20. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
I’m so furious that I want to throw something heavy at Luka’s retreating head.
I don’t care that the entire office was staring at us. Probably still is, as I hurry after my husband and follow him back to his executive suite. He’s about to shut the door in my face, but I grab it in one hand, and with more strength than I knew I had, wrench it open.
“What the hell was that back there?” I hiss.
His eyes go wide, and it takes all my will not to punch him in his handsome face.
“What was what?” he asks.
“Your pathetic attempt to keep me in line?”
Luka’s eyes dart down the hallway and he murmurs, “Keep your voice down.”
I don’t let up. “Ah, or maybe it was your way of ensuring you have plausible deniability whenever you’re seen out in public with one of your whores. ‘Hands-on,’ as you put it?”
“Brooklyn, stop.”
“Make me.”
He drags me inside his office and shuts the door, then locks it before pulling the shades.
Crossing my arms, I lift my chin and prepare for whatever he might throw my way.
I’m beyond caring anymore. He doesn’t just want his cake so he can eat it, too.
He wants to roll around in that shit and wear it like a badge of honor.
No way I’m letting him have a pass at being seen publicly with his arms around Monica, or any of her other model friends. “If I have an image to uphold, so do you,” I tell him.
“Is that what you think?” Luka storms over to me and takes my chin in a firm grip.
“Get your hands off me,” I growl, slapping his hand away.
Undeterred, he wraps an arm around my waist and draws me up against his chest. I squeal angrily, shoving against him.
But the hard, warm feel of his toned body under my hands sends electric shocks down my arms and straight to my nipples.
They perk hard beneath the thin fabric of my billowy blouse. I’m not wearing a bra.
Luka notices immediately. A wolfish grin crosses his face. “You want me to show you just how hands-on I can be, wife? Is that what you want?”
“Fuck off.” I’m still leaning away, but I’m barely struggling now. “You disgust me.”
He actually laughs. “Do I?”
“Yes.” I think of Monica’s arms around him. The way he touched the small of her back as he returned the embrace. How they both lingered a little too long. Rage makes my breath come faster, and I wrench in his grasp.
“I hate you. Let me go!”
“Never,” he says smugly. “You’re mine, Brooklyn. Whether you like it or not.”
I have the urge to lash out and make a total disaster of his office—knocking over lamps and chairs, pulling books off the shelves and art from the walls.
My heart is racing and I’m pumped with adrenaline.
I’ve turned into the crazy wife, the one who’ll tear this place apart and won’t leave an inch of it recognizable. I’ve never been this person.
But right now, Luka makes me feel like I could be.
I take a deep breath, trying to get myself and my temper back under control.
“You didn’t like my pictures, then?” I taunt. “I thought you’d love how well Mateo stepped into the sex-god role. I’ve never felt a body quite like his. I mean, I’ve felt him up before, but the boy’s been working out. He’s upped his game.”
Luka’s expression goes dark. It fuels me.
Smiling, I embellish further. “Everything about the shoot was hot, to be honest. Very sexual. The photographer said he’d never seen chemistry like that between models before.”
“So, kind of like Monica and me, then?” Luka asks.
He says it so smoothly, so easily, that there has to be more than just a ring of truth to it.
With a burst of resentment I twist away, toward the door. Luka grabs my wrists and pushes me up against the wall, our eyes locking, breaths coming fast and hard.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he says.
“Anywhere but here,” I say, glaring.
He moves closer and I arch back, my breasts pressing into his chest. The heat from our bodies and his scent wrapping around me flames my lust. I turn into an animal, and not the raging crazy wife kind.
I hate him.
I despise him.
And I need his cock in me right now.
Our hands move at the same time as we both reach for the hem of my shirt and whip it over my head.
He palms my bare breasts, kneading them roughly, making me cry out.
A satisfied noise purrs from his throat.
He tweaks my nipples gently between his fingers, as if to make up for the pain, but it only makes me want him more.
“Harder,” I beg.
“Like this?”
He pulls my nipples with enough pressure to send a lick of pain through each, and I groan, leaning into his touch instead of retreating from it.
As my head falls back against the wall, I jut my hips forward, grinding against his thigh.
Luka slips one hand down the waist of my jeans, and I gasp as he cups my pussy in his palm.
He presses hard there, stroking my lips forcefully before drawing his finger up my slit, circling my clit and making me cry out.
“Does Mateo make you this wet?” he groans against my ear. “Or were you thinking of me when you were practically dry-humping him for the camera?”
He leans in and I turn my face away, denying him the connection of our mouths. I won’t share that level of intimacy with him. “Did you think of me when you were with Monica?” I ask, still helplessly riding his fingers, my pussy slippery with intense arousal.
“No.”
Luka grabs my hair in his fist, his other hand still fingering me, and backs me across the room step by step until I’m in front of his desk.
Then he forces me to turn around and bends me over it, my palms flat on the surface for support.
Part of me wants to storm out of here and leave him hard and wanting, just for the revenge of it.
But I love this too much. I love ripping the rage out of him and having him take it out on my body.
Still behind me, Luka tugs my pants and thong down and then pushes my upper body flat onto the desk.
My head is turned so I can see the door, thankfully locked so that no one has to know he’s hate-fucking me in his office right now.
My tits press into the desk calendar, and I feel deliciously trapped between the rigid wood and the heat of his hard body.
“Spread your legs, darling.”
“Make me.”
He huffs a laugh. Suddenly, there’s a sting to my left ass cheek as a resounding crack fills the air. I go rigid, warmth radiating through my skin, making my clit ache.
“Fuck,” I pant. “Yes.”
“More?” he asks.
“Yes,” I grind out, the admission making me feel vulnerable. “Please.”
He does it again, spanking me with enough force to make it tingle and burn. The heat blossoms and slowly fades, taking the pain with it and twisting it into something pleasurable. With a moan, I press my ass back against him. I need more.
I need all of him.
“Fuck me,” I beg.
There’s no point in pretending I don’t want this. I can’t wait any longer.
I spread my legs and he slides into me. I’m so wet, his huge length just glides right in, filling me up until I can’t breathe from the pleasure.
He thrusts back and forth, faster, deeper, cursing under his breath as he quickly finds his rhythm.
He’s stretching me to the hilt and hitting all the right places.
I can’t stop the cries from flying from my mouth.
“Yes,” I cry out. “Fuck yes.”
Luka pulls my hips back and the new angle sends the tip of his cock straight to my G-spot, sending heady bursts of pleasure through me with each stroke. I feel like I’m unraveling even as I battle my blazing anger. I don’t know which sensation to hang onto.
“Harder, Luka. Harder.”
He slams into me again and again, pounding my body against the edge of the desk so hard I’ll probably have bruises.
I don’t care. I need this. I want this. And I won’t be the only one to shatter.
He will too, and all that power he thinks he has over me will become nothing for those intense, helpless moments when he’s lost in his release.
The release I give him.
So who has the power now?
The thought sends me over the edge. I clamp tightly around him as I come, clenching my jaw as wave after wave bursts through me. Luka goes rigid, spearing into me with one last huge thrust before he spills inside of me.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters as he collapses over the desk.
I’m too weak to move. We’re both trying to catch our breath, but the anger inside me hasn’t lessened one bit. It quickly flames back to life as I ease out from under him and slowly right myself. Luka spins me to face him and then sinks down to grab my pants, pulling them up and over my hips.
“Get your shirt on and go home.”
My lower lip twitches. There’s so much I want to throw in his face, but I’m worn out. Tired. Weak. He’s fucked the fight right out of me. Just not the fire.
I’ll have to let it simmer until he gets home.
He almost looks surprised when I don’t respond. Righting his pants and shirt, he follows me around the desk as I retrieve my blouse and slip it over my head.
“Make sure you take the long way out through the offices so everyone who works here can see that I just fucked you.”
He’s trying to get a rise out of me. I head to the door, grip the knob in my hand.
“What?” he calls after me. “My wife actually has no response for once?”
I grin as I pull open the door, not bothering to lower my voice.
“I faked it,” I announce.
Then I slam the door in his face.