Page 13 of Unwillingly His

It would be such a shame to let this perfect, aching pussy go to waste.

It would be so easy to press my cock into her right now while she was so willing, so desperate for it. But only a real bastard would take a woman’s virginity while she was bent over a conference table.

I toyed with the idea for a few more moments, fingers still buried deep inside her as her breathing evened out as she came down from the endorphins.

Over the years, there had been several things that made me a bastard, a son of a bitch and even a mother fucker.

Fuck it. One more sin wasn’t going to take me even further into hell.

I unzipped my pants and put the head of my aching cock at her entrance, ready to push in as she went completely still.

“Beg,” I demanded.

She opened her lips, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Dammit,” I swore under my breath as I remembered where I was and tucked my hard cock back into my pants.

Another knock, this one more demanding, sounded at the door.

Tossing my suit jacket over her prone form, I commanded. “Stay there.”

I opened the door to the bailiff, standing there looking awkward as hell. He couldn’t even meet my gaze.

“What?” I demanded.

“It’s… uh… sir… we wanted to make sure everything is in order. This room is booked in twenty minutes.”

Before I could tear into him, Stella with her skirt down and her blouse hastily put back together under my jacket, pushed her way out of the door and ran down the hallway.

She could run all she liked, but there would be no hiding from me… or my intentions.

CHAPTER 8

STELLA

“Ijust don’t understand.” I fumed, slamming my teacup down into the porcelain saucer, instantly silencing the entire room.

I looked around the lovely room with its creme walls with splashes of natural green all lit by a massive glass skylight. The tearoom in The Wharton was a more refined and less garish version of the tearoom at the Ritz-Carlton in London. It was light, airy, and welcoming.

Now all the ladies were staring at me, looking down their noses with expressions that ranged from mild irritation to annoyance. A few were downright furious I had interrupted the vibe of the service.

I gave the room an apologetic and abashed look, communicating my sincerest apologies before turning back to my table.

My mind had been racing since leaving the courthouse.

I didn’t know what to do.

How was I supposed to deal with any of this?

The only thing I could think to do was get help from a few friends.

In life, we all knew it wasn’t what you knew, but who you knew.

Connections in high society were everything.

Maybe one of my friends had a father or a brother who was a brilliant enough lawyer to help me through this.

Hopefully, another one was a psychiatrist, because after what I had let happen in that conference room, I was clearly in need of psychiatric intervention.

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