Chapter 15
JENNA
A few minutes earlier…
Iwatch him from behind the glass partition. Abram stands near the elevator, tall and composed, shaking hands with his brothers-in-law. The exchange is respectful; clearly they’re fond of one another. It’s a side of himself he keeps buried under that polished armor of his.
As soon as the elevator doors close, it’s gone. His posture changes. His face resets into the expressionless mask I’m accustomed to. When he turns, those ice-blue eyes sweep across the floor, landing on me like a spotlight.
He heads back into the conference room. Minutes tick by. The office is still technically closed; no one else has arrived yet. It’s just the two of us.
I start toward my office, eager to get a jump on the day. But I barely have a chance to turn on my computer before my intercom chimes.
“My office. Now.”
My stomach twists. He sounds pissed. Did I do something wrong?
I force my face into a neutral expression as I approach his office. He holds the door for me but says nothing. I walk past him, heart thudding against my ribs. No thanks for the coffee. No mention of the breakfast I arranged. Of course not. What was I expecting, a gold star?
He shuts the door behind us.
I brace myself for a reprimand, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, he walks past me, circles around, and sits—not behind his desk, but on the corner of it. Close to where I’m standing. Very close. His cologne curls into my lungs—dark, musky, expensive.
My mouth goes dry.
“We need to arrange a meeting with the Agostis,” he says. “It has to be handled a certain way. No mistakes.”
I nod, trying to focus, but his proximity is making that nearly impossible.
“You’ll reach out to Nico Agosti first,” he continues, his gaze fixed on me. “But make it clear the invitation is for both him and his father. It’s a sign of respect. We don’t acknowledge the son without including the father.”
“Got it,” I manage.
He shifts slightly, leaning forward just enough to crowd my space. My breath catches.
“The location should be neutral but not impersonal. A space that suggests we’re open to diplomacy but still hold the upper hand. I’ll send you a list of acceptable venues.”
“Understood.”
He’s close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating from him. His voice. His scent. His presence. My brain is trying to keep up with what he’s saying but my body’s reaction isn’t helping. I’m flushed. Aware of every inch of him. I fight the urge to take a step back.
He looks at me while he speaks, eyes locked on mine, and I swear something I’ve seen before flickers in them.
My nipples tighten under my blouse, my pussy clenching with heat as he continues. He talks about logistics—dates, attendees, optics—but I don’t hear any of it. Not really. Because all I can think about is the way he touched me in the dark. The way he groaned against my neck.
I blink a couple times and look down at my tablet, hoping he can’t see me blushing.
“Any questions?” he asks.
I swallow. “Just send me that list of options and I’ll get started.”
He gives a small nod, then gestures toward my iPad. “Pull up a map.”
My fingers fumble slightly as I navigate to the city grid on my tablet. He moves around, coming to stand just behind me.
That goddamn cologne. Dark cedar, leather, a hint of spice. My body floods with heat as the memory slams into me.
I nearly moan.
“Here,” he says, pointing at the tablet. “Downtown, but not central. This block is mostly commercial—clean, quiet, discreet. There’s a hotel here that should suffice.”
I nod dumbly.
“If they push back on that location, offer the Seville off Halden. But make it clear we’ll provide security. Ours. Not theirs.”
My eyes dart up to his face, needing to see him. And for a moment, I forget to pretend. I stare at his eyes. Those same ice-blue eyes that pierced through the dark in the club, searing me when my hands were bound and my body spread. They’re his. On me again.
I don’t blink.
Neither does he.
There’s a moment suspended, hot, heavy, unbreathable. His mouth curves into a knowing smirk.
“Send me the details once they confirm,” he says, turning away and slipping back into boss mode. As if nothing just passed between us.
But I’m not breathing.
“Did you know it was me?” I whisper.
He smiles, and I swear I could slap him and kiss him in the same breath.
“I did,” he says simply.
I stammer, “You—you...”
He steps in front of me. I tilt my chin up in defiance. I won’t let him have the last word. I won’t be embarrassed. But I can’t find a single sentence to say, because I have no idea whether I want to scream at him or drop to my knees.
My thoughts are like a wildfire.
He says nothing. He just leans in, eyes blazing, and kisses me.
His mouth crashes onto mine. It’s not soft. It’s hungry. Possessive in a way that sends a hot, electric pulse straight to my core. His lips are firm, commanding, and rough, causing my toes to curl inside my shoes.
His scent wraps around me as his body presses against mine. His hand grips my ponytail, tilting my head back, deepening the kiss. My knees go weak, but he’s holding me, anchoring me against his chest.
His tongue slips past my lips, tasting, teasing, coaxing mine into the kind of dance I didn’t realize I’d missed. He tastes so goddamn good. My hands fist into the front of his shirt, trying to pull him closer even as part of me whispers this is a bad idea.
But that whisper dies fast.
The moment his hands trail down my back, gliding over the swell of my hips like he’s memorizing them again, I’m gone. Every warning bell in my head is drowned out by the river of blood rushing south, by the way he groans against my mouth like he’s the one who can’t hold back.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about this,” he rasps between kisses. “About you. About tasting you again.”
Oh God.
Before I can reply, he lifts me like I weigh nothing, one arm under my thighs, the other braced against my spine.
I gasp, clutching his shoulders as he strides to the leather couch across the room.
He sets me down carefully, reverently, then peels my skirt down in one smooth motion, dragging my panties with it. Cool air hits my thighs, and I shiver.
He pauses just long enough to look at me. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”
Then he lowers himself between my legs, eyes locked on mine the whole time. His mouth finds me with agonizing precision, his lips brushing, then his tongue pressing, circling, tasting. My head falls back with a cry. He hums against me, hands spreading my thighs wider, holding me open.
I bite down on a moan, but it’s useless. He licks and sucks with the kind of experience that borders on cruel—like he knows every nerve ending by name, every flick of his tongue choreographed to undo me.
My hands grip the leather, hips lifting off the couch. “Abram—” I gasp.
He groans in response, the sound vibrating against me, and I lose it. The orgasm crashes over me hard, white heat and tension snapping all at once. I cry out shamelessly, my voice echoing off the high ceiling.
He doesn’t stop until I’ve stilled. Only then does he lift his head, his lips slick and glistening, his mouth curved into the same wicked smile that started this.
“You taste even better than I remember,” he says, voice low and thick with desire. “And I could listen to you come like that forever.”
He leans in and kisses me again, and I taste myself on his tongue. It only makes me hungrier.
My breath is still coming in shallow gasps when he stands and pulls me gently to my feet. My legs are still shaking from the aftershocks of his mouth. His arm slips around my waist to steady me, and for a second, I lean into him, practically melting.
Then his hands are on me again, deft and needy, peeling away what little clothing remains.
My blouse comes off first, then my bra, his mouth trailing kisses down my neck, across the swell of my breasts, teeth scraping just enough to make me whimper.
He tongues a nipple and I gasp, arching into him, needing more.
I reach for him, cupping him through the fine wool of his slacks, and he lets out a low groan that goes straight to my core.
I kiss him, hard and hungry, feeling him twitch beneath my palm. “It’s funny,” I whisper against his lips. “Even if you hadn’t told me, I had my suspicions. Your eyes, the way you touch me.”
He chuckles, his mouth grazing my jaw. “Touch you?” he murmurs. “I haven’t even begun to touch you yet.”
The words send a jolt of heat through me so intense I nearly moan again. Instead, I take his hand and guide him backward, toward his desk chair.
“Sit,” I command.
He does, eyes smoldering. I drop to my knees between his legs, my hands sliding beneath his crisp white shirt to feel the solid muscle of his torso. Then I press my lips to the bulge straining against his slacks, kissing him through the fabric, slow and teasing.
He grits his teeth, his hand finding the back of my head. “Jenna…”
I undo his belt with steady fingers, lower his zipper, and pull him free. God, he’s rock hard, his long, thick cock stiff and glistening just for me.
I kiss the tip, then look up at him, lips parted, flushed and breathless. “What do you want?”
His eyes burn into mine as he smiles mischievously.
“You.”