“What does it look like?” I rumble.
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. Her eyes keep flitting up, out to the main office space where the ogling women are still clustered. “It looks like you have some very misguided ideas about what’s going to take place in this conference room, as a matter of fact.”
She’s not wrong about that. I’m pressing her back against the wall, my breath hot on her throat.
With a low growl in my chest, I seize a handful of the pencil skirt fabric at her hip, pawing her towards me. My cock is a steel rod in my pants. It wants her. Every cell in me wants every cell in her.
She’s still angry, jealous—but when her lips part and a subtle gasp escapes, I know that her body is responding to mine. Just like it always does. Just like it always has.
“I can’t lose you again, Tommy,” she whispers, so quiet I can barely hear it. It’s like she doesn’t want to admit it to herself. “One day you were there, the next you weren’t. And I came back from college thinking you might have come home, but… I called. You never called back.”
I’m not going to come off very good in this story. It doesn’t matter what I say or do, I hurt her. She’s had a long time to think about it and build a wall to protect herself. From me.
Fuck. If anyone else had hurt her this way, I’d fucking kill them. And if someone other than me had given her a single reason to think she wasn’t enough, I would make the death slow. Painful.
“I can’t undo what’s been done. I’ve apologized.”
I hate when I’m the one who puts the sadness in her eyes. I wish I had the words to fix that pain. But she’s right about me: I’ve never been good with words. I only know how to speak with my hands. With my body.
I add, “Listen, Corrie…”
I reach out and run my hand down her arm so I can clasp our fingers together and bring hers to my lips.
“I was young and confused, but I’m not confused about anything right now. You’re everything I want. The only one I want.”
Although, as soon as I say the words, a picture of Katerina filters through my brain. Fuck.
I don’t generally suffer guilt. I do what I have to do, not by my choice but by necessity and out of loyalty to my family. Guilt isn’t part of that. But right now, I’m swimming upstream in a river of shit laced with guilt because the woman I want more than anything isn’t the woman I’m supposed to marry.
Right now, though… right here… that shit doesn’t matter. Corrie is all that matters.
One tug and she’s against me. One kiss and she’s melting in my arms. One nudge and she’s on the table with me standing between her legs. Her tongue swipes mine and as she lowers her mouth to nibble my throat, I slide her forward so that her skirt also pulls up, and I can see the wet spot on her lace panties.
She wants me. I glide my palm along her bare thigh—nothing in the world is softer than that smooth bit of creamy skin—and graze her clit with my knuckles.
Her gasp is better than a symphony, and my dick responds. To the gasp, the following moan, to the feel of her. “Lie back.”
“We can’t.” But her eyelids flutter shut when I dip my finger inside her.
“Do you want me to stop?” If she does, I’m not going to make it through the day.
She doesn’t, unless sucking on my neck and tightening her legs around me is a new way to say quit or a modern form of rejection I haven’t heard of yet.
“Lie back.” This time, there’s no argument. “You look so sexy on this table with your legs spread and your pussy dripping wet for me.” She’s not squirming or writhing, but she’s panting. Harsh, sharp breaths. “I want to lick your clit.” My thumb makes a small circle and she moans.
“Please.” Her voice is nothing more than a whimper, and it’s so fucking hot, I rip her panties at the seam and move what’s left of them out of my way.
With every swirl of my tongue, her body tenses a little more and her cries get a little louder. God. She’s exquisite. And delicious. And every fucking thing I ever wanted right down to the mile-high heels pressing into my back, holding me where she wants me.
“Oh God, Tommy!” At that, there’s no way anyone in the building doesn’t know she’s ready to come. I wasn’t going to let her erupt. I want her as hot and wound up as I am so that when we get back to my place later, we’re both on the same ledge, but I also want her to know she’s been claimed.
And I decide I want everyone else to know it, too.
Her back arches, and her body tightens. So fucking perfect. I drink her in until she stills and sighs. My dick is so hard I can barely stand, but I’m going to wait. And tonight is going to be so fucking … I don’t have words.
I slip her ruined panties down. “I’m going to keep these with me.” I push them into my jacket pocket. “They won’t do you any good anyway all torn like that.” With my hand in hers, I pull her against me again.
“I’m going to like knowing you’re walking around all day with your panties in my pocket.”
Again, a picture of Katerina flashes, and I back away from Corrie. I should tell her about the rushed wedding date before it comes back to bite me, but first I have to figure out what to say, and I’m not spoiling this moment.
She grins. “If it gets to be too much, you walking around knowing my panty situation, we can always have another… meeting like this.” Her mouth opens and her tongue glides along the seam.
“Have your people call my people,” I say with a forced wink, trying my damndest not to show her just how sick with longing I am for her.
Later, in my car, driving to Aleksey’s place, I need to rub one out so bad. Distracted driving has an entirely different meaning, and I eventually unfasten my slacks and let my straining cock have the space it needs.
Aleksey’s house sits on the water’s edge. It looks lonely without his wife and kids there.
His car isn’t parked outside and I can’t see into the garage, so I knock and wait. Then I knock again.
Nothing.
Alek being M.I.A. is bad, considering no one except for me and my father is more dedicated to Bratva business than Alek. My gut says something isn’t right.
But I don’t have any other leads.
Until, suddenly, I remember the apartment he keeps on Long Island. We used to crash there when we were younger and still doing trips ourselves to transport guns and drugs out of the city. I remember him telling me that he keeps meaning to get around to selling it, but never has time.
With no better options, I get back in my car and make the drive there.
When I arrive, I take the stairs because I still need to work off some of the excess sexual energy from torturing myself and letting Corrie torture me this morning.
His apartment is most of the fourth floor and has enough overpriced art to let Alek pretend he’s cultured.
The only truly impressive item in the whole place is the monster of a bed I helped him move in here. It’s got a mirrored canopy and a headboard and footboard for bondage restraints. In one corner, there’s a pole, obviously, because who doesn’t have a pole for dancing anchored floor and ceiling in the bedroom? But from experience I can say it’s erotic as hell to lie on the bed and watch a woman grind against it.