Page 39 of Claimed Through Deception

"No," I say fiercely.

"She was at the dinner."

"I don't want her. I want you."

I lean in, capturing her mouth again. I kiss her deep and hard, swallowing her arguments. I move my fingers against her in a slow friction.

Livia whimpers into the kiss. She tries to hold onto her resolve, but her body betrays her. Her hips roll forward automatically, chasing the pressure of my hand. She grinds against my fingers, her nails biting into my shoulders.

I wrap my other arm securely around her waist, holding her in place. I increase the pace.

She breaks the kiss, throwing her head back, a ragged, breathless sound escaping her throat. "Please."

"Let it go," I command softly, watching her face. "Give it to me, Livia."

She falls apart.

Her body bows off the desk. Her inner muscles clench tight around my fingers as she crashes over the edge. A muffled, desperate cry leaves her lips. She slumps forward, burying her face in the crook of my neck, her breathing jagged and completely out of control.

I hold her. I keep my arm wrapped tight around her waist, letting her tremble against my chest.

The blood on my knuckles stains the crisp white fabric of her apron. The files are scattered across the floor. The office smells like iron, bourbon, and sex.

She slowly pulls back. She looks at my face, her dark eyes filled with a terrifying mix of realization and vulnerability. We crossed a line. We shattered the boundaries, and there is no going back.

I brush a loose strand of hair from her cheek.

"You are mine," I tell her. The words are no longer a threat. They are a vow.

She looks at me, her chest still heaving. She doesn't agree, but she doesn't argue.

She slides off the desk. Her legs are shaking so badly she has to grip the edge of the wood to steady herself. She smooths down the front of her uniform, refusing to meet my eyes now that the adrenaline has faded.

She turns and walks toward the door.

"Livia," I call out.

She pauses with her hand on the brass handle.

"I am breaking the engagement," I state.

She looks over her shoulder. Her expression is unreadable, guarded once again. She doesn't say a word. She pushes the heavy oak door open and disappears into the hallway.

13

Livia

The water runs freezing cold over my hands. I scrub the bar of cheap soap against my palms, digging my nails into my own skin until it turns a raw, angry pink. I am trying to wash away the phantom feeling of his dark hair wrapped around my fingers.

I stare at my reflection in the small bathroom mirror. My lips are swollen, bruised a deep, flushed red. A faint, plum-colored mark rests right above my collarbone where his teeth scraped my skin.

I close my eyes, and the shame hits me fully.

I didn't fight him. When he lifted me onto the mahogany wood, when he stepped his heavy thighs between my legs, my brain completely shut down. The titanium wall I built crumbled into dust the second his mouth crashed down on mine. I opened my legs to a monster because my body violently demanded it.

I wanted to be owned. I wanted his weight pinning me down, suffocating my doubts, stripping away my choices. I was aching, weeping for him, begging for the obliteration of his dominance. The friction of his hand against my core, the wet, desperate sounds leaving my mouth, I surrendered everything. I shattered on his desk, grinding against his fingers like a starving animal.

I am a hypocrite. A weak, pathetic hypocrite.