Page 236 of Boardroom Sins

I squirm anyway. My hips rock forward into his palm, chasing the pressure, chasinghim, while my heels drum uselessly against the lower cabinet doors.

“P-please,” I breathe.

He withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth. His lips close around them, his tongue working between the knuckles, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t rush. He laps up every last drop of me.

Then he smacks his lips and says, “Delicious.”

His hands drop to his waistband. A button, a zip, a shove of fabric just far enough down his hips, and then he’s springing free, thick and flushed and straining toward me.

My breath catches. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen him, touched him, or taken him inside me—the sight of Lukas Lazarev’s cock still makes me go all fuzzy inside. Something about the sheerscaleof the man, the way he fills every room he enters and then some…

It translates, is what I’m saying.

Generously.

He steps between my spread thighs and I feel the blunt, hot press of him notch against my entrance. “Look at me,” he commands.

My eyes snap to his face.

His gaze is molten steel—dark, liquid, absolute. The hand on my hip tightens as he holds himself perfectly still. Every tendon in his forearms is taut with the effort of not moving. The ring on my finger glints between us as I grip the edge of the counter, and his eyes drop to it for just a heartbeat before returning to mine.

He pushes inside.

Slowly, though. So slowly it’s almost cruel, stretching me open around him. I’m glad he’s the one controlling the pace, not me, because I’m so needy that it’s kind of embarrassing.

My hands fly to his shoulders to dig into the henley’s soft cotton and the hard muscle beneath, and I hold on as the pressure builds, that exquisite, overwhelming fullness that never quite stops beinga whole hell of a lot, no matter how many times we’ve done this.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. He kisses my cheek softly. “Take all of me.”

When he bottoms out, I whimper. His response isn’t much more composed, just a guttural snarl that rumbles up from somewhere deep in his chest and ripples through every point where our bodies are fused together.

As soon as he’s all the way in, though, he stills.

His forehead drops to mine. We breathe the same air, share the same thumping pulse, exist in the same trembling, suspended second while my body adjusts to the impossible reality of all of him.

“I’m not pulling out tonight,” he decides.

My eyes snap wide. The words land somewhere between my ribs and my ovaries and does wild, heinous things to everything it touches.

“Lukas—!”

“I mean it, Rae. I want to fill you up. I want to get you pregnant.”

I’m skewered on him and I want him to move so fucking badly. But it’s like he’s cemented in place, as if my understanding and acceptance of the crazy-ass shit he just said is the only way I’ll get him to give me what I want.

I stare at him. I search those eyes for the smirk, the tell, the flicker ofgotchathat would let me write this off as dirty talk.

I find nothing.

“You’re serious,” I whisper.

“Deadly serious,” he confirms.

Then he begins to move.

His hips snap forward in one brutal, full-length stroke that drags a scream from somewhere I didn’t know existed. The counter bites into my ass and I don’t care,can’tcare, because he’s already pulling back and slamming home again, setting a pace that’s lesslovemakingand morehostile takeover.