Page 28

He’s standing over me. I can see his shoes. Black leather, polished to a mirror shine. I reach for a piece of paper near his foot and my blouse gapes open like a mouth parted and begging for a kiss.

“Look at me,” Lukas growls.

I look up. He’s so tall from this angle. Miles of him stretching toward the ceiling.

His hand comes down. Fingers thread through my hair. The touch is gentle at first. Then he tightens his grip until it borders on painful. I arch my back and neck to look him in the eye.

“Good girl,” he says.

He tilts my head back even further. My throat is exposed. I’m breathing hard now.

“Do you know why I chose you?” His voice scrapes through the dark like a match strike.

I shake my head an inch. His grip won’t let me move much more than that.

“Well, you’ll learn soon enough.”

His thumb traces along my jaw. Down to my chin. He presses it against my lower lip.

“Open,” he says.

I open.

He pushes his thumb inside. I taste salt. Mint. Ocean. Smoke.

“Good girl,” he says again.

Those two words do something strange to me. I feel liquid and shameful, hot and cold at the same time. Boneless in his grasp, almost, like I’m putty he can shape and reshape however he pleases.

My eyes flutter closed. His other hand is still in my hair, holding me in place. I’m on my knees in front of him and I don’t want to be anywhere else.

His thumb slides deeper. I suck on it without thinking. He makes a sound in his throat, low and approving.

“That’s it,” he purrs. “Just like that.”

I’m trembling now. My thighs press together. There’s an ache between my legs that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

He pulls his thumb free. A string of saliva connects my lips to his skin like glistening pearls.

“Now,” he says, and his free hand moves to his belt?—

“Wake up, Ms. Everett.”

I jerk awake so fast I nearly fall out of my chair.

The files scatter everywhere. My notes go flying. I’m gasping like a landed fish.

And Lukas Lazarev is standing in front of my desk.

He’s in a charcoal gray suit this evening. Or is it morning now? I can’t tell. My brain isn’t working. My body is still caught in the dream, still throbbing, still wanting.

“You fell asleep,” he observes.

I blink at him. “I— I guess so. Sorry. I was just?—”

“Working.”

“Yes.”