Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
And then he replaces his hand with his mouth.
The first sweep of his tongue shatters me. My head falls back against the pillows, one hand tangling in his hair as the other fists in the sheets for balance. He holds me open, steady, relentless, devouring me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that can feed him. The heavy curtains muffle my broken cries, the dim lamplight catching on the sweat already slicking my skin.
Every flick of his tongue, every deep pull, builds higher and higher until my voice is echoing his name in pleas I can’t stop.
When release crashes through me, it tears everything else away. My body trembles, my thighs tighten around him, and still he doesn’t stop. He drags me through another climax, and another, until I’m wrung out and shaking, my dress askew, my breath uneven.
I barely recover before he shifts, pushing me forward, his mouth against my ear. “Not finished,” he murmurs, his belt already loose, his body pressing hard and insistent against me.
The first thrust drives a cry from my throat. The second steals the rest of my breath. He moves with ruthless precision, every snap of his hips branding me from the inside out.
It’s chaos, it’s madness, it’s the best sex of my life, and when I break again, it’s with him buried deep inside me, pulling me with him into something that feels far too much like surrender.
I should hate him for this. I should push him away. But my body betrays me every time, and the way he says my name—like it belongs to him—makes me want more.
When it’s over, I collapse against his chest, both of us drenched in sweat and silence, the night pressing close outside the balcony doors.
“You’ll stay the rest of the weekend.” His voice is rough in my ear.
“That didn’t sound like a question.”
“Good catch.” He rolls me on top of him, his gaze daring me to argue. “It wasn’t.”
THE CEO
LUCIAN
Back in Manhattan
The following weekend
Kendall is still flushed when she starts pulling her dress back on, her hair loose around her shoulders, her skin marked where my mouth had been a few minutes ago. I’m lying back, watching her, already thinking about pulling her down again, when she pauses at her bag.
She pulls out a file and places it on the desk. “I meant to give this to you yesterday,” she says. “Can you sign it? You don’t have to read much—I already wrote it. You’d just need to put your name at the bottom.”
I push myself upright, taking the file. “What’s this?”
“A reference letter.”
The words land sharper than they should. “For what?”
Her eyes flick to mine, guilty, hesitant. “I was planning to quit before.”
I stand. “Before what?”
She swallows. “Before sex. I still want to keep getting to know you, but… I know this promotion isn’t permanent.”
“It can be,” I say, the words coming out harder than I intended.
She shakes her head. “I’d like to do what I love. Numbers. Audits. That’s what I’ve always wanted.”
I clench my jaw, looking down at the letter again. My name already printed neatly at the bottom, just waiting for a signature like she expects me to bless her exit.
“I’ll sign it a few months after the IPO,” I say flatly, setting it aside.
“I thought you were done with the IPO,” she says. “You said your father was right.”
“He was, but I still reserve the right to want to go public and cash in on all my hard work.”
“Your hard work?” She scoffs. “You know what? Signing that reference letter right now would be for the best.”
Something inside me snaps. “You don’t get to walk away this easily. You wanted to play at being in my world, and now you think you can just hand me paperwork like I’m your HR assistant? No. That’s not how this works.”
Her cheeks flush with anger. “I didn’t want this world. I wanted to do my job, Lucian. You’re the one who dragged me into your office, your meetings, your bed. And now you’re acting like I owe you my future for it?”
“You don’t understand what I’m saying to you.”
“I understand perfectly.” Her voice shakes but doesn’t break. “You’re offering me more chains. And I’m saying no.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“Don’t be arrogant.” She grabs the file back from the desk. “I don’t need your letter. I’ll find another way—without you.”
The finality in her voice rips through me like glass. I should stop her, tell her she can’t walk out on me, not now, not ever. But I don’t.
I watch as she slings her bag over her shoulder, her chin high, her eyes furious and shining. She doesn’t look back when she leaves, the door shutting behind her like a verdict.
For a long time, I stand there in the silence, the echo of her words still burning in the air.