Chapter 30 #2
She was close now. Closer than she needed to be.
One of her legs pressed lightly against the side of the desk, hip nudging into the edge of a folder I hadn’t touched since she walked in.
Her perfume lingered in the space between us—lavender.
God, she had no idea what she did to a room.
Or maybe she did, and that was the problem.
“You wouldn’t?” she asked again, feigning interest like it was all hypothetical.
I didn’t answer her, because it wasn’t hypothetical. She knew that. She wanted to see what I’d do with it.
Truth was, I’d thought about it more than I should’ve.
About what would happen if she asked something of me I couldn’t give.
If she wanted more than I was built for.
If she turned that sharp little mouth of hers on me with something real behind it.
Not sarcasm. Not teasing. Just honesty. Could I handle that?
Probably not. But I didn’t say any of that.
Instead I sat there perfectly still, the bones in my jaw clenched so tight I could feel it in my ears.
“I haven’t yet.”
She moved toward me, and I knew right then I was fucked.
Because this was Valentina. She didn’t ask for permission, and she never tiptoed. She just pushed my knees apart, invading every boundary I tried and failed to set.
I should’ve stopped her. I could’ve, probably. But I didn’t. I sat there frozen like an idiot, trying not to focus on how perfectly her thighs fit between mine or the exact way her breath hitched as she settled on my lap.
Her legs straddled me, skirt riding up her thighs, and I was trying—failing—not to look; to keep my eyes locked on hers instead of wandering down like some teenage boy. But goddamn it, I was only human, and Valentina knew exactly what she was doing. She always did.
She put her hands on my face, fingertips gentle, thumbs brushing my jawline, and leaned in until I had nowhere else to look but straight into her eyes.
“Still want to talk about Callahan?” she asked.
“Fuck no,” I hissed.
“Good,” she said, leaning down again, lips hovering close enough that I could taste every syllable she spoke. “Because I’d hate to think you were thinking about another man right now.”
I slapped my hand against her ass. “I swear to God, Valentina,” I muttered against her lips.
I wanted her so fucking badly it hurt, and she knew it. Hell, she thrived on it. She always had. Probably always would. The more off-balance I was, the more control she seemed to have, and I’d already lost any hope of getting it back.
Then she kissed me.
And shit, it wasn’t soft. Wasn’t sweet. It was demanding, almost confrontational, like she was proving a point.
I groaned against her mouth, and my hands moved automatically to her waist, gripping her like I’d been thinking about doing all night. All week. Hell, since the first day she walked into my apartment and ruined my perfect little bubble of solitude.
I felt her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scratching lightly against my scalp as she deepened the kiss, her body pressing flush against mine. I dragged my hands up her back, feeling the curve of her spine, the heat of her skin, through her thin shirt.
She was always like this. Always testing me, always pushing to see how far she could go before I snapped. And maybe that was the worst part, knowing I let her.
Because I wanted her.
I wanted her in ways I shouldn’t. In ways that made me reckless; that made me ignore every fucking reason I should be keeping her at arm’s length.
But I didn’t care.
Not when she kissed me like this. Not when she rocked against me, her breath hitching, her hips shifting just enough to make my fingers tighten on her waist.
I pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face. Her lips were already swollen, her pupils blown wide, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. I felt her hands reach between us, her fingers unbuckling my belt, popping the button on my slacks.
I groaned into her mouth, my patience unraveling by the second. She thought she was in control. Thought she could keep running her mouth, pushing me, making me want her more than I already did.
Before she could get my zipper down, I gripped her hips and stood, turning her around and pressing her chest against the desk.
She let out a small gasp, hands splaying against the wood, but she didn’t resist. If anything, she arched her back like she wanted me to pin her there.
Like she knew exactly what was coming next.
“All this time wasted arguing, when apparently, all I had to do was turn around,” she flaunted.
“I like you better like this anyway,” I murmured, my hand splaying against the curve of her hip. “You talk too much when you’re facing me.”
“Maybe if you fucked me right, I wouldn’t have anything to say.”
“All that attitude. Let’s see how long you keep it.”
She bit her smile. “Longer than you’ll last.”
I yanked her back against me fully then, feeling the way she gasped, how her fingers flexed against the desk like she was trying to hold onto something solid. I pressed my lips to her ear. She stiffened just slightly. Just enough for me to catch it.
“No one else has ever had you like this before, have they?” I asked. I let my fingers slide down, teasing the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, moving slowly, just to prove a point. “I bet you gave them hell,” I murmured. “Talked back, ran your mouth, tried to make them work for it.”
Valentina swallowed hard.
I smirked. “But with me?” I trailed my lips down her neck, feeling her heartbeat race. “With me, you get real fucking quiet.”
Her breath hitched.
Then, in true Valentina fashion, she let out a low laugh, her fingers curling against the desk. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”
“That’s a first.”
She shivered beneath me. “Savor it. Won’t happen again.”
I pressed her harder against the desk, feeling the way her breath stuttered, the way she tensed—not from hesitation but anticipation. From knowing exactly what was coming.
I lined myself up, taking my time, letting her feel it—how thick I was, how much I was making her wait.
Her fingers clenched against the desk. “Marco—”
I pushed into her.
She gasped, her back arching, the sound caught between a moan and something desperate—something that made my grip tighten.
Valentina’s breath came out in a slow, shuddering exhale, her knuckles white against the desk. I leaned forward, pressing my chest against her back, my lips ghosting over her ear.
“Still got something to say?”
“Shut up and fuck me, lawyer.”
So I did.
I shouldn’t have done it. I knew that. I knew it before I’d even touched her, before I’d buried myself inside her, before I felt her body tighten around mine, dragging me under. But knowing it and stopping it were two different things.
The second I pushed into her, the second I heard that sharp, wrecked gasp fall from her lips, the second she clenched around me like she’d been waiting for this as badly as I had, I knew there was no stopping it.
Her body was soft against mine, her nails biting into my arms like she needed something to hold onto—like I was the only thing keeping her tethered to this moment. Maybe I was. Maybe that was why she was here, standing in my office at midnight, letting me take her apart over my desk.
Maybe that was why I was letting her.
I gritted my teeth, my grip bruising her waist as I pulled her hips back, forcing her to take every inch. Forcing her to feel me everywhere.
I should’ve hated the way she let me have her like this. The way she bent so easily for me. The way she didn’t fight it—didn’t fight me. I should’ve hated how easy she made it to forget. Forget that she was reckless. Forget that she was self-destructive. Forget that she wasn’t mine to fix.
But I didn’t.
This, I couldn’t hate.
When she was here, like this, she wasn’t pushing. She wasn’t running. She wasn’t drowning herself in something else, numbing herself from everything that made her feel.
She was feeling this.
Feeling me.
Her nails scratched against the wood of the desk, and her body went tense for half a second before she gave in. Before she let herself take it.
And fuck, she took it so well.
I pressed a hand between her shoulder blades, keeping her in place as I drove into her—slow at first, teasing, dragging it out just to hear the small, desperate sounds she made when I didn’t give her enough.
She hated when I controlled the pace.
Hated when I made her wait.
A choked moan left her lips, and I felt it—how her body clenched, how her thighs trembled, how she struggled to keep herself upright.
I let her struggle.
I wanted her to.
Because for all her fighting, all her attitude, all her damn resistance, she never resisted this. Never resisted me.
I dragged a hand between her legs and found the place that made her shudder, that made her knees buckle. She tried to move away, tried to control it, but I didn’t let her. I held her exactly where I wanted her.
“Marco—”
Her voice cracked on my name, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk so tightly her knuckles turned white.
And when she broke—when her body tensed and trembled and clenched around me so tightly I almost lost it—I finally let myself go.
A groan ripped from my chest as I buried myself deep, my jaw going tight, fingers flexing against her skin as I spilled inside her, filling her up, marking her from the inside out.
For a long second, neither of us moved.
Her body was slumped forward, her breath ragged, forehead resting against the desk as if she couldn’t hold herself up. I stayed right where I was, still inside her, still gripping her hips, still catching my breath as if she hadn’t just wrecked me.
As if I hadn’t just wrecked myself.
I should’ve pulled out.
I should’ve stepped back.
I should’ve put space between us before I let myself do something else I’d regret.
But I didn’t.
Because I liked it.
The way she looked like this—wrecked, spent, her body still trembling in the aftermath.
Finally, I pulled out.
Valentina reached for the crumpled napkin beside her, wiping the inside of her thigh. I leaned back in my chair, fixing my belt, and watched her straighten her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles like we hadn’t just fucked the professionalism right out of this office.
She peeked over her shoulder, catching my stare, and smirked. “You always look this serious after sex, lawyer?”
I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. “You always run your mouth after I fuck you breathless?”
She scoffed. “Please. You wish you could fuck me breathless.”
I raised a brow, tilting my head slightly. “You were moaning into the damn desk five minutes ago. Want me to pull up the footage?”
She scoffed, adjusting her skirt with a huff. “You American men are so vulgar.”
“And yet here you are, letting a vulgar American fuck you over his desk.”
She turned, narrowing her eyes at me. “Temporary lapse in judgment.”
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah? How many of those do you plan on having?”
“No more.”
I raised a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she admitted.
“Mm-hmm.” I nodded slowly. “Okay.” I leaned back in my chair, watching her smooth her hair as if that would somehow put the rest of her back in order. It wouldn’t. Not after the way she’d come apart for me. Not after the way she’d let me see her like that—wild, desperate, hers and mine all at once.
“No more,” she said again, firmer this time. Like if she repeated it, she might actually believe it.
I didn’t.
“Sure,” I muttered, dragging my gaze down her legs, the marks my fingers had left on her thighs still faintly visible.
She glared at me, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was something else there—something wary, like she was expecting me to call her bluff.
I didn’t, because I didn’t need to.
We both knew exactly how this would end.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” she said, chin lifted.
“Of course not.” My voice was even, almost bored. “Just like the last time didn’t mean anything.”
The fuck it didn’t.
I watched her head for the door, the scent of her perfume still clinging to the air between us, and for a second—just a second—I thought about stopping her. Thought about saying something that would make her stay.
I didn’t.
Because I wasn’t that man, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who stayed.