Hostile Takeover, Part II
NICK
No resistance. This woman— Jesus.
We threw ourselves through the door and the world narrowed to the sound of sliding silk and the frantic, uneven pull of our breathing.
There were no words, just the raw urgency of hands finding skin and clothes hitting the entryway until I lifted her, her legs locking around my waist as her back hit the frame.
"Nick."
My name. Just my name.
But the way she said it, all breath and edge and finally, went straight to my cock like a goddamn kinetic strike.
I kissed her. Not gentle. Not slow. This was all teeth and tongue and the kind of frantic that happens when you've spent twelve hours trying to be professional and your control is now hanging by a thread thinner than the lace I'd just ripped off her body.
Shit. I’ll replace them.
Her fingers clamped onto my shoulders, her nails digging in as she fought for leverage. She wasn't just holding on—she was anchoring herself to me while I rocked against her.
No friction. Not yet. Just the threat of it.
“You don’t know where my head went,” I growled, my grip tightening as my mouth found her throat again, “watching you like that in the mud.”
"Show me." Demanding. Breathless. Her hips rolling against my dick.
Fuck.
"Look at me."
She did. Those hazel eyes were blown wide, dark with want, and for one terrifying second, everything I knew about myself—my name, my history, the ground beneath my feet—just evaporated. I was nothing but the heat of her.
“You’re a problem, Juliette.”
A laugh—surprised, disbelieving—broke from her lips. “Solve it, then.”
I didn't need the invitation. I punctuated the "solution" with a thrust of my hips that turned her laugh into a jagged gasp.
"You’re mine. Right now."
She nodded, frantic, her forehead dropping to mine. "Yours. God, Nick, please—"
"Please what?"
I knew what. Still needed to hear it.
"Please don't make me say it."
"Say it." I shifted my hold on her, one hand sliding up her spine to cradle her head, the other gripping her thigh hard enough to leave marks. Marks for tomorrow. "Tell me what you need."
"You." The word cracked in the middle. "Just you. Inside me. Now. I can't—I've been waiting—"
Twelve hours. One day of restraint down the drain in three seconds.
I didn't wait. Neither did she.
When I pushed into her, we both stopped breathing. Her legs tightened, her head hit the frame, her eyes rolling back as her fingers locked into my arms. I held there, buried in her, watching her lose the ability to speak.
I’m dead.
"Move," she whispered.
I moved.
The first few strokes hit hard. The angle. The heat. The way she clenched around me.
I braced my forehead against the canvas beside her head.
Control?
Checked out.
"Faster," she demanded, and who was I to argue with direct orders?
The sound of us—skin on skin, breath catching—filled the room. The neighboring suites heard everything.
Didn’t give a single solitary fuck.
I pulled back just enough to look at her.
She was wrecked. Hair everywhere, lips swollen. She looked at me with a terrifying kind of focus, like she’d forgotten there was a world outside this tent.
And I’d wiped the map clean.
"Come for me," I said, and it came out rougher than I intended. Darker. Needier. "Right now, Juliette. Let go. I've got you, baby."
Her nails bit into my shoulders again. Her mouth opened, but the only thing that came out was a sound that had nothing to do with logic or data. She was trembling, tightening, falling apart in my arms.
My gaze snagged on the scuffed canvas panel and shredded lace. My hands hadn’t steadied yet. I’d pushed past the edge of my control, and the tent had the marks to prove it.
I’ve seen honey badgers with more restraint.
Didn’t care.
I went over with her, buried my face in her neck, held on until the ringing eased and the room stopped tilting.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Breath steadying.
Juliette's laugh vibrated against my shoulder. "Well."
I lifted my head. My lungs were still fighting for air. "Well?"
She gestured vaguely at the room, at the trail of clothes and the very obvious fact that we hadn’t made it far. “That was… a lot.”
"A lot 'good' or a lot 'I'm calling security'?"
Her smile didn’t pass through clean. "You are security."
My hand tightened on her hip.
I eased back, letting her slide down my body until her feet hit the floor—then immediately regretted it when every nerve ending I owned woke back up. "You okay?"
"Mm. Sore. I'll be sending you the invoice for my physical therapy in the morning."
I grinned, slow and stupid, still catching my breath. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She poked my chest. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late." I caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “My brain is currently somewhere in the Limpopo province. I’ll send a search party for it tomorrow.”
She laughed, the real one that changed her whole face, starting with her eyes. My pulse stuttered. Damn near dropped me.
This was going to cost me.
"So." I glanced around at the wreckage. Clothes everywhere. "That was..."
"Twelve hours of sexual tension with a violent exit strategy?"
"Poetic." I pulled her closer. Mine for the next four days—if I had anything to say about it.
I lifted her onto the desk in seconds, stepping between her knees before she could catch her breath. She didn’t fight me. She just said my name.
Not a request.
It was a hostile fucking takeover.
And I let her have the assets.
The second time was slower for exactly three seconds.
Then her legs locked around my waist, her mouth found my throat, and every useful thought I had left went straight through the floor.
She took me again like she’d just closed the deal twice.
Goddamn impressive.
When it was over, neither of us moved.
My hand was still on her hip. Hers still braced against my shoulders like she hadn’t decided whether to push me away or pull me closer.
She tipped her head back, eyes half-lidded, still catching her breath. “Okay.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Okay?”
She gestured vaguely between us. “That was efficient. Borderline aggressive.”
“That’s not the word I’d use.”
Her mouth twitched. “Don’t ruin it by getting sentimental.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good.”
She peeled herself off the desk, slow this time. Grabbed the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself without ceremony, already moving like she owned the space.
Because she did.
She glanced back at me. “You’re not leaving.”
Not a question.
I leaned one shoulder against the timber post, watching her like I didn’t have a single good reason to argue with that. “No?”
“No.” She crossed to the small table, poured water into a glass like this was just another evening, not whatever the hell that had been. “Logistically inefficient. I prefer repeatable systems.”
“Right. Copy that.”
She handed me the glass. Our fingers brushed. Stayed there a second longer than necessary.
Problem.
I took the water and drank, watching her over the rim.
She held my stare. No retreat. No softness.
But the room had changed around us.
She reached for my shirt off the floor, dropped the sheet, then pulled it on like it belonged to her. The hem hit mid-thigh. Bare legs. No effort made to fix her hair.
Jesus.
“This is going to get me killed.”
She glanced down at herself. “You seem to be managing.”
“Barely.”
“Try harder.”
I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head, and that’s when my phone buzzed on the table behind me.
Once. Then again.
Didn’t need to look to know who it was. Trousers came first, because some instincts outranked lust. By the time the phone reached my ear, that version of me was gone. “Hey, love.”
Juliette’s attention snapped to me like I’d just grown a second head.
“How was your day?” I turned from the table and paced a few steps, staying close without meaning to. “Yeah? First week and already surviving, that’s impressive.”
A pause. I smiled despite myself.
“No, that’s normal. New schools are chaos. You’ll have it mapped in a week.”
Another pause. Softer now.
“I miss you too, baby.”
I leaned a hand on the table, head dipping slightly as I listened.
“No, I’ll call you tomorrow. Same time. Get some sleep, yeah? Big day tomorrow.”
A quiet beat.
“Alright. Night, love.”
I ended the call and stood there for half a second longer than necessary.
Then turned.
Juliette hadn’t moved. Still leaning against the table, my shirt on her, glass in hand, watching me like she was cataloging data points.
“Daughter?” she asked.
Direct. Clean. No hesitation.
“Yeah.”
“How old?”
“Fourteen.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “That explains the tone shift,” she said, her eyes narrowed as she recalibrated her view of me. “The frequency just dropped an octave. It’s… paternal.”
I huffed. “You’re thorough.”
“Yes.”
She took a sip of water, considering me over the rim. “You sounded… different.”
I leaned back against the table, folding my arms loosely. “How’s that?”
“Like you weren’t three steps ahead.”
“Didn’t realize those were my default settings.”
“They are.”
I smirked. “Not with her.”
“No,” she said quietly. “Not with her.”
Silence settled between us again, less charged now. More grounded.
“She’s in Virginia,” I added. The question sat there between us, unasked but heavy, even if she wouldn’t lower her guard enough to say it. “With her mom. Just started high school this week.”
Juliette nodded once, like she’d filed it away. No pity. No probing.
“You like her,” she said.
I blinked. “She’s my kid.”
“That’s not what I said.”
A corner of my mouth lifted. “Yeah.”
That one stuck.
She looked down at the glass in her hand, then back up at me.
“I don’t think I’ve talked to anyone like that in…” She trailed off, then gave a small, dismissive shake of her head. “A while.”
I didn’t fill the silence.
Didn’t fix it.
Just watched her.
She set the glass down, crossed the room, and climbed into the bed like it was already decided.
Then she looked at me. “I’m not asking you to leave.”
There it was again. Not a question. Not soft.
Certain.
I pushed off the table and crossed to her, slower this time. No rush. No edge.
Just… choice.
Sliding into the bed beside her, I felt her shift automatically, fitting against me like there was no adjustment needed.
That should have felt like something to shut down.
It didn’t.
My hand found her waist. Her fingers curled lightly against my chest, no grip this time. No urgency.
Just there.
I stared at the ceiling, listening to her breathing. It was a steady, quiet sound that made the space feel smaller than it was. This was a complication. And I’d just invited it to stay for breakfast.