Chapter Twenty-Two Gemma #2
He aggressively stabs the button to the executive floor until the doors slide shut. The moment they do, his hands grip my waist. He spins me around and presses me against the cool metal. His warm breath fans against my neck, igniting my core when he whispers, “I know what you’re doing.”
“Oh?” I say, breathless despite my best attempt to maintain control.
“Mm-hmm,” he hums, a deep rumble from his broad chest. “And you’re not going to get away with it.”
My insides turn liquid. He pulls his head back and I stare into his blue eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”
Jesus Christ, Gemma. What are you doing?
I can’t help it. I’m poking the bear. He’s going to punish me, and I so desperately want to let him. I want him undone. I want him to beg.
He brings a hand up to my breast, running his thumb over the sheer fabric and lace, teasing my nipple into a taut peak. My hands fly up, digging into his shoulders as I steady myself. A needy moan tumbles past my lips before I can stop it.
He pulls back suddenly. The elevator pings, forcing us to separate as the doors open, and I smooth out my trousers and try to slow my racing heart.
Without a word, he continues to his temporary office, me in tow, slamming the door behind us. He pushes his suit jacket off, discarding it on the large sofa pushed against his office wall, running a frustrated hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He turns to me with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
This is going to be good.
“What is it you wanted to talk about?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. He starts working at the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, slipping off his cufflinks and tucking them into his trouser pocket.
Then, he deftly rolls up his sleeves to reveal those thick, corded forearms, dusted with dark hair.
A platinum ring adorning his index finger catches the light.
I can’t look away. Even his bloody forearms are hot.
“See something you like?” he asks, backing up to lean against his desk.
He plants his palms on the polished mahogany on either side of him, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in that infuriatingly hot half smile.
“You didn’t answer me,” I say, avoiding his question. The arrogant prick knows I like what I see.
My eyes drop to the obvious bulge concealed beneath his trousers and my mouth waters.
“Do you think you can just flirt with Henry in front of me and get away with it? After leaving so abruptly last night?” he says, tilting his head.
I lift my eyebrows. “I think we both know that’s exactly what you were using Louise for.”
“Are you jealous?” he asks.
“Ha! Believe me, the last thing I feel toward Louise is jealousy.” I prowl toward him with deliberate steps. He tracks my movements as I eliminate the space between us.
“You’re the one who started this game. You know exactly where my office is. You weren’t in that kitchen to chat with Louise—or anyone else, for that matter. Execs have their own damn coffee machine. You were there because you wanted to see me,” I say.
He doesn’t move a muscle. “I want you to admit you want me. That’s why you left last night, isn’t it?” He gestures between us. “You want this—more than you ever meant to—and it’s killing you to admit it.”
His voice drops to a low murmur. “You can’t stand how much you feel when I’m near you. When my tongue and fingers are inside you.”
He’s right. It is killing me. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t gather a single coherent thought.
I’m fully dickmatized. Under the spell of his monster cock.
So, naturally, all I manage is the weakest response.
“You’re pretty sure of yourself,” I say. He shifts to widen his stance, so I slip between his thighs, closing the distance until we’re inches apart.
“I’m sure of you.” His eyes drop to my lips.
“You don’t even know me,” I retort.
“I wouldn’t quite say that. I know your body,” he says with too much confidence.
I push my glasses up my nose to take my mind off the electricity coursing through my vagina, and he catches my wrist.
“I also know you’re intelligent and ambitious—you’ve built an impressive reputation for yourself, and I have a lot of respect for you in that regard.
You’re proud of the work you do, and you should be.
I know your friendships mean everything to you, that you care more than you let on.
” His focus shifts to my lips, briefly hesitating.
“I know your body craves the same things mine does.”
“And what’s that?” I keep my tone cool.
“Release. Connection without commitment.” He regards me. “I know you want to be taken apart and put back together. Last night was incredible. We both know it. I want more.”
My entire body burns and bristles at his blunt admission.
He rubs his thumb over my pulse. He must feel how it races.
“And what makes you so sure you’re capable of giving me what I need?”
“Let’s drop the act, shall we?” he says. The rasp in his voice is rough enough to make my toes curl.
“There is no act,” I lie.
“Then what is this? A game?” His free hand lands on the curve of my waist, his fingers pressing into the silk of my sheer shirt. “Because if it is, I think we should establish some rules. Don’t you?”
My breath catches. “What kind of rules?” I ask.
“Rule one,” he says, pulling me closer. “You don’t walk out on me when we’re messing around.”
I smirk. “Who said last night wasn’t only a one-time thing?”
“I did.” His hand slides from my waist to the small of my back, splaying his long fingers. “Rule two. No more using people to make each other jealous. No more Henry. No more Louise.”
The way he spits Henry’s name is pure possession. Territorial. Oh—it clicks—he’s actually jealous.
That explains the weird behavior when he saw us together at the bar last night. Does he think… does he think I’m sleeping with Henry?
I lick my bottom lip, filing that information away for later.
Who knows? It might come in handy. And it’s not exactly my place to go broadcasting Henry’s sexual orientation, now, is it?
I lift my chin. “You started it.”
“And I’m ending it.” His tone is final.
“And rule three?” I ask, my breathing grows ragged and my stomach spins.
“Rule three. While I’m fucking you, no one else is.”