Chapter Twenty-Seven - Annie #2
My legs weaken, knees threatening to give, and he feels it. In one smooth movement he lifts me, effortless, and sets me on the edge of the desk. The wood shudders under us, papers scatter like snow, the half-empty glass of vodka tips and spills across ledgers and maps, but none of it matters.
All that exists is him. The solid weight of his body pressing me into the desk, the rough heat of his hands sliding beneath my blouse. His palms sear against bare skin, dragging the fabric higher until it tangles uselessly around my ribs. Every touch tears down the walls I’ve tried to build.
I clutch at him harder, pulling him down until my mouth devours his again.
The kiss is raw, tasting of vodka and smoke, his tongue thrusting into me, claiming, demanding.
I answer with equal ferocity, biting his lower lip hard enough to taste copper.
His growl rumbles against my chest, shuddering through my bones.
The desk digs into the backs of my thighs, hard and unyielding, but I don’t care. He presses between my legs, forcing me wide, driving me mad with every grind of his body. Each scrape of his mouth, every drag of his hands is possession, a reminder of the power he wields.
I refuse to be passive. I meet him, match him, burn with him until I can’t tell if I’m giving or taking.
My hands tear at his shirt, popping buttons, shoving fabric back from his shoulders. His chest is hard beneath my palms, warm and unrelenting, muscles flexing as he presses me down. My nails rake across him, leaving marks he doesn’t flinch from.
He breaks from my lips only when breathing becomes impossible. Our foreheads collide, sweat slicking the space between us, our breaths mingling hot and uneven. His eyes scorch into mine, dark, feral, and his voice is a guttural rasp. “You should have told me.”
The words tear something raw from me. “You should have let me go.”
Neither of us means it.
The silence between us stretches, heavy as thunder, before it breaks.
He kisses me again, fierce and unrelenting, and I answer with the same hunger. My legs lock around his waist, hauling him closer until there’s no space left. His hands seize my hips, dragging me forward across the desk, pinning me so completely that escape isn’t an option. I don’t want to escape.
The fire consumes us both, burning through grief, through rage, until nothing exists but this—his mouth, his hands, the heat that devours everything else.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing heat along my jaw, down the column of my throat.
Teeth scrape, lips soothe, tongues scorch.
My head tips back helplessly as he bites at the hollow of my neck, claiming, branding.
The sound that tears out of me is half gasp, half moan, and his answering growl vibrates against my skin.
His hands move lower, rough palms sliding beneath my skirt.
Callused fingers stroke the sensitive inside of my thigh, deliberate, unhurried, until I’m trembling.
The edge of my panties tugs against me, damp with proof of how much I need this, how much I hate that I need this.
He presses there, firm, knowing, and my hips jerk against him before I can stop myself.
“You burn for me,” he murmurs against my throat, his accent thicker, voice guttural. “Even when you want to hate me.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My body betrays me too completely. My nails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, demanding more.
He doesn’t keep me waiting. His hand slides my underwear aside, two fingers pressing against the heat of me, sliding through slickness with ruthless precision.
My breath breaks, sharp and needy. He circles, teases, then pushes inside, stretching me, filling me.
My back arches against the desk, a strangled sound escaping my lips.
The storm outside batters the windows, thunder rolling through the house. But all I can hear is the wet sound of his fingers thrusting into me, the ragged cadence of my breath, the dark satisfaction in his low growls when I clench around him.
I rock against his hand, shameless now, chasing release.
My thighs quiver, my grip in his hair desperate.
His thumb finds me, pressing, circling, and the world snaps white-hot.
Pleasure tears through me, violent and shattering.
My cry fills the library, raw and unrestrained, as I fall apart on his hand.
He doesn’t stop. He slows, gentles, but keeps me riding the aftershocks until I collapse against the desk, shaking.
His fingers slide free, glistening, and he brings them to my mouth.
The command is unspoken, but I obey, tasting myself on his skin, my lips closing around him.
His eyes darken, something feral breaking through his control.
Then he’s moving; shoving papers and books to the floor, pushing me back flat on the desk.
My skirt rucks high around my hips, panties already ruined.
He tears at his belt, his trousers, freeing himself, and the sight makes my mouth go dry.
He’s thick, heavy, the tip flushed and slick.
My body clenches in anticipation, already desperate to take him.
He positions himself, the blunt head pressing against me. My breath catches. His gaze locks with mine, a final warning—or a claim. Then he thrusts.
The stretch is brutal, exquisite, burning in the best way. My cry echoes off the shelves, and his answering groan rumbles from deep in his chest. He sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he’s fully inside me, filling me to the hilt. My body yields, trembling, clenching around him.
For a heartbeat we’re still, panting, staring at each other like enemies who’ve stumbled into something too dangerous to name. Then he moves.
Each thrust drives me against the desk, wood creaking, books toppling in cascades. He sets a rhythm, hard and relentless, every stroke deeper, rougher, shaking me apart. My legs lock around his waist, anchoring him to me, dragging him closer, matching him thrust for thrust.
The fire between us ignites brighter, burning through every doubt, every secret. His name tears from my throat, hoarse and unwilling, and he answers with mine, groaned like a curse, like a vow.
The desk rattles, the storm howls, and we move together in a rhythm that feels like ruin and salvation all at once. I don’t know if this is love, if it’s hate, if it’s something monstrous in between. I only know I can’t stop.