Chapter 3
GABBY
To say I’m stunned would be the understatement of the goddamn century.
But there’s no doubt in my mind what he wants, what he’s telling me with nothing more than a narrowing of those gorgeous, dark eyes.
Come here.
I should run. I should scream. I should call HR and blow up this place afterwards for good measure. Instead, I stand there like an idiot, breath hitching, my traitor eyes locked onto the way those corded muscles of his forearms flex and tense with each stroke.
Even caught with his guard down like this, there’s no mistaking his power. He’s in a position that would send most men scrambling under the desk. But not him. With just a look, he’s able to somehow be the one in control here.
The silence is heavy, broken only by the ragged sound of him breathing, the soft noise of his palm against his cock.
Then he lets go of himself. He stands up straight, his cock at full attention, pointing right at me. My pussy clenches even harder, and I bite my lower lip like an idiot, as if weighing the pros and cons of a situation that easily has more cons.
Worst of all, I’m standing there like I’m waiting for orders. Finally, he gives me one.
“Gabriella.” My name on his lips hits me like a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach. I’m drunk off it, drunk off him, inebriated to the core. “Come here.”
He uses the same bossy tone, the one I’ve hated and loved in equal measure over the years. He’s practically daring me to pretend I’m not drawn to him.
My brain shouts out one final get out of here—now! But it doesn’t do me the slightest bit of good.
I take one step toward him. Then another.
My heels click on the wood floor, then are whisper-quiet when I step onto the rug.
I get closer, closer, close enough that I can make out the individual veins of his stone-solid cock.
I lick my lips again, forcing myself to look into his eyes and not at his dick, as if that won’t put me under his spell even more.
Soon, I’m close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him, his musky cologne mingling with raw pheromones. The twin scents do things to me that I don’t want to admit.
“This is insane,” I whisper to no one in particular.
He gives me one more look, and that shuts me up on the spot. Then he reaches out and offers me his hand. This is it—one last chance to back out.
Of course, I take his hand. His palm is rough, a little warm from the work he’d been doing.
All I can think about is what it would feel like to have him buried inside me.
He guides me around the desk, and soon, I’m right in front of him. Just like earlier in the day, he’s looming over me like some kind of god.
“You don’t want to leave,” he says. His voice is low, certain, like he’s reading my soul itself. His hand moves up my wrist, his touch brushing the delicate skin there. “You’ve felt it, too. All this time.”
He’s right. I want to pull back, tell him he’s full of himself, as usual. But I can’t.
My body’s screaming for him, and I’m done pretending I don’t want him like mad.
“Sasha—” My voice comes out in a weak plead, cracking on the second syllable of his name. He tightens his grip just a bit, pulling me just a few inches closer to him. I graze the side of his desk, the wood digging into my skin just enough to let me know it’s there.
Then he reaches up, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face to his.
“Mr. Orlov,” he whispers.
I want to laugh at how, even now, he’s bossy to the core. But I’m too distracted by how overwhelming he is up close like this. His chest is thick and powerful, and I catch glimpses of tattoos at the border of his shirt. His scent curls around me like another arm, pulling me close.
“You fight me every goddamn day,” he says, his breath hot, his voice a low rumble I can feel in my bones, his lips so close I can almost taste them. “But not tonight.” He traces my lower lip with his thumb, and a shiver courses down my spine. “Tonight, you’re mine.”
With those words, something in me snaps. I grab his shirt and pull it into a fist, trying to yank him to me, but instead pull myself to him. His mouth crashes into mine, and it’s glorious and messy and everything else. His cock, still hard as steel, pushes against my stomach.
It’s wrong. So, so wrong. Career-ruining, life-ending wrong.
But I don’t care.
The merger, the relentless deadlines, the punishing workload—it all burns away as I give in. I know I’ll regret this in the morning, but right now, I’m too caught up to care.
My free hand moves down, as if on its own, brushing Sasha’s chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle under warm, rough skin. His tongue invades my mouth, claiming me with a taste of whiskey lingering on his tongue. He reaches around and cups my ass, squeezing it hard enough to make me moan.
He lifts me, sitting me down on the edge of the desk, stepping between my open legs. His cock presses against my pussy through my soaked panties, and I moan hard into his kiss.
Sasha’s impatient as hell, growling as he kisses me, pulling my blouse open hard enough to send buttons flying, and exposing the black lace bra I—thankfully—happened to be wearing today.
He lands those huge, rough hands on my belly, moving them up, until he slips them under the cups of my bra, holding my breasts in a rough, possessive manner, like they’re his.
His thumbs circle my nipples until they’re hard, aching peaks.
I gasp, and he swallows it with another deep kiss, this time biting my lower lip just enough to hurt in a way that somehow feels so good.
I arch into him, pressing against his cock, reaching around and slipping my hands under his shirt, digging my nails into the solid muscle of his upper back.
His gorgeous, sculpted chest presses against me, all hard lines and heat.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he growls into my mouth. “I bet every part of you tastes this sweet.”
Before I have a chance to react, he pulls me off the desk and takes me by the hips, turning me around like I weigh nothing at all. His hands find the hem of my skirt, and he pulls it up, exposing my nearly bare ass.
“Mine.” The word comes out in a rough growl, as he pulls my panties to the side, the office air cool against my pussy.
His cock is already out, and I moan as soon as I feel the hard bluntness of his head brush against my lips, teasing my entrance, the head of his cock pushing through my slick folds, making me gasp with how good it feels.
Then, with one slow thrust, he enters me from behind.
The deep stroke is perfect, slow, and fills me completely.
The stretch is exquisite, almost too much, his thick length stretching my walls in a way that makes me cry out, gripping the desk for dear life.
I lean forward, my nipples brushing against the cool wood. His hips slam into mine, giving me another punishing thrust deep inside, his glorious girth stretching my walls in a way that makes my toes curl.
“God, you’re so perfect,” he groans. “Your perfect pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock.”
I moan, pushing back against him, making him give it all to me.
His right hand moves up my side until he’s at my neck. He grabs a fist of my hair, pulling it back just enough to make me arch into him, taking him deeper inside. The other hand snakes around, fingertips finding my clit, and rubbing tight, relentless circles that make my vision blur.
The office echoes with our sounds, my desperate moans mixing with his deep grunts. The desk creaks under the force of his thrusts, and I fall forward, my breasts pressing flat against the wood, as he drives into me with a persistent pace.
He’s hitting spots I didn’t even know existed, and I’m lost in it, the world narrowing to just him, the sensation of his cock driving deep inside, the pressure building in me.
“Fuck,” I gasp. “Just… just like that.” He growls in response, his fingers moving faster on my clit, bringing me right to the edge.
He pulls out, and I practically whimper at the loss of him inside me. But he’s not done. Sasha takes hold of me again, turning me and positioning me, like I’m his toy to play with.
He sits me in front of him, files on his desk crinkling underneath me as he spreads my legs wide, hooking my knees over his shoulders. Then he’s back inside and this angle—fuck, it’s deep, his cock sliding in and out in a way that makes me see stars.
“Look at me.” The command is a growl through gritted teeth. I do. My walls clench tighter and tighter around him, gripping him hard, the coil in my core tightening to a breaking point.
“I’m… I’m…”
“Not yet,” he says. “Not until I say so.”
I lie back and he looms over me, his powerful muscles tensing and flexing with each push inside. With one hand, he grabs my wrists and holds them together over my head, his grip like steel. The other stays on my clit, his fingers slick with my wetness, circling and pressing in the way I need.
I’m right there, right there on the edge, my body shaking.
“Please,” I moan. “Sasha, God.”
“Ask for it.” It’s a demand—no negotiation. He slows his thrusts to a slow, torturous rhythm, taking me right to the edge and just holding me there. It makes me want to scream. “Beg me to let you come, Gabriella.”
There’s something about the way he says my name, that possessive tone, like he owns me, that makes me clench harder. Part of me, some stubborn part of me, wants to tell him to screw off. But I’m too far gone to fight it.
“Please,” I gasp. “Please, let me come. Fuck, I need it. Please.”
“Good girl.”
The words send a fresh wave of heat through me. His fingers move faster on my clit, rubbing tight, tight circles. He pushes slow and deep, hitting that perfect spot.
“Now, come for me.”
The command pushes me over the edge, as if he’s in more control of my body than I am. The orgasm crashes through me like a hot wave, my walls clenching around his cock, pulsing as pleasure rips through me. It’s white-hot and blinding, blasting every thought out of my head.
Sasha doesn’t stop, plunging into me at a steady rhythm as I come. I can tell by the tightness of his muscles that he’s right on the verge. I reach around, placing my palms on his perfect, sculpted ass, guiding him into me. I want him to explode.
With one more deep thrust, he lets go. His cock throbs inside, his entire body tensing as he groans hard. A few more slow, measured thrusts and he’s drained inside me, his seed overflowing, dripping down my inner thigh. Aftershocks hit me hard, and I can’t see straight.
We stay like that for several moments, breathing ragged, the air thick with the scent of what we’ve just done. He’s still on top of me, his cock softening inside. Something about our connection in those moments makes the reality of what we’ve just done hit me like a bucket of ice water.
What the hell did I just do? I crossed a line. A big one. The afterglow fades, replaced with a sense of total mortification.
“You alright?” he asks.
No. Not even close.
Without thinking, I shove at his chest, pushing him away, as I scramble off the desk.
I pull my shirt closed, buttoning the few buttons that didn’t get torn off.
I don’t look at him, don’t make eye contact.
But I can feel him watching, assessing. The intensity radiates off him, and I need to get away from it. Fast.
I need to say something, anything.
“That was a mistake,” I manage to get out. “It never should’ve happened.”
“Gabriella…”
I hate the way he says my name. He reaches for me, and I pivot away.
“Don’t—” I say, shaking my head, heart racing. He’s still standing there with his shirt open, his thick cock hanging out, not a trace of modesty on him. As much as I hate to admit it, even feeling the way I do, I still can’t help but drool over that gorgeous body.
But the look on his face… he knows exactly what he’s done.
And he’s pleased about it.
“Don’t make this into anything,” I snap. “Because it isn’t. It’s a one-off, dumb mistake. Understand?”
The anger in my tone doesn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. The faintest of smirks curves those stupidly sexy lips.
“Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
God, I want to grab the stupid little sculpture on his desk and whip it at his head. Something about the certainty in his voice just sends me.
I have to go. After one more look down to make sure I don’t have a boob hanging out, I turn and bolt. My heart races as I burst through his office doors, tears forming in my eyes as I rush down the hall, heels in my hands.
I don’t look back. I can’t. I know he’s watching, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
And I don’t want to give in to the burning ache I have to turn right around and be in his arms again.
END OF PREVIEW