DANICA CLEARED HER THROAT with purposive force, shattering the silent staring contest unfolding between her best friend and Paul and tossing both of them back to reality.
A cherry-red color bloomed across Nina's cheeks and crawled all the way to the tips of her ears when realization crashed over her in a million humiliating shades of flusteredness.
She had been eye-fondling the man.
Blatantly.
Shamelessly.
For an offensively long amount of time.
It was rude and uncivilized, even.
But a reckless part of her wanted to do it all over again.
And perhaps a third time after that.
Fuck me sideways. Nina thought, attempting to climb out of the vicarious disconcertment that was currently dragging her dignity through a field of burning coals.
"I'll take my leave." Paul sounded like a man trying to slip his neck out of a tightening noose before it constricted any further.
"No." Danica's response was immediate and firm. "I invited Nina here to discuss the theme and arrangements for tonight's event," she said, leaning back in her chair with quiet authority. "And considering you're directly involved, you will be participating in this discussion as well."
A faint smile touched her lips. "Nobody is leaving."
Paul cursed the universe under his breath and forced a semblance of calm back into his lungs. Refusing wasn't an option here. Not when it came from her.
Danica was his boss.
For now.
More importantly, she was the addiction he'd spent years attempting to purge from his veins, only to discover she'd rooted herself far too deep to be removed.
So if Danica said stay, he stayed.
If she said wait, he waited.
And if he happened to be bleeding out on the floor while she looked him in the eye and said no–
He would jostle his dying body across broken glass and crawl toward her on his fucking knees anyway.
"Let's cut to the chase." Danica redirected her attention toward Nina. "Are we finally changing the venue?"
A faint crease appeared between her brows. "Because I heard Redwood Palace was booked by some obscenely wealthy couple for their post-wedding shit."
"Well," Nina said, lifting a single eyebrow, "the palace was booked. Emphasis on was."
Her tone carried a note of skepticism.
"Apparently," Nina added, "the couple decided to relocate their event, which makes absolutely no sense considering everything was already in place. They weren't the sort of people who entertained last-minute compromises. Not with that level of money involved."
Nina shook her head. "Their entire celebration was practically assembled and waiting for them. Then, out of nowhere, they pulled the plug and vanished to another venue. Honestly, the whole thing feels suspicious as hell." She took a pause. "Fortunately for us, suspicious or not, Redwood Palace is available."
Danica absorbed the information with the least enthusiasm and gave a curt nod.
"Sounds good." She said, "So Redwood Palace it is."
"Yes," Nina replied. "My team is already inspecting the property and making preliminary arrangements as we speak. Once we receive the final site reports, we'll begin setting everything up." Her gaze narrowed. "But before we unleash several hundred people and an unreasonable amount of money upon the venue, let's finalize the theme."
Danica turned toward Paul, her expression carrying a faint expectation. "Do you have any theme in mind?"
"Murderers and victims." He supplied, bored to the bone.
"We are not hosting an adult Halloween party here, Mr. Williams." Nina remarked, biting back the amused grin. "It's all business and expensive ties."
"Why not blend it with professionalism then?" Paul suggested. "Sounds cool as fuck."
"I can't." Nina didn't even pretend to consider it. "They are two entirely different concepts. Practically galaxies apart. So, combining them would be a complete disaster."
Paul offered her a dry smile. "Translation: you're not talented enough to pull it off."
Nina let out an offended scoff. "Translation: I refuse to spend a day of my life convincing wealthy executives to attend a networking event dressed like sociopaths."
Paul listened to her with all the enthusiasm of a brick wall while she kept talking anyway.
"If you possess some deeply concerning desire to see your friend Lee wander around in the outfit of a deranged serial killer, then host an animal-themed party at your house, invite equally disturbed people, and indulge in your issues there."
Then she pointed at herself. "I run an event management empire, Mr. Williams. I do not organize serial killer cosplay for bored businessmen."
"I have no such wishes," Paul said through clenched teeth, carefully strangling the irritation threatening to surface. "and even if I had one, I certainly wouldn't rely on you to fulfill them. I have far better things to do, Ms. Kaur."
"Such as?" Nina tilted her head. "Bullying office furniture? Terrorizing the refrigerator in the pantry? Or drinking that horrifying black coffee every morning? The one that tastes like liquid punishment and is sour as fuck?"
Paul's eyes darkened instantly as something hot and vicious surged through his bloodstream.
This time, the reaction was far more violent.
Because Nina had unknowingly struck a wounded nerve.
A profound one.
She knew nothing about the demons that lived inside his head. Nothing about the memories that clawed their way back to the surface when he least expected it. Nothing about the relentless battles he fought in silence while presenting a perfectly controlled facade to the rest of the world.
Which was precisely why she should have kept her mouth fucking shut.
Instead, she had charged straight through the minefield without realizing it existed.
It appeared that the woman was far too blunt to notice she'd crossed a line, let alone care about it. And somehow, that made everything even more fucking infuriating
"It seems to me that you're the one wasting your precious little time," he placed deliberate emphasis on every word, and his smile was dangerously thin, "because if you genuinely had better things to do, you wouldn't spend so much of your day keeping tabs on what I do in my free time, what I eat, what I wear, or where I happen to fucking pee for recreational purposes."
Nina's eyes widened a fraction, and she blinked twice as if the accusation had physically blindsided her.
"I am not keeping tabs on you." She responded, folding her arms. "I simply happen to hear what people in this company are talking about. Trust me, Mr. Williams, I couldn't care less whether you choose to pee on a couch, on a tree, or all over your own expensive shoes."
"Are you sure?" Paul crossed his arms and took a slow step toward her.
Then another.
Not enough to invade her space. Just enough to make the intention obvious.
"Because the way you were eye-fondling me a few minutes ago tells a very different story."
Nina's breath hitched. "Your imagination is truly a fascinating case study."
"Is it?" His smile sharpened. "Because from where I was standing, your eyes were practically glued to my chest." A beat. "Then my groin."
Nina's features froze for a split second before a look of pure disbelief swept across her face.
"And," he added, "judging by how fucking fast you looked away when you got caught, I'd say I'm not imagining a damn thing, Ms. Kaur."
Well, that was as undeniable as sunlight spilling across the horizon: ancient, constant, and impossible to argue with.
Unfortunately, being openly called out for it felt like a direct assault on Nina's pride and her dignity. Both of which were currently bleeding out on the floor. She loathed herself for not being subtle enough when it came to Paul.
Then again, subtlety had a habit of abandoning her whenever he entered the room. How was she supposed to remain unaffected when the mere thought of him existing somewhere within her orbit was enough to dismantle her focus thread by thread?
One glimpse, one voice, one careless brush of his presence, and her mind short-circuited into something reckless and primitive: wanting, watching, drooling, and craving more of him before she'd even had the chance to stop herself.
It was infuriating.
Humiliating.
And, if she were being painfully honest with herself, a little thrilling.
Worse, a traitorous part of her couldn't decide whether to hate him or admire him for noticing.
Because he had noticed.
Every glance.
Every stolen look.
Every inappropriate second she'd spent eye-fucking him like a woman deprived of common sense.
A slow and aggrandized heat crawled up her neck.
He noticed my eyes. Right?
"You are genuinely sick if you believe the world revolves around you," Nina shot back, pinning him with what was supposed to be a devastating glare.
Supposed to be. Because the effect was somewhat ruined by the persistent warmth still staining her cheeks.
The corner of Paul's mouth lifted wickedly.
"Correction," he said with insufferable confidence. "I'm sick enough to believe that you revolve around me."
The statement landed like a match tossed into gasoline. Arrogant and obnoxiously self-assured.
"I have–"
"Enough." Danica finally intervened, sounding profoundly annoyed.
The word shattered their staring contest for the second time that morning.
Danica's expression flattened. "If I hear one more sentence of this nonsense, I am going to lose my sanity. And I would strongly prefer not to experience a psychological breakdown on a Thursday morning."
Nina swallowed the rest of her retort and redirected her attention toward Danica. For now.
She would deal with the six-foot-four embodiment of unfiltered testosterone later.
Far more thoroughly.
Far more personally.
Across her, Paul dragged a hand through his dirty-blond hair and exhaled a long, aggravated breath as though he could somehow expel Nina's existence from his immediate vicinity through sheer provocation alone.
Agonizingly for him, she remained exactly where she was.
Alive, breathing, and continuing to be an enormous pain in his ass.
"Let's go with a masquerade theme," Danica declared.
The decision sounded final and non-negotiable. Her gaze swept over both of them, staying just long enough to make it clear she was already anticipating resistance.
"Any objections?"
"No," they replied in unison, entirely by accident.
Silence followed like a bug, and Nina immediately felt her stomach perform an awkward little somersault.
Flustered beyond reason, she found herself glancing toward Paul, almost reflexively, as if seeking confirmation that the strange coincidence had affected him too. Instead, she was met with absolute indifference.
He didn't look at her once.
Not a single glance came her way, nor even the slightest flicker of acknowledgment.
Nothing.
Bastard. Tch.
"Fine," Danica said, releasing a slow breath as though mediating between the two of them had already consumed a year's worth of her patience. "I want more details on the dress code, invitations, guest flow, and everything else."
Then she glanced at her wristwatch, and a faint crease appeared between her brows. "But I need to speak with the logistics team regarding the new product launch."
Her gaze shifted between Nina and Paul, suspiciously and warningly. As if she knew leaving them alone was a terrible fucking idea and was choosing to do it anyway.
"So stay right here. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Nina flashed her best friend a bright smile. "Sure. Take as much time as you want, Dan."
Returning the grin, Danica stood from her seat and made her way toward them in measured, unhurried steps. She stopped a few inches away from Nina, and for a brief second, the two women simply looked at each other.
Smiles everywhere.
Mischief everywhere.
As though they were voicelessly exchanging entire conversations. Which, in all fairness, they absolutely were.
Years of friendship had honed their understanding of each other into something almost unsettling. A fleeting glance, the slightest twitch of a mouth, a single raised eyebrow, and entire conversations seemed to pass between them without a word being spoken.
Paul observed the silent exchange from where he stood, and every nerve ending in his rugged body immediately screamed: Red fucking alert.
Because nothing good had ever come from two best friends sharing that particular look.
Especially those two.
Still, he kept his face unreadable, locking every reaction behind a wall of practiced heedlessness. There was no chance in hell he was letting either woman know he'd caught on to their silent exchange.
A moment later, Danica stepped away and strode out of the cabin, leaving behind a heavy stillness.
And two people, who suddenly found themselves alone.
Alone with their crackling tension, their unfinished argument, and enough sizzling banter to set the entire fucking room on fire.
Nina placed her purse on Danica's desk before turning around to face him.
Her gaze brushed over him without the slightest attempt at delicacy, taking in the damp shirt clinging to his frame, the sleeves rolled carelessly up his forearms, and the faint sheen of perspiration still anchored on his skin. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a fight and won it with his bare hands, all rough edges, controlled violence, and dangerous masculinity.
Against her better judgment, Nina found the sight far too enthralling.
"So," she said, "what's up with that sweat-slicked attire?"
Paul's jaw locked so hard a muscle ticked beneath the stubble lining his face.
"That's none of your business." He replied.
The words came out clipped, sharp, and laced with an edge that hadn't been there before. Like he'd been caught too close to a wound and impulsively thrown up a dangerous wall around it.
That was the problem with Nina. She did something to him. Something he couldn't properly identify, dissect, or destroy.
Her presence wormed beneath his skin and made it itch with a disgust so potent that every instinct screamed at him to get the fuck away from her.
Far away.
Far enough that he couldn't hear her voice.
See her face.
Or feel the suffocating weight of her existence pressing against his senses.
And yet, the stronger those emotions became, the more trapped he felt. As if the very thing repelling him was also rooting him in place.
He couldn't leave.
Couldn't think straight.
Couldn't speak without feeling his words scrape against something jagged inside him.
It was maddening as hell.
Because Nina possessed an almost unnatural ability to reduce him to a state he despised: helpless, hyperaware, and death-defyingly distracted. Like her presence alone was enough to wrap chains around the devil living inside him and force it into submission.
And for that reason alone, Paul loathed her.
Perhaps more than anyone else.
His fingers tightened around the file until his knuckles turned stark white, the edges bending beneath the pressure as if the folder were the last fragile thing keeping him from slipping into the chaos raging inside him.
His copper eyes tracked Nina's approach with growing hostility as she moved toward him in slow, calculative steps.
Predatory, confident, and entirely too comfortable.
That cocky smile remained firmly planted on her lips, carrying the galling amount of certainty. Every step she took pulled another thread of his self-control taut, tightening the restraint he was struggling to maintain.
Paul remained rooted where he stood, shoulders rigid and jaw locked, watching her close the distance between them.
A part of him hoped she would keep her distance.
Five feet.
Three, at the very fucking least.
Anything that resembled a reasonable boundary.
But the room abruptly felt too small, and the air far too suffocating, when Nina ignored every unspoken warning and stopped only an inch away from him.
A single holy breath separated them.
One inhale.
One exhale.
That was it.
He could feel the tension between them as something physical and breathing, wound so brutally tight that it seemed one wrong word, one reckless touch, would tear it apart and leave devastation in its wake.
He couldn't force himself to step back.
Nina's dark brown eyes remained transfixed on his face, feverishly searching through the copper depths of his stare as though she were determined to excavate something buried there.
A crack.
A weakness.
A secret.
Whatever that would prove he was human beneath all that carefully engineered control.
The intensity of it all unsettled him to the crux.
She looked at him like a woman hunting for answers.
Nina lifted a hand and traced the sharp line of his jaw with the tip of her finger. Almost possessive. As if she had every right in the world to touch him.
"Everything and anything that involves you," she murmured, her eyes never leaving his, "is my business, darling."
Paul couldn't feel his limbs.
One second, blood had been roaring through his veins. Next, it felt unnervingly cold, draining warmth from places that should've remained untouched.
He tried to breathe but failed. The air suddenly felt too dense. Too oppressive.
As though the room had shrunk around him and stolen every ounce of oxygen worth inhaling.
He knew he could speak, could snap back, and tell her to get the fuck away from him in twenty different languages if he truly wanted to. But his tongue refused to cooperate.
The words remained trapped behind clenched teeth and wounded pride, refusing to cross the distance between thought and speech.
It was ridiculous.
Humiliating.
Deeply fucking unacceptable.
Damn it. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The thought echoed bitterly through his head as he stood there, paralyzed beneath the weight of a touch that should've meant absolutely nothing.
Nina's hand moved with vexing slowness, gliding over his white-knuckled grip, where the file bent beneath the force of his fingers, to his blood-streaked forearm, and over the hard line of his shoulder.
She continued upward, following the tense column of his neck with such tenderness and patience. Every movement seemed calculated, as if she were studying him piece by piece, carefully tracing the hidden fractures and fault lines no one else had ever been allowed to see.
Paul remained stoic and unmoved.
Not because he wanted to.
Because somewhere between self-preservation and madness, his body had betrayed him.
Then her palm settled against his jaw, warm and steady.
"You were right when you said that I revolve around you." She admitted, breathless. "And I will continue to do so until I've infested every corner of your life so rigorously that you can't function properly whenever I'm not around."
Paul's hand came up in a flash, closing around her wrist that rested so carefully against his jaw.
His grip became firmer. "In your fucking dreams, Ms. Kaur."
"Too bad." A slow smile ghosted Nina's lips. "I don't dream."
Before he could respond, she closed the remaining distance between them, invading his space with the same reckless confidence that made him question his sanity.
One hand slid into the back of his hair, her fingers tightening just enough to make her point.
"I take what I want." She said it like a verdict.
Paul forced down the white-hot thirst scorching its way up his gut and tried to watch her with cold-blooded indifference. But, hell, he couldn't.
It was impossible to focus on anything when Nina was standing this close, raiding his orbit as if she'd copyrighted it. The halo of savage feeling under her predatory stare felt obscene—too loud, too naked.
It thrilled him.
It disgusted him.
It made him want to sink his teeth into it and jam it down his throat.
The conflicting emotions churned violently inside Paul, boiling his blood and driving every nerve closer to the edge of adrenaline.
The filthy part of him wanted to surrender to the madness of it and let Nina do whatever the hell she pleased. The other wanted to put an ocean between them. To shove her so far away that her voice, her stare, and her impossible presence could never reach him again.
The impulses collided like opposing storms, tearing through what remained of his sedateness.
But for all his flaws, he was still sane enough to never fall prey to the former one.
While Paul wrestled his inner demons, Nina watched him like a hunter mapping prey, drinking him with her eyes, carving him into pieces and tucking each one into a private vault of herself that was overcrowded with thoughts of him.
He felt the pressure of that gaze like a hand around his throat, and it did nothing for him. If anything, it made him want to peel himself away from the room, from her, from the whole damn scene.
He should've pushed her away and said anything to snap the spell she'd cast.
"Nina–" Paul forced it out, a jagged, useless sound.
He said my name.
The thought hit her with absurd force.
And God, it sounded so rich, so delicious coming from him.
As if he'd dragged the syllables through gravel and sin before letting them leave his mouth.
A slow shiver slithered down her spine and lodged itself between her ribs. Her tits strained against the fabric of her dress, achy and hypersensitive, while every nerve ending sparked to life with ruthless precision.
Something feral and voracious stirred low in her belly, uncoiling like a starving beast finally catching the scent of its prey, making her hotter, needier, and wetter degree by degree.
And the worst part was that all he'd done was say her fucking name.
Nina yanked his head lower and crashed her mouth against his, stealing the breath from his lungs and the rationality from his mind.
She caught his lower lip between her teeth in a sharp, greedy bite before claiming him again, sinking deeper into the moment and devouring every ounce of his taste.
The file fell to the ground as Paul tried to shove her, but it only made the situation worse.
For fuck's sake, every attempt at creating distance seemed to encourage her.
Her grip tightened in his hair, firm and uncompromising, keeping him exactly where she wanted him while dragging him closer to her mouth, teasing his tongue and slowly unraveling every shred of control he was desperately trying to hold on to.
The more Paul resisted, the harder she latched onto him.
With fierce intent, she tangled their mouths again, snaking her tongue against his and sucking the sanity out of him.
A monstrous groan tore from his throat when she nibbled at his lips like a starving beast, vivacious and merciless until the metallic taste of blood surfaced between them.
Nina only seemed encouraged by it, licking it away before returning to his swollen lips and claiming them all over again with the same hunger.
It was mortifying to admit that he had groaned.
He had actually fucking groaned.
The sound still echoed in his skull, filthy and traitorous, making his stomach twist with a kind of self-disgust he couldn't scrub off. And he knew, with a spine-chilling certainty, that it would take months, hell, years, to recover from this.
Paul took several steps back, and Nina instinctively loosened her grip on his hair, releasing him from the confines of her hold.
"Stay the hell away from me!" he gritted out, continuing to put distance between them.
"Run all you want, darling." Nina smiled, vexatiously calm as she took another step forward. "Pretend this doesn't affect you. Pretend I'm imagining it."
Her eyes remained chained to his, nailing him in place and daring him to flinch.
"But the darkness inside you recognizes me." She paused. "And we both know it's true."
"That's a load of shit," he barked, freezing mid-step as his leg collided with something solid.
His jaw flexed. "You are sick!"
"Just like you."
Nina ate the distance again, shameless and unrelenting, and leaned into his space as though boundaries were a foreign concept. Tilting her head slyly, she stared up at him. Those thoroughly ravished lips made him look even more irresistible.
A corner of her mouth tipped up. "Two sick people falling for each other."
"You s–"
She smashed her mouth against his once again, claiming, licking, and chewing the fuck out of his lips until another groan ripped from his throat.
Grabbing a fistful of his dirty-blond hair, she tugged his head lower, demanding deeper access and refusing to surrender an inch of control.
Nina drew in a shaky breath and murmured against his swollen red lips, "I like when you lose control," lick "and look at me with those violent, psychotic eyes." Kiss. "It drives me insane, darling."
His breaths came quick and shallow, his face blooming into a sheepish, guilty red.
Before Paul could name the actual fuck coursing through him or summon the gall to haul her, Nina kept on nipping, licking, smooching, and driving him out of his mind.
He gasped, groaned, and even moaned against his own will.
Detesting himself.
Detesting her.
He reached to push her, then reached again to keep her close.
Minutes passed, and Paul was left with a single looped image: her smell, the kiss, the rising urge to erase it. Without warning Nina drew away, then pushed him with a force that sent him sprawling onto the couch.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" he snarled, voice rough as she tugged the tie away and bound it tight around her wrists.
Still riding the dizzying high of her emotions, Nina ignored the outrage entirely. She trapped his hands above his head with startling confidence and pressed a finger against his lips.
The gesture was simple.
Effective.
And irritating as hell.
"Shh." She whispered, "You don't want the world finding out what you sound like when you're moaning and begging, do you?"
His eyes widened to impossible proportions as realization struck him with the force of a thunderbolt.
No. No holy fuck. No.
Nina traced the hard line of his jaw with maddening leisure before capturing his face in her hand and giving it a firm squeeze.
"Your safe word is my wife." She drawled.
Before he could make sense of the absolute havoc unfolding around him, Nina was suddenly straddling his lap with reckless intent. In one fluid motion, she dragged up the hem of her dress and shifted closer to his groin.
Her hands moved to his translucent shirt, making quick work of the buttons before gliding over the newly exposed skin beneath. Her fingers gave featherlight strokes across his nipples and wandered over the hard planes of his chiseled chest, mapping him with an attention that felt so fucking invasive.
Steamy, wild, and primitive sensation bloomed to life inside Paul, almost numbing his senses when Nina slobbered over his vulnerable peaks. She swirled her tongue around the areolas before sucking on them aggressively, then tenderly.
But he refused to let her see the damage.
The moment she noticed the cracks, he lost.
And Paul Williams didn't lose. Never.
Losing control meant surrender.
Surrender meant giving her exactly what she wanted–him.
He'd rather destroy himself than give her that victory.
She continued tormenting his nipples with chafing patience while rolling her hips against him. Beneath the rigid fabric of his pants, something hard, unmistakable, and explicit resisted the material.
Hmm. Nina hummed. His body is already reacting to mine.
A slow, satisfied smile ghosted her lips as she pressed closer and stroked her wet clit assiduously against his firm, bulging erection.
"Can you feel what you're doing to me, darling?" she mumbled against his skin. She sank her teeth into the hard plane of his torso, hard enough to leave violet bruises that flowered across his skin like beautiful, forbidden art.
An intoxicating rush of need ignited low in her belly, tinting the edges of her vision red when she became acutely aware of the way his cock kept straining harder and harder beneath the fabric with every dry hump.
The realization exploded through her like fire catching on oil.
Perilous.
Addictive.
And far too gratifying.
Feeling ravenous to the core, she made quick work of the barriers between them. Within seconds, she had pushed aside the offending fabric, only to be confronted with a thick, throbbing, aching eight-inch length that seemed almost arrogant in its presence.
For a suspended moment, Nina simply stared and soaked in its beauty.
Droolingly motherfuckingly gorgeous.
"Answer me," she demanded, slobbering on its crown.
A disturbingly pleasant shiver raced beneath Paul's flesh, awakening impulses he had no right entertaining.
"No." He growled, the word ripped from somewhere deep and feral. "No."
Circling her wet entrance an inch above the tip of his length, she replied. "But now you will."
The moment his cock jammed into her, a dark, consuming warmth unfurled through every inch of her, making her head spin.
For one staggering second, reality lost its balance.
Steadfast and hard, she started grinding and riding him, taking everything he gave and chasing more. Nina picked up her pace in no time, feverish and bull-headed, until she felt utterly consumed by him.
Paul's entire frame turned ice-cold, intoxicating him with ravenous sparks that detonated in his head, anesthetizing and taxing all of his self-restraint until his deepest primal hunger lurched back to life.
"Come on," Nina purred, deliberately slowing her rhythm until every passing second became its own unique form of torture. "Say you love me. And I'll set you free."
Paul's sweat-slicked chest soared up and fell in harsh, uneven breaths, and his body tightened and stretched beneath the incessant onslaught of sensations she'd awakened within him.
Every nerve screeched.
Every muscle throbbed.
Every instinct begged him to break.
But he wasn't about to hand her those three fucking words.
Not now.
Not ever.
Not even if she fucked every last shred of him.
"I... h-hate you," he grunted through clenched teeth.
"Nah." Nina smiled, breathless but unwavering. "You don't."
Taking his broken words as a sign, she started to ride him harder, faster, and deeper.
"Now be my good boy," she barely uttered. "And...come for me."
Her pace grew hungrier.
Needier.
Faster than before.
Each movement ripped another rough grunt from him, another helpless moan that sounded downright monstrous.
The rich, sinful depth of his accent only fed her madness. It coiled low inside her, spreading like wildfire until she could swear her insides were burning to ash and her nipples had tightened into vulnerable peaks, desperate for attention.
More.
More.
MORE.
Nina peeled away the last remaining piece of cloth, baring herself with an aching urge to toy and tweak the pointy, sensitive peaks that begged to be worshipped. Her hips quivered with restless temptation before bucking against him again, grinding and riding his cock harder, chasing a satisfaction that refused to come quietly.
It was maddening how every thrust she gave him sent a sickening jolt of fireworks from Paul's lower abdomen, ripping through his torso, climbing his neck, and detonating inside his skull.
The sensations were corrupting enough to drug his senses until he hallucinated on raw images.
The images of him pounding like beast in her and squeezing out all of her obstinacy till she fucking juddered.
He could feel those firecrackers colliding and exploding behind his eyes, threatening to rip apart the last thread of his restraint and make him groan her name like a prayer he'd spent a lifetime denying.
Pathetic.
Insufferable
Yet so finger-licking luscious.
Her hand turned almost feverish as she toyed with her sensitive peaks, unable to leave them alone. Her head tipped back, eyes rolling beneath heavy lids as she kept riding those merciless thrusts with reckless abandon.
A filthy moan spilled from her lips: raw, broken, and completely beyond her control.
"Stop the... f..." Paul forced the ragged words past his lips.
He couldn't even finish the sentence.
Everything about this was fucking mortifying.
"Darling," she panted, slowing down, drawing out every second, "add the word please."
"I am not…mmph…your darling–"
She penetrated and rode him harder. "Is it?"
A thunderous wave of euphoria slithered through him like a malignant disease, ruthless and impossible to contain. Every fiber of his being sparked into awareness, sickening tingles swarming in his veins like fire ants until his vision fractured into a million pieces.
Stars exploded behind his eyes, and he saw stars.
Many.
A whole fucking constellation.
A wicked part of him knew he was about to come down so hard. Years of yearning, denied hunger, and violent restraint washing out in a single unholy second, inside a woman he'd spent years convincing himself he despised.
And he would rather chop off his own dick than commit such a sin.
"I... I..." The words snagged in Paul's throat, refusing to cross his lips.
Nina could feel all her sweet juices sequestering on his throbbing, iron-hard length, and it only fanned the flames of hunger scorching her.
"You what... darling?" she panted, every breath turning thinner than the last. "Say it."
"I... please."
The word landed between them like the sweetest kind of surrender.
A low, dry chuckle escaped her mouth.
God. It sounded so fucking savory.
"Now, if you ever dared to convince yourself that I don't make you feel a damn thing," Nina rocked him harder, then slapped his sensitive peak before tweaking it between her fingers. "Remember how you begged for me."
She slowed the pace and licked his beautifully bruised peaks roughly.
"Remember how you groaned my name." She added, riding him, "And remember who made you see entire fucking nebulas in broad daylight."
Nina's words poured gasoline over the blaze of sensations already raging inside him. Every syllable fuelled the hunger, the malice, the unbearable need until Paul couldn't withstand the crushing intensity of it all.
"Nina..." he groaned, the sound rough and broken. "Please."
A sly grin morphed on her face.
"You said yo–ump–"
Slowing down once more, she smacked his sensitive peak, tonguing them like a mad dog. "Say it properly, My. Darling."
Paul's jaw tightened as a strained grunt escaped him.
"You... you said you'd let me go..." He struggled to catch a full breath. "...if I said please."
"Oh, did I?" A sly smile tugged at her lips as she bit along the hard plane of his torso, trailing over the ridges of his abs before grazing the soft areola.
Paul already knew bargaining with Nina Kaur was a fucking lost cause.
She wasn't going to let him off that easily; not until her pretty cunt gagged and overflowed with his thick cum.
And that was still a distant possibility.
Moaning, groaning, and grunting under her spell was humiliating enough. It mocked everything he believed himself to be, everything he'd built his pride upon.
Turning that distant possibility into reality?
That would shatter him completely.
Or her.
Maybe both.
Who the fuck knew.
Drenched in sweat, heat, and animalistic thirst, Nina rocked him again with unbridled intensity, each movement more feverish and uncontrolled than the last until her thighs quivered beneath the pressure and her vision fogged at the edges.
More.
She craved more.
Instinctively, her pace quickened as she chased that long-denied, aching release with greedy determination.
Faster.
Rougher.
Harder.
She could feel the pressure coiling tighter and tighter inside her, the dam threatening to burst with every reckless movement. Few more thrusts, few more merciless seconds, and she would come down so noxiously.
She was close.
So fucking close.
And–
"My wife!" he choked out, chest heaving with ragged breaths.
The words tasted like poison on his tongue. But he'd exhausted every other fucking option to stop their impending, unified orgasm.
Nina's trembling hips stilled in the middle of the motion as she lifted her heavy-lidded gaze to him.
The sight stole what little breath she had left.
Paul's powerful forearms were bound and stretched above his head. His lips were swollen crimson, a vicious bite mark staining the lower one. Dirty-blond hair fell in complete disarray across his forehead, while his Greek-god chest dredged and fell in strong, uneven breaths, every inch of it adorned with dark purplish hickeys she'd claimed as her own.
Mouthwateringly sexy.
So dangerously off-limits.
So impossibly hers.
Did he say my wife?
The thought echoed through Nina's head, drowned beneath the haunting rush of desire that still refused to loosen its grip.
"My wife," Paul repeated, the words dragged from him through gritted teeth as he wrestled against the fabric binding his wrists, fighting to tear himself free.
Those two words carried the force of a thousand storms, cleaving through the haze clouding her mind and anchoring her back to reality.
It made her hyperaware about everything between them and the evidence of what they'd unleashed. The sultry wet juices had soaked his cock efficaciously along with the fabric of the couch. Their sweat-slicked bodies were heaving in chef's-kissing synchronicity. The untamed attraction reverberated in the thin air surrounding them while she remained locked to him with mesmerizing precision.
So exclusively hers. Like he'd never belonged anywhere else.
Like home.
Like the one thing she'd been starving for her entire life.
Before Nina could brand the entire scene into her psyche like a tattoo or steal one more kiss from the devil beneath her, the tie finally gave way.
Paul's wrist came free.
In the next heartbeat, his hand clamped around her waist and yanked against his chest, the sudden force tearing a gasp from her lips. Then, with one swift, brutal movement, he rolled them over, making damn sure it was him looming above her this time.
His cock remained jammed inside her like lock and key as he pressed his forehead against hers. Without breaking eye contact, Paul deliberately rubbed, then pinched one of her heightened, fragile peaks between his fingers. While the other hand held her wrists firmly, trapping them above her head.
Nina struggled for a breath. Her lips parted on instinct, almost like an invitation, when he continued to toy with her tits.
Keeping his mouth a sinful breath away from hers, Paul whispered, "I know you're so fucking wet for me..."
His fingers tortured her peaks before stroking them to the crux.
"And you're burning with such savage need to..." His hips drove forward in one harder thrust. "...claim you so mercilessly that you forget your own fucking name."
Nina squirmed and grunted as the pulsing need constricted its hold on her.
"But you'll never have that." Paul's mouth hovered a breath above hers, close enough that every instinct inside Nina screamed to crash her lips against his and devour them.
"So get one thing through that obsessive head of yours," he snarled, ramming his cock into her.
"I..." One brutal thrust. "Hate..." Another. "You." Two more punishing thrusts. "Nina Kaur." More brutal, inhumane thrusts. "Stay the fuck away from me."
She hyperventilated as a violent rush of libidinous exhilaration exploded in her, making her come so hard she swore entire galaxies were colliding behind her irises.
Pleasure reached its threshold, unfurled and crept along her spine, wave after wave, sending ruthless tremors of satiation through every inch of her body.
Seemingly untouched by the sensual wreckage in front of him, Paul abruptly pulled his length out of her and stood up from the couch. A sharp throb pulsed through him. His gaze dropped, and revulsion twisted inside him when he witnessed pre-cum already oozing out of the tip of his cock.
Ignoring the tempting rush and urgency to jerk his dick, he dragged his clothes back into place, zipped his pants, and strode out of the cabin without a backward glance.
Leaving Nina behind.
Naked.
Trembling.
Sprawled across the couch like a masterpiece that had been ruined and abandoned.
The moment he strode past the receptionist's desk, Paul felt a woman's stare boring into the side of his face.
No. Not his face.
Lower.
Right where the undeniable bulge resisted against the zipper of his pants.
For fuck's sake, it wasn't public property, and the savage part of him wanted to rip out her fucking eyeballs and throw them into a black hole.
But he couldn't spare another godforsaken second; not when his own body was teetering on the edge of betraying him.
Dismissing the receptionist and every other piece of bullshit around him, he power-walked straight toward the office floor.
He was done for the day.