“Then why evade the question?”
I glanced sideways, pulse hitching. “You never said anything about vibrators.” I held his gaze in the mirror. “Technically, I followed your instructions to the letter.” A beat. “You should have been more specific.”
His eyes flicked to the mirror, then back to the road. A laugh ghosted at the edge of his mouth. “So, you’re a brat as well as a masochist. This should be interesting.”
The words licked over my skin. A thrill—I’d surprised him.
“Was it worth it?” he asked, voice gone velvet and iron again. “Did your little rebellion make you come as hard as when I had you squirming on my tongue?”
God, the audacity. I kept my eyes forward. “You left me no choice.”
He pulled to the curb in front of my building, not bothering with the hazards, and shifted into park. “Next time,” he said evenly, “you won’t need your toy.” He pivoted in his seat to face me, his gaze steady and unapologetic. “I’ll have you begging with my mouth on your cunt and my hand on your throat.”
I held his gaze as long as I could, pressing my thighs together. Tension coiled low and tight.
I let out a slow, calculated breath. “Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time.” I reached for my bag, careful not to fidget with the scarf around my neck. “How much do I owe you for the ride?”
His mouth curved, slow and rough. “Scream my name,” he said. “That’ll cover it.” A beat. “I’ll pick you up after work. Five?”
The arrogance was breathtaking. I had a retort—something sharp enough to draw blood—but when he got out and came around to my door, my wit shorted to static. He opened it and held out his hand, palm up.
I stared at it, dumbstruck, as if it were a riddle. The wind needled through the street, stinging my eyes. Luka didn’t move, patience weaponized.
I took his hand.
He pulled me up in one smooth motion and, a heartbeat later, had me pinned against the car—his body a wall of heat, his thumb pressing hard into the pulse point at my wrist. I was acutely aware of my surroundings: the security guard in the foyer, two pensioners shuffling past with grocery bags, the ordinary rhythm of the street moving around us as if we weren’t there at all.
Luka crowded in, blue eyes close enough to see the ring of frost around the iris. “Think of me today,” he murmured, teeth grazing the edge of my ear. “Think of me fucking that tight little pussy so hard you can’t walk.”
The air vanished from my lungs. I tried to turn away, instinct more than intention, but he locked his grip, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
“Five o’clock. Don’t make me wait,mila.”
chapter
six
By the time I hit the lobby, I was a bright, twitching wire. Every nerve in my body still hummed from the drive—Luka’s voice in my head, his scent on my scarf, the residual shudder of my pulse like a glitch in the power grid. The glass doors whooshed shut behind me, cutting off the city’s noise and fumes. Inside was all high-gloss marble and toasty air. The security guard behind the desk looked up, registered me, then dismissed me just as quickly.
I made for the elevators, only to see a figure detach from the café nook, heading straight toward me—Richard Montgomery, CEO of Hallstrom Group and, unexpectedly, my direct contact for the duration of my assignment. He was decked out in full executive regalia: bespoke pinstripe, perfect Windsor knot, teeth bright enough to catch the lobby’s lights. A compostable cup sat neatly in his hand, the color of wet sand. He intercepted me before I could scan my pass, raking me over with his eyes.
I suppressed a shudder.
“Ms. Thompson. Bright and early.” His accent belonged onMasterpiece Theatre—cut-glass English, polished to a high shine. He said my name like a conclusion rather than a greeting.“Tell me, do Americans simply not experience jet lag, or are you just exceptionally motivated?”
I tightened my grip on my laptop bag. “Sleep when you’re dead, right?”
His flat laugh echoed off the marble. “Well, you know what they say about all work and no play.”
The lift doors opened. He gestured for me to enter ahead of him.
I stepped inside, but not quickly enough to avoid the brush of his hand across my back. The touch was so brief it could have been accidental—or, more likely, designed to appear so.
He crowded in, close enough that I had to angle my shoulders to keep space between us. “I saw you outside,” he said lightly. “Was that your car service?”
My stomach spasmed around the dregs of my coffee, but I pasted on a smile. “Just a rideshare. I wasn’t quite brave enough for the Tube this morning.”
The elevator doors hissed shut.