I gulped, turned on at the sight of him sitting there.
The office, the top floor, the size and space…it was massive, and it spoke of power.
My man’s power.
His power over me.
My hands grew clammy as I reached for the buttons on the simple shirt dress I’d worn to church. I unfastened each one, fumbling and feeling stupid and like an ingenue, which made me fumble harder.
I kept my gaze on the floor, unable to look at him as I pulled my arms out of the dress and then let it sink to the ground, puddling around my feet.
“Bra too.”
My eyes clenched closed, and my lungs burned as I reached behind me, pulling off the bra.
He’s possessive. He doesn’t want anyone to see me. Not really. Not like this.
I had the litany in my head, silently on repeat, as I tugged my bra off.
When I stood there, naked except for my panties, my skin tingling as I thought about how anyone could look in through the windows, how someone could use the elevator, and they’d see us—there was no way they couldn’t, not with how the floor was set up—I wasn’t sure if I wanted to faint, fuck, or fumble back into my clothes and flee.
Maybe he got that, because he asked, “Are you wet, love?”
I loved his gruff tone, and because it grounded me, reminded me of when he was thrusting into me, fucking me, giving me what I needed, I slipped my hand under the waistband of my underwear, moved it between my legs, and tested myself.
A sob escaped me though, and I covered my face with my other hand.
“That wet, hmm?” he questioned softly, then he tutted, and ordered, “Come over here.”
I shuffled to him fast, needing his reassurance. Needing to know I wasn’t fucking weird.
Pretty much hurling myself at him, I perched on his lap, and he slid his hand under my legs, tugged me closer, and curved me so I was cuddled into him.
It felt like bliss.
True bliss.
I sighed, happy now that I was here, happy to have my face shoved in his throat, to hide from a world that made me this wet.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Inessa,” he rasped, his hand sliding over my arm, making gooseflesh surge and fall in a wave.
“I’m weird,” I whimpered, needing him to tell me I wasn’t.
“If you’re weird, then I am too.”
Well, that wasn’t reassuring.
I stiffened, then when he laughed, I moved my face from his throat and glowered at him.
“There’s my woman,” he rasped, and somehow, that word got to me like nothing else could.
Not his wife.
His woman.
There was a massive difference, and we both knew it.
I swallowed thickly, suddenly the exact opposite of ashamed and uncomfortable.