Chapter 16
MARIAH DIDN’T surrender. She decided. The difference hit Leif like a fuse catching, burning hot through his chest, and it broke something in him that had needed breaking for a long time.
But he didn’t give her everything at once. He stripped her down slowly, baring skin inch by inch, biting and kissing, dragging his mouth down the arch of her throat, over the swell of her breasts, across her belly.
He pulled her arms above her head, pinning them with one hand while the other roamed, both demanding and claiming. He sucked her nipples hard until she cried out, then soothed with his tongue, alternating torment and pleasure until she writhed under him.
Leif spread her thighs wide and buried his mouth between them, tasting her deeply, lapping and sucking until she broke apart.
When she thought she was finished he eased her legs higher, flicking his tongue in relentless strokes, dragging a second climax out of her, and then a third, her sobs breaking into screams as she clenched helplessly.
He devoured her like a man starved, savoring every cry, every shiver, every gush of heat against his tongue.
Only then did he rise and drive into her, the aftershocks of her climax making her clench around him like a fist. She arched hard against him, nails biting into his back, mouth opening on a sound he knew would haunt his nights.
He held her there, straining against his own control, waiting until the first fierce shock in her body eased. And then he moved, relentless.
He didn’t pretend to be civilized. The desk creaked a warning and then accepted their weight. He fucked her with ruthless control, pulling almost out, slamming back in, over and over, then slowing just to hear the whimper twist into a moan when the pace changed.
Sweat slicked them, their bodies sliding, the slap of flesh sharp in the stillness of the office.
He drove into her with purpose, every thrust visceral possession.
He would keep her breathing. He would burn down anyone who tried to put fear where he wanted to put his hands.
He would not lock her up. He would not let her go.
She met him for every inch. There was no retreat in her, only counterstrike.
Her legs locked around his hips and held.
Her nails dragged bloody tracks down his back.
She said his name again and again and every time it landed different, a curse, a prayer, a dare.
He ground deeper, and she cried out his name like surrender and challenge in the same breath.
“Say it,” he told her against her mouth. “Say you feel this.”
“I feel it,” she gasped, eyes bright with tears she refused to let fall. “I feel everything.”
He kissed the corner of her eye before anything could slide out and make a liar out of her.
He pushed harder, faster, then slowed to torment her, then harder again.
She came again with a scream, her body shaking around him, dragging his own climax closer with every spasm.
He fought not to let go before she did. The Brand in his palm burned so hot it should have seared the air itself.
She broke first, not small, not quiet. Her whole body bowed and clenched around him, and the sound that came out of her took his name apart and put it back together like it belonged to her.
He went with her, then, no control left, nothing but force and heat and relief so sharp it bordered on pain.
He thrust once, twice more, then spilled into her with a roar, grinding deep, holding her as if he could weld her body to his. Everything went white around the edges.
They stayed that way a long time, mouths close, breaths mixing, the city a smear of light beyond the glass.
His heart hammered against her chest. Hers hammered back.
The world could’ve ended and he wouldn’t have noticed for several beats.
He kissed her once, softer than anything that had come before it, and her answer came like a tremor through him.
He eased back, still inside her, and looked at her face. She was wrecked and beautiful, hair loose, lips swollen, eyes steady. She lifted a hand and pushed his hair off his forehead like they were on a couch after dinner and not wrecked on a desk.
It was several endless moments before she could bring herself to speak. “This doesn’t change anything,” she said quietly.
It shouldn’t have surprised him. It still did. He closed his eyes a second, opened them again. “It changes something.”
“It changes that we needed it.” She exhaled.
“It changes that I wanted it. But it doesn’t change that you’re going to lock every door and call it love, or that I’m going to kick at them because I need windows open.
It doesn’t change that I don’t think Rocco had the brains to do this, and that one of your own men did. ”
He pulled out of her gently and stepped back, fighting the urge to drag her in again and make a liar of her mouth with her body.
He caught her wrist before she could move away and retrieved a clean handkerchief, running it between her thighs with rough tenderness until she hissed and stilled, cleaned by his hand instead of her own.
Only then did he fasten his belt with hands that wanted to shake and refused.
She slid off the desk and pulled her dress into place with the automatic motions of a woman who’d taught herself to walk out of rooms without giving anyone the pleasure of watching her flounder.
He found his jacket on the floor and held it out. She took it and shrugged in. The sight of his clothes on her had always done something to him he couldn’t name. It still did now, even with the chasm between them yawning wider.
For a beat, silence pressed between them. Then his voice came, quieter, stripped of the edge. “Why did you really leave my bed last night?”
Mariah looked down at the floor, then back at him. “Because if I stayed, I was afraid I’d stop being me and just become yours. And that terrifies me as much as it thrills me.”
He studied her, his expression hard, mouth drawn into a grim line. “You already are mine. But I don’t want you hollowed out. I want all of you—the fight, the fire. You walk out on me again, I’ll come drag you back.”
Her mouth curved in something halfway between anger and a smile. “And if I walk back in on my own?”
“Then I’ll know you chose me. And I’ll never let anyone take that choice away.” He paused, then added, “And I’ll still find out who planted that bomb. Rocco wasn’t smart enough to pull it off alone—if at all. One of my own men had a hand in it, and I’ll tear my house apart until I know who.”
Relief flickered across Mariah’s face. “So you see it, too.” Her voice softened, no longer combative.
“For once we’re not on opposite sides of this.
You know it wasn’t Rocco, not really. Or not without inside help.
That means we’re looking in the same direction now, and not fighting each other over it. ”
He studied her a long beat, as if weighing the ground they’d finally found in common, then let out a breath. “So if we agree it wasn’t Rocco, the question becomes—what next? What do you want to do? Right now.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I already told you. I want to go to my apartment and get my things.”
He nodded once. Decision slammed into place. “And I already told you that Tomas will take you.” He picked up his phone.
“Stop.” Mariah crossed her arms, bristling. “I don’t need a jailer.”
Leif’s stare grew hard and unyielding. “You’re not getting one. You’re getting my driver. There’s a difference—and you know it.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “And that’s all he’s going to do? Drive me?”
Leif blew out a sigh. “He’ll shadow you, he’ll check your hall, he’ll stand at the door while you pack. He’ll put your boxes in the car. He won’t let anyone touch you.” His voice was clipped, methodical, as if reciting the rules of a contract she hadn’t agreed to.
“Is that really necessary?”
Leif’s gaze sharpened, a faint edge of steel cutting through the calm. “Yes. Because if he does everything I’ve said—shadows you, checks the hall, stays in the doorway, loads your things—then there are no cracks for anyone else to slip through. He answers to me and that’ll keep you safe.”
She stared at him, weighing the control in his tone against the grudging concession he was offering. After a long beat, her eyes softened just a fraction, though her mouth stayed firm. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to fight you anymore today.”
He made the call. “Tomas. Bring the car to the private elevator. Take Miss De Angelis to her apartment. Stay within her line of sight. If anyone she doesn’t want near her gets near her, put them down soft and call me.
” He listened, then ended the call and set the phone down like he was setting a weapon on a table between them.
Mariah took two steps toward the door and stopped. She looked back at the desk. At him. At their hands. Her palm lifted a fraction, as if some part of her wanted to reach for him and some other part slapped that hand away in her own head.
“Say it,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to ask for and he wasn’t sure what he was asking.
She shook her head. “Not now.” She touched the edge of the desk with her fingertips, almost a benediction, almost a warning, then turned and walked toward the private hall.
The door whispered open. Tomas’s quiet knock followed, respectful, the exact sound Leif had heard a hundred times and never thought about. He thought about it now. He thought about everything.
“Sir,” Tomas said from the threshold, eyes forward, posture perfect. “Car’s ready.”
Leif nodded without taking his eyes off Mariah. “Take care of her.”
“Always.”