Guarded King (Empty Kingdom #3)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHLOE

O h, god.

The press of his hardness against me lingers, and the delicious ache that bloomed between my thighs the moment he wrapped his hand in my hair in that elevator still throbs. As if my body has been waiting all this time for him to do just that.

And now his pale blue shirt is soaked, sticking to his skin, revealing every detail of the sleek muscles below. His dark hair clings to him, one inky curl falling over his forehead.

I itch to reach out and brush it back, but the move would be reckless. Risky.

He said it himself; it was a loss of control. We were in a dark, confined space. He was comforting me, and things got out of hand. That’s all. I can’t read anything more into it.

And I shouldn’t want to.

But a part of me, a far too large part, wonders what might have happened if the lights hadn’t come back on when they did. Would he have kissed me? Touched me? Slid those long, capable fingers up my thighs and under my dress?

A shiver works its way through me, my nipples rasping against the suddenly too-thin material of my bra and dress.

When I let myself look at him, his eyes are fixed on me, his focus dipping to my chest, pale gray irises darkening to the color of the storm clouds outside. The assessment sends a slow pulse of heat through me.

“Are you cold?” His voice is rough around the edges.

I latch on to the excuse rather than letting on just how acutely the memory of his touch is affecting me. “A little.” Although I didn’t get anywhere near as wet as he did, the rain still dampened my dress, making it cling to my thighs.

He takes his jacket from the seat next to me and drapes it around me, his hands skating over my shoulders and down my arms before he sits back. The rain didn’t make it through the high-quality lining, so the heavy garment quickly morphs into a warm cocoon around me. It smells like him. Dark and intoxicating. I want to pull it closer, bury my nose in the collar, and breathe him in.

Instead, I wrap my arms around myself and turn to the window, resisting the urge to keep looking at him.

When we get back to the office, Phillip pulls the car into the underground garage. Roman gets out first, then holds his hand out to me. His fingers are warm around mine, but he drops them as soon as I’m steady on my feet. While we wait for the elevator, I slip his jacket off my shoulders and hold it out for him.

“Thank you. It kept me warm.”

“I’m glad.” He takes it from me and shrugs it on, covering his still-wet shirt, just as the elevator opens. I should be nervous considering what transpired during our last ride, but my mind is too full of him.

“When we get upstairs,” he says, looking straight ahead as we start ascending. “Grab your purse. Phillip’s going to take you home.”

I check my watch. “But it’s not even five.” A rock forms in my stomach. Is he angry at me?

Am I fired ?

As if he can sense my panic, he faces me, the tension around his jaw softening. “The weather’s getting worse,” he says gently. “I don’t want you out in it.”

The rock in my stomach explodes into a kaleidoscope of butterflies. “Are you going home?”

He smirks, a little curl of his lips that’s becoming more familiar. “I think you know me better than that, Miss Callahan.”

I should try to get things back to normal after our almost-kiss, so I give him a smile. “It’s Chloe . And you’re right, I do. What was I thinking?”

He searches my expression, lingering a little too long on my mouth. My body hums with awareness and I almost sway forward. Before I can, thank god, the elevator comes to a halt, and with a ding, the doors sweep open.

He holds out one arm to let me exit in front of him.

Once we get back to his office, rather than collect my things, I pull my tablet out of my bag and sit at my desk. But Roman braces his hands on top of it and leans forward.

“I wasn’t kidding, Chloe. I want you to go home. Phillip’s waiting for you.”

My stomach flips. “I don’t feel right leaving early.”

His brows lower, as does his voice. “I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

The intensity with which he’s looking at me has me questioning whether he’s talking about tonight, with the weather the way it is, or if he means he doesn’t want to have to worry about me at all. Or maybe… maybe he doesn’t want to worry about me after what happened in the elevator.

As much as that moment was unprofessional and wrong, the idea that he thinks it might cause a problem between us makes my throat tighten. So rather than protesting further, I nod, pull my purse from the locked bottom drawer of my desk, and force out some hopefully professional-sounding words. “I’ll work on the arrangements for France from home.”

I stand, the move causing him to back up and give me room to round my desk. As unwelcome tears prick at the backs of my eyes, I keep my face averted to hide the reaction and hustle down the corridor toward the elevators. I shouldn’t feel so hurt. Roman is right; we need to put our moment of craziness behind us. But I have no idea how I’m going to do that.

When the elevator doors open to the garage level, I start toward the car waiting for me. Halfway there, I remember that I was supposed to pull the EcoTech due diligence file for Roman to look over tonight.

I detour to the driver’s window, and as Phillip lowers it, I clasp my hands in front of me. “I’m sorry, do you mind waiting a few more minutes? I forgot to do something upstairs.”

He grins. “No problem. I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

When I get back to my desk, I pull the file, then make my way to his office and knock softly on his door. There’s no answer, and when I try the handle, it’s still locked. He probably went to see one of his brothers. I tap in the code and push my way in, set on leaving the file on his desk. As I near it, I’m distracted by the light shining from the partially open door at the far end of the room—the one that opens into his luxurious private bathroom.

As if I’ve lost complete control of my senses, instead of calling out and making sure he’s not in there, I step forward, just enough so I can get a glimpse inside.

At the sight on the other side of the door, a blaze of electric heat sears through me. Roman is facing the sink, shirtless. His head is thrown back, while his belt is unbuckled, and his pants sit low on his hips.

His right forearm flexes slowly and rhythmically.

Desire curls hot and heavy in my stomach. I’m not exactly sexually inexperienced, but I’ve never seen a man doing this in real life. I never thought I’d find it as entrancing as this—as arousing. His muscles move smoothly under his skin, and my body ignites in response. How would those muscles feel working like that under my fingertips? If I pressed my hands against his back? Slid them around and down over his abs? Slid them even lower?

A need more potent than I’ve ever experienced builds low in my core, intensifying into a deep, insistent throb. I have to back away. I have to sneak out of here before he catches me. Before he realizes that I’ve seen him in this moment of vulnerability. But my legs are too shaky to force my frozen feet to move.

Unable to resist, I focus on his reflection in the mirror, drinking in the sight of his muscular chest and sculpted abs. The bulk of his body and his arm block most of my view, but the little I can see causes a sudden rush of wetness between my thighs. Roman’s erection is long and thick, straining up toward his belly button. The veins in his big hand bulge as he works it leisurely, as if he’s taking his time, drawing out his pleasure.

An image of being filled by him assaults me, along with a phantom sensation so visceral it causes a full-body shudder. God, I can only imagine what it would be like. How he would stretch me, how I’d relish every inch of him as he pushed inside.

A moan threatens to escape me at the thought. Before it can, I snap my mouth shut, suddenly pulled back to myself in a rush of embarrassment.

How am I still standing here?

I need to go. Now .

His head is still tipped back, and it looks like his eyes are closed. If I can get out of here quietly enough, he’ll never have to know that I was watching him.

I take a single, silent step back, the pounding of my heart in my ears so loud it drowns out everything else. But then, almost as if he senses my presence, Roman’s heated stare locks onto mine in the mirror’s reflection. I freeze again, my heart slamming hard against my ribs.

I expect him to yell, to shove himself back in his pants and storm out to tell me off for my voyeurism.But instead, he merely slows his movements, his body still taut with purpose, his arm continuing its steady, deliberate flex, every movement just as precise and controlled as before.

His eyelids lower, his molten gaze unyielding as it holds mine. The unhurried rhythm of his motion draws every second out, each one winding my nerves tighter and tighter, until the dark, bass growl of his voice cuts through the charged silence.

“Stay or go, Chloe. Your choice.”

Embarrassment and arousal war for dominance in my veins. Every one of my breaths rasps and my palms are damp where they press into the file I’m clutching to my chest. But my feet refuse to move. I couldn’t drag myself away, even if I wanted to. And I don’t. Some untamed part of me, one that hasn’t been let loose in far too long, wants to see what he looks like when his control is stripped from him. When he’s not my boss, not a billionaire CEO. When he’s just a man giving in to his need.

Roman’s eyes narrow, and based on the clench of his jaw and the flush that rises on his cheekbones, he’s close.

Still, neither of us looks away.

“ Fuck, Chloe .” His voice is raw, his hips jolting forward as he climaxes. He throws his head back, the tendons in his neck straining, but a second later, he snaps it down so he can watch me in the mirror again, his eyes hungry and hooded.

My core clenches helplessly in response, my inner walls clutching at nothing. A whimper breaks free before I can stop it.

But as his movements slow to a stop, reality slams into me. I thought almost kissing him was bad. But this? Standing in his office, watching him come? It’s so much worse.

And while I watched him, he was watching me . My name was on his lips.

Heat blasts my cheeks. This is so, so wrong, even if what Roman just did is undeniably one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

I spin and rush for the door. Halfway across the office, I’m stopped by the sound of his voice.

It’s still a little husky, but back in control. “Chloe.”

I grind to a halt and reluctantly turn, focusing on his mouth instead of meeting his eye. I expect it to be pressed into a thin line of anger, for him to finally lose his temper, to yell, to fire me.

But his jaw is relaxed, almost soft, if you can call anything about Roman soft. “Leave the file on my desk.”

I give a jerky nod, still not meeting his gaze. Then I speed walk to his desk, practically throw the file down on it, and make for the door.

After closing it behind me, I let myself sag against the wood for a second before I sprint to the elevator. The backs of my eyes sting the whole way down. I fight back the tears, determined not to let Phillip see how close I am to losing it.

On the drive home, and for the rest of the evening, what I witnessed plays on repeat in my head. And when I finally crawl into bed, I can’t help myself. I’m desperate to relieve the tension that’s been bottled up inside me for the last few hours.

Was he thinking about me as he touched himself? Was he imagining what might have happened in the elevator if the lights had stayed off? He said my name as he orgasmed, but was it only because I was standing there?

Closing my eyes, I slide my fingers between my slippery folds and find my already swollen and sensitive clit. I pull up an image of him with his shirt off, his arm flexing. Only this time, when I picture him looking down and catching me watching him, he doesn’t tell me to stay or go and he doesn’t just watch me back. In my fantasy, he calls me over in that low, dark voice of his. He tells me that, since I enjoy watching so much, I can have an up close and personal view.

And I walk over there without hesitation.

His smile is slow and sensuous, and when I reach him, he asks, “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” I breathe out.

With a growl, he fists his hand in my hair, the same way he did in the elevator, drawing me to him. “On your knees.”

I do as he says, my heart racing, my body on fire.

“Good girl.” His usually pale gray eyes are dark as he looks down on me. “You’re going to look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock.”

Belly tightening, back arching, I come.

When I sag back against the mattress, limbs still shaking from the intensity of my orgasm, reality comes crashing back down on me. I groan, throwing an arm over my eyes. How the hell am I going to face him tomorrow?

Rolling onto my side, I glance at the glowing numbers on my bedside clock before curling up into a ball.

Looks like I’ll have plenty of time to figure out exactly how to pretend nothing happened.