Chapter 39
thirty-nine
I’m not sure how, but I knew he would come.
That was the real reason I stayed here, I think. Even though I told myself I had too much work to catch up on, too many documents to draft, too little strength stored for the call I knew I had to make to my mother.
But none of that was true.
I know it the second I feel a charge zip down my spine and look up, across the dark executive floor, and find him standing in the shadows.
Graham .
The blue suit he described this morning is gone. Replaced by joggers and a Colombia University T-shirt under his fancy coat.
It doesn’t matter. He still looks like he belongs here, somehow.
Or maybe it just feels that way.
Our gazes clash, his dark irises glinting in the low light from the emergency stairwell. Which is when I realize—he climbed all fifty flights. To get to me.
An ache blooms in my chest, followed by a sharp slice of fear. W hy would he do this? Come here? It’s not like he knows ? —
“What happened?” Graham asks, the low words carrying across the round, open space.
Which is when I realize—he may not know what happened, but he knows me . And when he couldn’t find me, he figured this was his best bet.
He’s… worried . I see it in the grooves around his scowl.
When I don’t answer, he comes closer. Never dropping my gaze or slowing his steps. Until he’s at my desk, bending forward to cup my jaw in his hand.
“Marco called,” he rumbles, running those deep eyes over my expression in loops. “Told me your dad turned up, stirring his shit. Tell me what he said, bijou .”
Something at the very core of me starts to tremble. Because this ? Him, here? Caring? This is everything I didn’t want.
And it also might be exactly what I need.
Fear makes me want to fight. I jerk my chin up and rear back, out of his hold. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap.
Graham presses his hands to the desktop, glowering at me over my keyboard. “Too damn bad.”
He has this… steadiness to him. I saw it last weekend, when he had me for the first time. And again the night he tied me over his kitchen island.
I might think I keep him in line, but he lets me be in charge because he respects me—and Graham Everett’s respect is hard to come by.
This is different, though. Like the day he overheard my father and I arguing, then whisked me into the stairwell to help me compose myself; he knows I’m spiraling.
So he won’t take no for an answer.
Why does it feel like that means more than any stupid gift or flirtatious flattery ever could?
Why do I love it as much as I hate it?
The thought of him being so kind is somehow terrifying. I grit my teeth to keep my voice from quivering and pin him with a glare. “You can’t make me tell you.”
A spark ignites in his midnight eyes, his lips flickering up. “Can’t I?”
Carajo . He probably could …
Whatever look he sees on my face makes his soften. He rounds the desk and reaches for my arm, pulling me up into a hug before I can protest.
“ Bijou ,” he sighs, quiet. “You know you can tell me.”
I really do know. And that’s the problem.
Still, the warmth of his body melts the tension from mine. I sway and he holds me closer, one of his hands reaching up to smooth over my hair.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he mutters.
I’ll have to tell him eventually, but for now, I shut my eyes and whisper, “Not now. Please.”
That word he loves to wring from me—usually as a plea for mercy or request for more—sounds so broken. His fingers flex against my scalp. He blows out a hard breath.
“All right. Fine. Not now. But soon.”
I huff an exasperated laugh at his brusque tone. “Your negotiation skills need work, pinchao .”
Graham smirks, too, but his arms tighten, cuddling me into his tall frame. His voice drops to a murmur again. “Will you at least tell me what you need?”
It’s a good question, actually. I came back to work because I needed a distraction from my feelings. But now that Graham is here, that may be impossible.
I turn my head, eyes falling on Dominic’s empty office. A dark thought occurs to me and I give a bleak laugh. “If there weren’t cameras, we could make a mess of Dominic’s desk.”
Graham’s body stiffens. He snaps his head up to stare down at me. Gives a slow, dazzling smile.
And then I’m over his shoulder.
I shriek and he slaps my ass, turning on his heel. “You’re in luck, Miss Rivera. Marco turned off the cameras on the executive floor when I told him I was coming to get you.”
Graham feels me go still as he strides over the threshold—into Dominic’s office. He chuckles, “He also said they’d only be down for twenty minutes. Like that would be a deterrent for us . Poor bastard clearly doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.”
I want to argue, but with the way his palm draws a circle at the juncture of my thighs and my ass… he might have a point.
“We can’t do it on my boss’s desk,” I protest, watching as he sweeps all the items on the desktop to the side. “Someone will know .”
Graham sets me on the edge of the smoked glass, bracing his hands on either side of my hips to put us eye-to-eye. Something deliciously dangerous moves through his gaze.
“Good,” he growls. “I hope that bastard does know. I hope he can sense that I’ve had you in his chair. I want him to sit here and know that I made you come all over his desk with my mouth. Then bent you over his keyboard and fucked you raw.”
Oh God, that’s right. He got tested today. No more need for any barriers between us when he takes me.
A breathy sound escapes before I can swallow it. Graham’s eyes blaze brighter, his thumbs stroking the outsides of my thighs while he waits for an answer.
I should say no. I have to say no… but the thought of finally feeling him… Just his bare skin with nothing to separate his heat from mine?—
I grab the lapels of his coat and shove it down his arms.
“That’s my girl,” he groans, finding my mouth and gliding our tongues together.
But I can’t let him get away with calling me his girl. I nip at his bottom lip, biting hard. His hands instantly fist my skirt and start to bunch it up. When he hits my panties, one fist tugs sideways—snapping the thin G-string right off me.
“Fuck you and these tiny scraps you call panties,” he mutters against my mouth. “Are you trying to kill me?”
I shove at his joggers, loving and hating the posh, luxury material in my way. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it.”
His lips brush mine again as he smiles. “You’d miss me.”
And… Dios . I think maybe he’s right .