He bent forward, licking my jaw before covering my lips with his, and an involuntary groan rumbled in my throat as his hardened c**k pressed against my stomach. My body began acting on instinct and my leg wrapped around his, pressing me closer against his arousal, my hands finding their way to his hair. He pulled back just long enough for his fingers to flick at the clasp at my waist. My dress drifted apart in front of him.

“Such an angry kitty,” he whispered. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he looked into my eyes and slid the fabric to the floor. Goose bumps spread along my skin as he took my hands, turned me around, and pressed my palms against the wall.

Reaching up, he removed the silver comb from my hair, letting it fall down my naked back. Taking my hair in his hands, he roughly pulled my head to the side, giving him access to my neck. Hot, wet kisses rained down my spine and across my shoulders. His touch left a spark of electricity over every inch of skin he touched. On his knees behind me, he grabbed my ass and pressed his teeth into the flesh, eliciting a sharp gasp from me before he stood back up.

Holy hell, how does he know to do these things to me?

“Did you like that?” His fingers pressed and pulled at my br**sts. “Being bitten on the ass?”

I yelped out in surprise as I felt his hand smack hard where his teeth had just been, and my only response was a moan of pleasure. I breathed in another sharp gasp as his hands clasped the delicate ribbons of my underwear and ripped it off.

He chuckled darkly and pressed up against me again, the cool wall against my br**sts sending shivers through my body and pulling forward the memory of the window that first time. I’d forgotten how good the contrast—cold versus warm, hard versus him—felt against me. “Worth every penny.” His hand slid around my waist and down my abdomen, slipping lower until his finger rested on my clit. “You know, I think you wear those things just to tease me.”

Was he right? Was I delusional, thinking they were for me?

The pressure from his touch caused me to ache, his fingers pressing and releasing, leaving me wanting. Moving lower, he stopped right at my entrance. “You’re so wet. God, you must have been thinking about this all morning.”

“Fuck you,” I groaned, gasping as his finger finally pushed inside, pressing me back into him.

“Say it. Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” A second finger joined the first, and the sensation caused me to cry out.

I shook my head, but my body betrayed me again. He sounded so needy; his words were teasing and controlling, but it felt like he was begging too. I closed my eyes, trying to clear my thoughts, but everything was just too much. The feel of his clothed body against my naked skin, the sound of his rough voice, and the feeling of his long fingers plunging in and out of me had me teetering on the edge. His other hand reached up, firmly pinching my nipple through the sheer fabric of my bra, and I moaned loudly. I was so close.

“Say it,” he grunted into my ear as his thumb rolled over my clit. “I won’t have you angry with me all day.”

I gave in, finally, whispering, “I want you inside me.” He let out a low, strangled moan and his forehead rested on my shoulder as he began moving faster, plunging and circling. His hips ground against my ass, his erection rubbing against me. “Oh, God,” I moaned, the coil tightening deep inside, my every thought focused on the pleasure begging to break free.

And then the rhythmic sounds of our panting and groans were suddenly interrupted by the shrill ringing of a phone.

We stilled as the realization of where we were crashed down on us. Mr. Ryan cursed as he moved away from me and took the elevator’s emergency receiver.

Turning, I grabbed my dress, slipped it over my shoulders, and began fastening it with shaking hands.

“Yes.” He sounded so calm, not even a little out of breath. Our eyes locked across the elevator. “I see . . . No, we’re fine . . .” He bent over slowly, removing my torn and discarded panties from the elevator floor. “No, it just stopped.” He listened to the person on the other end, while rubbing the silky fabric between his fingers. “That’s fine.” He finished, hanging up the phone.

The elevator jerked as it began ascending again. He looked down at the lace in his hand and then back to me. And then he smirked, stepping away from the wall and stalking toward me. Placing one hand next to my head, he leaned in, running his nose along my neck and whispering, “You smell as good as you feel.”

“And these,” he said, motioning to my panties in his hand, “are mine.”

The elevator chimed as we stopped at our floor. The doors opened and without a single glance back in my direction, he slipped the delicate fabric into the pocket of his suit jacket and strode out.

Panic. The emotion gripping me as I all but sprinted to my office could only be described as pure panic. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Being alone with her in that tiny steel prison—her smell, her sounds, her skin—made my self-control evaporate. I was unraveling. This woman had a hold on me unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

Finally in the relative safety of my office, I collapsed on the leather sofa. Leaning forward, I gripped my hair tightly, willing myself to calm and my erection to subside.

Things were going from bad to worse.

I’d known from the minute she reminded me of the morning’s meeting that there was no way in hell I could form one coherent thought, let alone give an entire presentation in that f**king conference room. And forget sitting at that table. Walking in there to find her leaning up against the glass, deep in thought, was enough to make me hard again.