Page 121 of Boardroom Sins

Another whimper flies from my throat. I don’t bother to suppress it.

I’m climbing now, that familiar tension coiling tighter in my core. But it’s different this time. Because it’s no longer justmyfingers—it’s the phantom weight ofhimpressing me into the mattress.

It’shisbeard scraping against my inner thighs.

It’shismouth on my center, licking and sucking until I’m screaming myself hoarse, just like he swore I would.

My hips buck against my hand. I add a third finger, stretching myself, imagining the impossible fullness of him inside me.

I’d bottom out and hold there, making you spasm with how big and cruel it is.

“Oh, God,” I breathe, too far gone to care if he hears.

He does. He falters for a second, then redoubles. The sounds coming from him now are almost animalistic: grunts and growls that make my toes curl and my walls clench around my own fingers.

I’m right there. Right on the edge. My whole body is trembling, sweat beading at my temples, the red silk twisted and ruined beneath me.

Make you tell Mr. Fucking Lazarev exactly who this pussy belongs to.

That’s the magic password. The climax rips through me like a holy devastation, wrenching my spine into an impossible bow. Every vertebra lifts off the mattress as though some invisible hand has reached inside my chest and pulled me toward the heavens.

“Lukas—!”

His name tears out of me as I cum. I’m clenching around my fingers, burst after burst of pleasure crackling through me as I arch, gasping, shaking, completely undone.

Thirty seconds later, I hear him break. And as he does…

“Rae.”

My name in his mouth, inthatvoice, wrecked and reverent, sends an aftershock rippling through me that almost makes me scream. I clamp my thighs together, riding out the last tremors while his breathing gradually slows on the other side of the door.

My fingers are sticky and my throat hurts when I finally return to myself. I have to look around to convince myself this world is still real, that we didn’t accidentally splice over into some depraved alternate universe.

I said his name when I came.

He said mine.

That has to mean something, right? Thathasto matter. You don’t moan someone’s name like that unless they’ve burrowed so deep under your skin you can’t claw them out.

The floorboards creak. Lukas’s footsteps retreat back toward his room.

Then there’s silence.

I lie there in the dark, red dress hiked around my hips, staring at the door that never opened. And I think:This isn’t over.

It can’t be.

Not after that.

Or maybe it can be. Because, when I come downstairs the next morning, two suitcases stand by the door.

Mine and his.

I freeze at the bottom of the stairs, one hand still on the banister.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t even have the decency to tell me to my face.

He just decided:We’re leaving.