Heat flares in his eyes, his fork clattering to his plate. "How many times?"
"A few."
"How many, Sophie?" he practically growls at me, as if his whole world hinges on my answer.
Maybe that's what makes me bold enough to tell him the truth. Or maybe it's that I want to shock him too, leave his world in ruins the same way he's annihilating mine.
"Almost every day since we met at the engagement party," I whisper. "I regretted running that night, Harlan. I wish I'd asked for what I really wanted from you that night."
"What did you want? Tell me."
"To climb you."
His chair scrapes back so fast, it wobbles. And then he's on his feet, looming over the table like a mountain, blotting out the rest of the world. He's at my side in two steps, hauling me up out of my chair with his hands around my waist.
"You still want to climb me?" he growls, his lips inches from mine.
My mouth won't work, so I simply nod.
I'm airborne. Literally. My feet leave the ground as he lifts me, my legs locking reflexively around his hips. He's kissing me again, with the kind of greedy, controlled violence that says he's been holding back for way too long, and then the elevator doors open behind us, and he's hauling me inside.
My back hits the metal wall with a solid thunk as the doors slide closed.
I gasp, and his hand is immediately on my face, holding me still. My body flares hot, every rational thought melting.
I fist the lapels of his jacket, desperate to get closer.
"Claim your prize," he rasps, biting my bottom lip. "Climb, ballerina."
I plant my hands against his shoulders and boost myself higher, until the hard ridge of his cock is nestled against my center, burning hot.
I'm not proud of the noise I make when he grinds his hips into me, but he is. He's smug about it—the gorgeous bastard.
"Damn, I want to hear you make that sound again," he groans, his hand sliding along the wall until he finds the emergency stop button. He slaps it, essentially locking everyone out of the elevator but the two of us.
His fingers slip under the hem of my dress, dragging the fabric up my thighs, his knuckles rough against my skin. His eyes drop to my wet panties.
He pauses, then lets out a savage, satisfied sound. "Fuck," he rasps, pressing his thumb exactly where I need it. "You bought these for me?"
I nod, or try to, but my whole body feels molten under the weight of his stare.
"I came in my pants when you touched my cock yesterday." He rubs his thumb over the seam of my panties, making me thrash against him. "I might do it again right now, just looking at how wet you are for me."
I dig my nails into his shoulders. "Harlan, please," I sob, because that's all I can do. The need is so intense now that my breath comes in tiny, desperate gasps.
He locks eyes with mine, the heat in them so intense it's holy. "You want me, Sophie?"
"Yes," I gasp, desperate. "Please."
"Then say it," he orders. "Tell me what you want."
I can barely breathe, let alone speak. But hell itself couldn't stop me right now. "Fuck me, Harlan. Before I die."
His grin is unholy. It's also so beautiful, I hope I never forget the way he looks in this moment—like I just gave him the whole world.
He drops to his knees so fast I nearly lose my balance. Within seconds, one of my legs is over his shoulder, his hands are digging into my hips, and his mouth is pressed against the seam of my new panties, tasting me.
"Goddamn," he groans. "Goddamn, ballerina." He drags the lace aside with his thumb, a growl rumbling in his throat. "Pink. Fucking perfect."