Page 165 of Boardroom Sins

“Stay still and stay open,” he growls. “Let me worship you properly.”

Two of his thick fingers slide back inside me while his mouth stays suctioned over my clit. I’m sobbing now, hands fisted in his silver hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away because it’s too much. My inexperienced body doesn’t know how to process this level of pleasure. Every nerve ending is screaming, overloaded, shorting out.

“I can’t,” I gasp. “Lukas, I can’t?—!”

“You can,” he tells me, his voice muffled against my flesh. “You will. Cum for me again, sweetheart. I want to taste your honey.”

This orgasm is even more intense than the first. My entire body seizes, vision going white, and for a moment, I actually black out.

When I come back to myself, he’s pressing kisses to my inner thighs and murmuring praise in Russian and English. “Takaya krasivaya, so perfect, you did so well, I’m so proud of you.”

His beard is dripping wet with my arousal.

It might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

Lukas crawls back up my body and gathers me into his arms. His palm strokes my hair while I tremble uncontrollably against his chest.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispers against my temple. “So brave. So perfect.”

I can’t form words yet. Thoughts are mostly out of the question as well. My entire nervous system has been rewired in the span of fifteen minutes, and I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.

We’re also nowhere close to finished.

When I’ve finally caught my breath, he pulls back to look at my face. Those gray eyes search mine with an intensity that snatches right back whatever air I’d managed to reclaim.

“Do you want to stop?”

I blink at him, sure that I heard wrong.

DoIwant to stop?I look down at my body in confusion, sure that I’m going to find something that’s silently communicating some sort of distress. But what I see is the exactoppositeof “hold your horses.”

I’m sweat-slicked and shaky. Little jitters rock through me every few seconds, passing through my limbs in rippling waves and emerging through my mouth in the form of breathy sighs. My nipples are so pointed it’s almost painful, and between my legs, I’m throbbing, aching, needy, and sopping fucking wet.

As for Lukas… Even fully clothed, there’s no hidinghisdesire. Those pupils are wide open like the gates to hell, blacker thanblack, drunk on lust. One peek at his crotch shows that he’s bulging so hard it’s a miracle he hasn’t ripped his slacks wide open. Those hands are still shaking to match my tremors, and the breaths escaping his lips are more like strangled grunts.

Iclearly don’t want to stop.

Heclearly doesn’t want to stop.

And yet here he is, pausing to make sure I’m okay, and ready, and willing.

The courtesy of it. Thecare. I melt in a way I’ve never melted before.

I shake my head frantically and reach for his belt. “Don’t you dare stop,” I tell him, my voice hoarse from crying out his name. “I want all of it, Lukas. All of you. The beastandthe man.”

Because that’s true, isn’t it? What drew me to him originally was the taboo sinfulness of it. Ishouldn’twant him, Icouldn’twant him, I wasn’tallowedto want him, it was a bad idea and he was a bad man and wanting him would surely ruin us both.

That’s exactly why I wanted him so bad that it fucking killed me.

I’ve spent my whole life painting inside the lines like a good little girl, and it’s left me so empty inside. Then this big bulldozer of a man comes barreling through out of nowhere and upends everything. It’s made me start to question those lines I thought were etched in stone. What if they’re all made up? What if it’sokaythat he’s older, or forbidden, or scary?Hecertainly made no apologies for any of it. Helivedin the gray spaces I’d always been told were off-limits.Thrivedin them. Bounced back and forth between right and wrong however he pleased. He can pin a man against a wall with murder in his eyes one moment, thencup my face like I’m made of fragile glass the next. Scarred hands can tremble, too. A cruel, filthy mouth can also ask,May I?

The beast is real—there’s no denying that. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. I’ve felt its shadow fall over me in wine cellars and grotto pools and the back seats (and footwells) of lavish cars. He’s a hard man with a hard cock and harder edges.

But the gentleman is just as real. Only a gentleman could cook a dinner the way he did. Or kiss me the way he did as he took me by the hand and led me out of that meeting room.

Both halves terrify me.

Both halves are what I want.