Oliver chuckles, a dangerous sound. “You don’t seem to know much in this moment, do you? That’s not like you, Lana.” His words are taunting, making me whimper, my mind hazing over. There is a certain headiness to being forced to give up self-control, arousing in an entirely different way.
“You haven’t answered my question.” There’s an edge to his voice, his fingers tightening in my hair. My back arches at the sensation.
“Anything,” I find myself saying, my voice husky as I lean into his touch.
“Anything?” he silkily asks. “Rather bold of you, wouldn’t you say?”
His voice is like smoke, seeping into me, making me a hapless victim to his will. A part of me is screaming to get a hold of myself, but I can’t muster up the resolve.
Oliver’s hand moves away from my neck, his thumb rubbing at my lower lip as he eases his hold on my hair.
“Open your mouth, Lana.”
I part my lips obediently. Two of his fingers slide into my mouth, then I’m sucking on the digits as I gaze submissively from under my lashes. My hands are on his shoulders now, needing somewhere to grip.
He looks darkly pleased. “So obedient. I really do believe you would let me do anything to you in this precise moment. I could use you in any way I see fit, and you wouldn’t stop me. You wouldn’t even try.”
And then, he removes his fingers as I moan again, trailing them, glistening and wet, down my body, over my breasts where my nipples are hard to the point of aching, and over my abdomen, leaving wetness everywhere. His legs part, forcing mine to open to him, his fingers rubbing against my slit.
He spreads the slick he finds there around. “You’re so wet, and I haven’t even done anything yet. Tell me, Lana…” His voice rumbles against my ear in a sinful whisper. “Do you use your fingers on yourself?”
I tremble, my voice small and reluctant over answering that embarrassing question. “Yes.”
“How?” Oliver’s voice is soft. “On your back? In the shower? When you’re tucked in bed, reading your romance novels? Does your hand creep inside your panty to stroke your pussy as you imagine someone licking you down there?” I groan at the mental imagery. “Or do you imagine me fucking you into your bed, so hard you can’t think straight until nothing makes sense anymore except how good it feels?”
“Yes!” My words are a wail now.
His fingers pierce my core, and I cry out.
“Yes, what?” Oliver breathes harshly. When he curls his fingers inside me, hitting a spot that has me seeing stars, I start babbling.
“You. I imagine you!”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, then he’s slowly moving his hand, fucking me with his fingers.
“Tell me what you want. Ask me for it,” he demands as I buck against his hand, desperately chasing a peak he refuses to give me, his movements slow and unhindered.
“Oliver…” There’s a plea in my voice, and his eyes grow dark from how I’m quietly begging him. However, he refuses to give in.
“Tell me,” he repeats calmly, and it infuriates me how unruffled he is while I’m barely hanging on it.
“Oh, God, please.” The plea is torn from my lips on a moan as his thumb presses against my clit.
“Please what?” he asks, almost amused. Right then, I despise him for making me this weak.
I glare, my expression torn between wanton and anger, and he grins, the glint in his eyes fierce.
“I want it hard.” I find my will crumbling from the way he’s moving his fingers, taking them out completely before thrusting upward in harsh manner. “I want it deep.”
His control falters. I take advantage of it, begging him with a quiver in my voice that isn’t forced. “Please let me come.”
And then I have no choice but to cry out when he starts fucking me almost wildly with just his fingers. The sounds spilling from my mouth make no sense, garbled noises mixed with pleas and praise.
His mouth is on my breasts as he sucks them, teases them, marks them.
And then I’m unravelling, coming apart so beautifully, so helplessly. And just because he can, Oliver murmurs, “Look at you, the way you’re spreading your legs and pushing against my hand. You are so wanton right now. What would anyone from the office say if they saw you like that? The poised Miss Lana Hill, fucking herself on the CEO’s fingers while begging for more.”
It seems impossible to be pushed into another orgasm, but I sob as my body decides to surprise me, my mind so aroused by what he’s suggesting. I cling on to him, riding it out.
He doesn’t stop, his hands now going to his pants and springing his cock free.
It’s red and angry looking, so thick and long that my mouth waters.
I want to taste it.
But Oliver has other plans. After he positions it against my still-clenching pussy, he thrusts in. My scream is loud, it sets my nerves alight with dazzling desire as my vision turns white.
I can feel him filling me to the brim, then he sets a brutal pace, moving in and out of my soaked pussy, which clenches around him. I’m bouncing on his lap now from the force of his thrusts, setting everything on fire.
I’m moaning and crying out each time he pushes me into an orgasm. His arms are wrapped around me to keep me from falling over, and the way his rough clothing brushes against my bare skin is both enticing and arousing. I’m caught in this whirlwind of sensation where my body only belongs to Oliver, who is dominating my every sense, my every instinct, while owning my body, branding himself on me. When I come again, he sinks his teeth into my shoulder over one of the many bruising kisses that now litter my throat and chest.
He comes with a growl that has me arching into him. And when he attempts to pull out, I don’t let him. The gush of his come filling me is another sensation altogether, and I whimper as he draws out my last orgasm.
He falls back on the bed when I push my weight on him, still holding me, his face buried in my shoulder, his breathing harsh. “What the hell, Lana?”
“I’m safe,” I mutter tiredly, feeling his hand tangle in my hair, so gentle it makes me snuggle against him, completely drained. “Birth control. You’re safe.”
I can hear him frowning, but then he strokes my hair with a sigh. “You’re impossible.”
He sits up, pulling himself to the edge of the bed, me in his arms. Leaning against the mountain of pillows, he gives an amused huff when I hide my face in his chest, refusing to look at him. “I’ve never met a woman like you.”
“If that’s the best you’ve got, you’re losing your touch,” I murmur, my eyes slipping shut, the feeling of being so deliciously used making me limp in his arms.
“I mean it.” His fingers comb through my hair, and I preen under his attentions. “You’ve wrapped yourself around me so tightly it’s hard to even comprehend being somewhere where you’re not.”
“That’s called Stockholm syndrome,” I inform him lightly.
Musingly, he asks, “Then am I your prisoner, Lana?”
I choose not to answer because his words are making it hard to breathe, something clenched loosening in my chest.
I might be his.
13
Oliver
The weekend is spent christening Lana’s new apartment.
By the time Sunday arrives, there is no surface where I haven’t fucked her senseless. As I smugly survey the kitchen countertop, Lana elbows me. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” I ask innocently, reaching out to help her with the takeout bags.
“I can barely walk.” She gives me a warning look. “We’re not doing it again.”
I smile.
She says that… but then my insatiable darling just pushes me against a flat surface at a whim and drives me insane until I have her bent over, full of my cock.
However, I’m smart enough not to point that out to her, so I simply smile amiably.
We consume the Chinese takeout as we sit on kitchen stools, both starving. The silence is comfortable, but then Lana says,
“I have to report this.”
“The food?” I ask, puzzled. “It lacks a little spice, but it’s hardly something to complain—”
“No.” She snickers at my confusion. “Our relationship.”
“Oh. Well, Caleb already knows,” I say, lightly.
“Wait, what?” I hear the thud of the container as Lana smacks it down to gape. “What do you mean by Caleb knows?”
“I informed him of my intentions to ask you out. I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t face any difficulties at work.”
I freeze as Lana’s face tightens with anger. Seething, she says slowly, “So, what? You asked Caleb’s permission to fuck me?”
Suddenly, I realize how this sounds, and I start scrambling. “No, Lana. That’s not what I meant. I was just making sure your job wasn’t in peril.”
From where she’s standing on the other side of the counter, she takes a step back, creating a tangible distance between us, a shutter falling over her face. “You think I can’t take care of myself—that I need you to look out for me?” Her voice is soft, as if she doesn’t quite trust herself. “What if Caleb had said ‘no’? Would you have conveniently told me that you and I couldn’t pursue a relationship for my own good?”
Her words are harsh, and I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach.
I’m not used to screwing up so massively, so I desperately try to salvage what there is between us.
“I would have walked away from the project!”
That makes her hesitate. “What?” And then, her anger comes out sharp as a blade. “Are you insane? You would have thrown your job away for me?”
Frustration rears its head. My voice is raised, my own fury at the forefront. “You would have been worth it!”
She stumbles back, her face paling, confusion and bewilderment written all over her. “No, I’m not. I’m not that—”
“Yes, you are,” I interrupt her hotly, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence. I round the table, stalking toward her until her back is pressed against the refrigerator. “I have seen happiness and held it, and I’ve had it torn from my fingers. You’re nothing like the women I used to date. And yet, you’ve crept under my skin, carved your name in my heart, and now I can’t let you go!”
Lana’s face flushes. I see her trying to gain some footing in this argument, if that’s what this is.
I press on, suddenly furious at the spell this woman has cast on me. “After what Nyla did to me, I hadn’t thought I’d find someone again—much less trust them! And despite the fact you kept rejecting me at every turn, I kept returning to you, like a wretched man, for some scrapes of your affection. You’re in my fucking blood, Lana. I can’t get you out even if I want to!”
Her lips quiver, her eyes filling, and my heart stutters.
I’ve gone too far.
When she sniffles, I reach out to her, horrified. “No, I’m sorry. Please don’t—”
“I’m not crying,” she wails. Holding onto my shirt, she buries her face in it.
My hand settles on the back of her head in a helpless gesture. “Of course you’re not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
She burrows into me. I put my arms around her, and her voice comes out muffled. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so difficult, and for all the other stuff you said I’ve done.”
Choking laughter is forced from my throat, a whisper of a sound. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Lana.”
“Sure sounded like it.” Her breath hitches.
“Look at me,” I plead, but she shakes her head.
“Let me—just give me a minute,” she says, her voice a little rough.
I obey. She takes more than a minute, but then she pulls away and looks at me, her eyes wet.
“I’m not crying,” she says again obstinately in response to whatever expression is on my face right now. But she appears so fragile and uncertain, so unlike herself, that I don’t know what to do except agree with her.
“Okay,” I say softly.
She swallows. “I’m just—you—you can’t just say things like that to somebody.”
“I wasn’t trying to upset you—” I begin, but she shakes her head, making me fall silent.
“What you said, well, I didn’t know you felt that way. I mean…” She leans her head against my chest, unable to meet my eyes, and I give her the pretense of hiding from me. “I’ve never heard somebody say something like that to me.”
My eyes fall closed, my voice low. “I meant each word, Lana.” I release a shuddering breath. “With Nyla, there was this urge to protect her, to cherish her, but even with her, there were none of these emotions that you invoke in me—pride, helplessness, possessiveness. I want to own you. Want to set you free in the world. I want to see your accomplishments. Feel pride in them. I want you with every breath. It both pisses me off and thrills me. This is a first for me as well.”
The tops of her ears are red when I open my eyes.
“You made me break my own rules,” she admits. “No workplace romances. I not only broke it, but I also took it a step further.”
She lifts her head, biting her lower lip. “I’ve been working here for five years, and I’ve been content. And then you came around, and I want more. I find myself thinking of my future, where I want to be, who I want to be with. But whenever I’m thinking of it, you’re always with me, standing by my side.”
My breath catches when she says, “I’m still—I’m not happy with you risking your job for me, though.”
“Won’t happen again,” I lie easily. She can tell it’s a lie because she scowls. But then her expression softens. “I saw Nyla’s picture in your bedroom.”
My smile is humorless. “I should have removed that. I’m sorry.”
“No,” she says, studying my eyes. “You sometimes mention her. Can I ask about her?”
She’s steering me toward the couch, and I let her. When she sits in my lap, curling up, I rest my chin on top of her head. “I—she was a friend’s cousin whom I met at a party. Scottish, red hair, green eyes. She had a wonderful laugh. It was so full of life. I was interested, so my friend introduced me. We went on a few dates. I was so hardened by my social expectations, and she was so happy and carefree. I showered her with gifts, jewelry, flowers, cars… Anything she saw and liked, she owned within a week.”
Lana’s eyes widen. “Whoa. That’s—wow.”
I chuckle. “So articulate, darling.” Then, I continue, “I courted her for a year or so before I proposed. I was thrilled when she said yes, although I’d expected her to. We got married, and she wanted to be a housewife. It suited her, and I thought—” I can feel myself grow distant. “I thought she was happy. I wanted children. She seemed to want them, too, but she never got pregnant. I suggested doctors, and she refused.”
“Did she—”
My voice is slightly harsh. “I saw the birth control pills when I was going through her belongings after her death. We were talking about adopting. I was, at least. She didn’t want to adopt. And when I learned about the accident and came back, I didn’t recognize the man she had planned to run off with.”
It’s like I’m back at the hospital, staring at the face of a dead stranger whom I’ve never seen before in my life.
“They told me he was her childhood friend, a sweetheart. My friend, her cousin, was devastated. He swore he had no idea, but her family did. It was her sister who told me, finally. I had just discovered the handwritten letters, incredibly old-fashioned, romantic. There was a letter from Nyla for me in my study at home. A few quick lines, hastily written, saying she was sorry, but I couldn’t give her what she wanted.”
Lana appears devastated. When she runs her hand over my jaw, I smile tightly. “There was no prenup. I never signed one. She had been hurt when my lawyer suggested it. I would have given up my whole fortune for her if she had just asked.”
The grief in my voice is palpable. Lana cups my face, then kisses me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go thr
ough that.”
“I got over it, Lana. Two years. I tried drinking, sleeping around, anything and everything. My feelings for her had been part of some lie, so they shattered, but it the betrayal still hurt. And when I came here, I was better. I had sworn to never let another woman into my life. And just as I was making good on that promise, you just barged in and threw open the door.” I sigh. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
Lana gives a helpless shrug. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know what to do with you, either. I don’t do relationships. Yet, now it seems I’ve walked into one and I don’t want to get out of it.”
I nuzzle her cheek, exasperated and affectionate. “We’re in a lot of trouble.”
She exhales in agreement, reaching out to kiss me.
* * *
“Mr. Thornton!”
I’m walking into the building when I hear Elise calling my name. “Mr. Thornton!”
She’s waving a piece of paper toward me, so I change direction. “Yeah?”
She seems worried, and I frown. “Are you okay? The baby?”
She waves off my concerns. “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. It’s something else.”
I took a late lunch, so the lobby is empty, hence no reason for Elise to lower her voice. “There was a man here, looking for Miss Hill.”
My spine straightens. “Who?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t recognize him. He looked upset. When I asked for his name, he refused to give it.”
“Could it be one of her brothers?”
She shakes her head. “He looked older than her, but I don’t know. He asked me if she had changed apartments, although why he would ask me that makes no sense. I wasn’t going to say anything, but Mr. Warte was passing by and he made some comment about Lana sleeping with you. I told him not to lie!”
My expression makes her hesitate. “Wait, is that true?”
When I glare at her, Elise blinks, hastily saying, “Not that it’s any of my business. Anyway, the man got incredibly angry. He asked for your name. Mr. Warte gave it, so now I’m worried about Lana because she hasn’t returned from her lunch break and she’s not answering her cell.”
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