“I’ll report you. I—” My voice cracked.
He leaned in, pinning his full weight against me. His erection pressed into my stomach. The smell of cologne and coffee turned my gut.
“And how,” he breathed, the air slimy against my ear, “would you do that…without explaining the rest of it?”
My mouth worked, useless, cheeks burning—humiliation and rage tangled together.
The club flashed through my mind. The mask. Luka’s arm locked around my waist, possession cold and absolute. But that had been my choice.
This wasn’t.
Richard slid his hand up my thigh—smooth, practiced—pushing my skirt higher in a single sweep. His eyes mapped my face, tracking every flicker.
“Relax,” he murmured. “I just want a taste.”
Horror surged, but my body betrayed me—heat rushing, nerves sparking. I hated it. Hated him. Hated the way my skin tingled even as bile rose in my throat.
I twisted, tried to drive my knee up.
He blocked it without effort.
Every angle closed. Every movement anticipated.
My voice was all I had left.
“Please.” The word scraped out of me. “No.”
For one heartbeat, he paused.
Then he slid his palm higher, grinding hard through the silk of my panties, fingers spread wide, claiming.
I jerked, panic exploding through my limbs, but his body caged me to the door, breath hot at my temple. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.
“Shh.” His thumb hooked the edge of my waistband. “You say no, but your body’s begging, darling.” He pressed closer. “I saw you this weekend. I know you love this as much as I do.”
The fire alarm detonated.
A shriek split the air—loud, violent, relentless.
For a frozen second, neither of us moved.
Red strobes burst across the ceiling, painting the room in pulses of panic and blood.
“Christ,” he snapped, irritation flashing across his face.
It was enough.
I wrenched sideways, ripping one knee free on a surge of adrenaline. My elbow hooked his jaw. He swore, grip faltering as he rocked back a half-step.
That was all I needed.
I shoved hard with both palms, clawing at his face, his neck—anything to get him off me—and lunged past him.
He straightened, rubbing his jaw, a crooked smile ghosting his mouth despite the alarm shredding the air.
“Run if you like,” he said mildly. “You’ll come back.”
I didn’t answer. I darted around the far side of his desk, keeping the heavy slab of wood between us, my pulse roaring louder than the sirens.