, that one functioning brain cell snorted in disgust. She was looking for any excuse to stay.
But it was just sex. Sex didn’t have to mean anything. She’d proved that. Just not with this man. Yet. But wasn’t that why she’d come here, to prove he was no different?
She was overthinking. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel.
Their abandoned drinks were still on the table and she strode over, picked up her glass, and swallowed it in one go. She felt the scotch in her belly, stoking the flames. She slammed the glass down and picked up Declan’s, gulped that, and turned to face him.
He quirked a brow but didn’t speak. Instead, he raised his hand and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, tugging it out of his pants, stripping it off, and dropping it to the floor. And she stood there like an idiot and stared. A white bandage crossed his shoulder breaking up the perfection of his olive skin. His chest was smooth, but beneath his navel, a line of dark hair disappeared into his pants.
As she watched, he unbuckled the leather belt and flicked open the button on his pants.
Holy shit.
Sweat broke out on her palms, and she resisted the urge to wipe them down her sides. The alcohol was a buzz in her brain quieting the niggles of doubt. She placed the glass she was still gripping gently on the desk. If this was going to happen, she wanted it on her terms. She would decide.
Her gaze snagged on the line of silky black hair running down his lean belly, disappearing… Yeah, it was going to happen.
As she accepted that fact, a smile tugged at her mouth.
Holy hell. She was going to have sex. With Declan. She was going to fuck his brains out and then this time, she would be the one to walk away.
She stalked toward him, her gaze fixed on the bulge in his pants. It was huge, and it was all hers. For as long as she wanted. Which wouldn’t be very long. Because, while she might be deluded, she wasn’t a total idiot.
…
Somewhere in the last thirty seconds, she had reached a decision. Before that, he’d been in no way sure of her.
Now she was coming for him.
Fear twisted inside him. The sensation tightened his balls, sent blood pooling to his groin. She’d always been so passionate. Crazy passionate. The intensity of her feelings had woken needs inside him he’d spent his life controlling. Even at seventeen, she’d often been the one to initiate their lovemaking, teasing him, testing him, trying to push him over the edge.
She came to a halt in front of him. God she was beautiful. One hand reached out, laid flat against his heart. Could she feel its frantic beat? Of course, she could. He held himself very still as she scraped her nails down his chest, then tucked one finger in his waistband.
“You sure you want to do this?” she murmured. “Aren’t you afraid Daddy will find out?”
No, he wasn’t. For some reason his father had orchestrated this meeting. He would find out why—but later. “I think Daddy gave you to me as a present.”
A frown flickered across her face; he was guessing the thought had occurred to her as well, but she banished it with a little shake of her head. She moved the hand that hovered over his groin and flicked a finger at the bandage on his shoulder. “And he had you gift wrapped for me. Nice.”
He’d had enough talk. He ached to be inside her. His dick was so hard, it pressed painfully against his fly, and holding her gaze he lowered his zipper, groaned at the relief.
Her tongue flashed out across her plump lower lip, leaving it glistening with moisture and his cock jerked in the confines of his boxers. He groaned again and her eyes flicked down, and then she closed the last distance between them.
Without touching him anywhere else, she went up on tiptoes and licked along his lower lip as she had done her own. Then she pressed her mouth against his and her body pushed up against him. Her arms locked on his shoulders, and she dragged him down and kissed him. The kiss was fierce—he could sense the barely leashed anger—and she shoved her tongue into his mouth as though she was fucking him. She’d always wanted to be the one in control, but he had always wrested it from her. Now he cupped her jaw in his hand, angled her chin, and took charge of the kiss. His tongue fought with hers, filling her mouth, taking possession.
She gave way beneath the pressure of his kiss, and he backed her up until she was against the wall, then kissed her some more, hot, wet kisses as though he could devour her, ravage her with his mouth and she gave as good as she got. Biting at his lips, fingernails digging into his shoulder.
He needed more, needed all of her. His free hand shifted between them, tearing at the buttons on her shirt so they scattered. At last, he pulled back from the kiss, his breathing ragged. He stared down at her; her skin was pale, almost luminescent, her breasts swelling above the plain white bra, her nipples pressing at the cotton. He lowered his head, nipped one with his teeth, and her back arched. She’d always liked her sex tinged with a little pain. Had said it made her feel alive. He bit down, harder this time, felt her hips jerk against him.
He tugged the shirt down her shoulders and dropped it to the floor, then slipped a hand behind her back and flicked open the catch on her bra, tossing it after the shirt. Her breasts were small but perfect, her nipples pink and swollen. He licked one until it glistened, then sucked the other into his mouth, and her spine arched again.