Chapter 15 #3
“Now.” It’s not a request. Before I can decline, he reaches down and wraps his hand around my upper arm, his grip firm but not painful. The heat of his palm burns through the sleeve of my shirt, and I scowl.
“Hey, what are you—” I start to protest, but he’s already pulling me to my feet.
“Excuse us,” he says to the rest of the office, his voice perfectly polite even as he’s practically dragging me toward the door. “We need to discuss some campaign details.”
“Caleb, let go of me,” I hiss, trying to pull away without making a scene.
But his grip tightens slightly, and the way his thumb presses against my pulse point makes my heart rate spike for reasons that have nothing to do with anger.
He doesn’t respond, just guides me out of the office and down the hallway.
I have no choice but to follow unless I want to cause a complete spectacle.
“Where are we going?” I demand as he steers me past the elevators and toward the emergency stairwell.
“Somewhere private,” he says grimly, pushing open the heavy door to the stairs. The stairwell is empty and echoing, all concrete and fluorescent lighting. The door closes behind us with a heavy thunk, cutting off the sounds of the office beyond. Suddenly, we’re very, very alone.
Caleb doesn’t hesitate. He backs me up against the concrete wall, his hands braced on either side of my head, effectively trapping me. The position puts him close—so close I can smell his cologne mixed with something that’s purely him.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks, his voice hard.
My heart is hammering against my ribs, but I tilt my chin up defiantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t.” His voice drops even lower, and I can feel the vibration of it in my chest. “Don’t lie to me, Eve.
Not when I just spent twenty minutes in Natalie’s office explaining to my brother why I’m so seemingly obsessed with the reproductive habits of sea cucumbers, and why I would send HR a slideshow of my new hobby. ”
I can’t help it—a small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Did you really have to explain it?”
His eyes narrow dangerously. “This isn’t funny.”
“How was I to know you’d send an email to HR?” My smile broadens.
Caleb’s eyes darken. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
The laugh slips out anyway.
In a blur, he shoves me back against the concrete wall, caging me in with his arms as his thigh wedges hard between mine. The sudden contact knocks a gasp from me before I can stop it, my palms flattening uselessly against his chest.
“Look at you—squirming. Where’s all that fire now?” His voice is low, sharp, merciless.
“Don’t you dare,” I snap, though it comes out shaky, the warning undercut by the heat flooding through me. My eyes flick toward the stairwell door. “We’re in the office. Someone could—”
“Then keep quiet.” His thigh presses harder, grinding up until a sharp, humiliating sound breaks free of my throat. His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to bare my throat. The sting makes my knees buckle, another sound spilling out before I can stop it.
“If someone walks in on us, Caleb, I’ll kill you,” I hiss, nails digging into his shoulders even as my hips betray me, rocking helplessly against the muscle of his thigh.
His lips curl into a wicked grin, his eyes burning into mine. “Go on, Lopez. Kill me while you’re dripping all over me.”
“Shut up,” I snap, but it’s breathless, desperate, nothing like the fury I want it to be.
“Oh, no,” he murmurs, his thigh flexing deliberately, grinding me harder. “You don’t get to tell me to shut up. Not after you thought it would be cute to auto-attach sea cucumber porn to every email I sent today.”
A ragged laugh chokes out of me. “It wasn’t porn,” I manage, gasping as another roll of his thigh steals my air. “It was a detailed PowerPoint—”
His grip clamps tighter on my waist, and he thrusts up hard, cutting me off with a cry that tears out of my throat.
“You’re still arguing?” His voice is a growl, hot against my ear. His thigh grinds me ruthlessly, leaving me no escape. “Still mouthing off when I’ve got you like this?”
“If you’re looking for an apology, you’re barking up the wrong tree” I moan, the friction against my clit making me see stars. “You had it coming.”
“I had it coming? You started this.” He squeezes my nipple, and I gasp. His hand yanks my hair back, forcing me to meet the burn of his eyes.
“Go ahead, Lopez,” he taunts, rutting me down harder, every thrust brutal and controlled. “Correct me. Explain your little PowerPoint while you come apart on my thigh.”
A broken sound catches in my throat, and I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood.
I will not moan for him. But Caleb is relentless.
His thigh thrusts up again, again, steady and punishing.
Each grind hits deeper, sharper, until my body starts moving with his, chasing the friction no matter how much I curse myself for it.
Every thrust rips me further open, the rough fabric dragging over me in just the right way, pressure building higher, hotter.
“Pirates as entrepreneurs?” His voice is smug filth against my skin, punctuated by another hard thrust. “Creative. But the fish taco recipe?” He drives his thigh up and holds me there, grinding mercilessly until my breath stutters into a sob. “Inspired.”
A helpless whimper tears free, humiliatingly loud in the echoing stairwell.
“There it is,” Caleb whispers, triumph curling around every word. “That’s what I wanted. Moan for me, Eve.”
“I—” My protest splinters into another ragged cry when his grip on my waist tightens, rocking me in a punishing rhythm. My body is on fire, nerves fraying, every drag of friction pulling me closer to the brink. Why is he so good at unraveling me like this?
“Don’t hold back,” he taunts, his teeth scraping the sensitive spot beneath my ear. “You didn’t hold back when you sabotaged my email. Don’t start now.”
“Caleb,” I choke out, part warning, part plea, my head tipping back against the wall as my control shatters.
“That’s it,” he growls, rutting me down against his thigh harder, faster, each thrust crueler than the last. “Come on, Lopez. Fall apart for me. I want you ruined.”
The orgasm slams into me, brutal and consuming. My head knocks back against the wall as a loud, wanton moan rips from my throat. My nails claw into his shirt as I shake apart, gasping, broken, riding every merciless grind until the last shudder leaves me boneless in his grip.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his smirk pure sin. “Wrecked. And all because I decided to give you a taste of your own medicine.”
My breath catches, fury clawing its way back through the haze of release. “You’re a sore loser,” I gasp, the words raw, trembling, but defiant.
His grin sharpens, and before I can take another breath, he crushes his mouth onto mine.
The kiss is hard, almost bruising, his tongue sweeping in to claim every inch until I’m gasping against him.
I hate him. I want him. The contradiction makes me dizzy, makes my stomach clench in ways I can’t control.
When he finally drags away, I’m left panting into the space between us, lips swollen, my pulse a wild, frantic thing.
He doesn’t let me breathe. His mouth slides down, marking me again and again, biting, sucking, claiming patches of skin along my throat until each sting blossoms into heat.
Shame and desire twist inside me, a dangerous, addictive mix.
By the time he pulls back, my blazer is rumpled, my hair mussed, and my skin littered with his brand. He wipes my lipstick from his face and fixes his shirt.
“Perfect,” he says softly, taunting, his thumb brushing one of the marks on my neck. “Now go sit back at your desk like this.” He straightens his jacket, calm and composed, his eyes raking over me one last time. That wicked grin curves his mouth as he turns for the door.
“We’re even now.”
And then he walks out, leaving me pressed against the wall, panting, disheveled, ruined in every possible way—every nerve still buzzing with the memory of his thigh, his mouth, and the wreckage he left behind.