Page 63 of Undercover Desires

“I’m not here to ruin your life. I just wanted to do my job and thought I was doing the right thing. Kobe, I had no idea about your mom,” I confess, my voice laden with regret.

His eyes narrow in on me. “Why would you. You came in here with that stick stuck up your ass, thinking you were better than the lot of us. You were ready to write us all off before you knew anything real.”

“Now I know better,” I admit, especially after what Brandon just told me.

He shoves his seat back, eyes fixing on me. He closes the gap between us, stalking me, then he grabs me with so much power it nearly knocks me over. His eyes don’t leave mine for a second. His hands skate up into my hair as he draws me closer to him. “I need to corrupt you,” he breathes into my lips. He smells of whiskey and sin, and it’s everything I want.

His words go right through to my lady parts. They throb with a desperation only he can satisfy. Everything he says is so wicked, fucked up on so many levels, but it lights me on fire. “Kobe, we need to talk,” I warn him, my bottom lip trembling, knowing he needs it just as much as I do. Everything that happened tonight can’t just be fucked away, no matter how much my body aches for him. He needs to deal with the emotional trauma behind his reaction.

“I don’t want to talk, I want to fuck, so if you’re staying, you better be prepared for it,” he growls out, sounding almost desperate. He pins me to his desk with his body, and I can feel his hard cock pressing into me.

I stare up at him. He’s so hot like this, frantic, his eyes flashing with a dark desire that I know only I can sate for him. But this isn’t what he needs. “Tell me about your mom,” I get out.

His focus narrows in on me, and he pulls my hair tighter, like he’s about to lose control. His breathing is shallow, then all of a sudden, he lets go and flops back down into his office chair, defeated. “I don’t remember her,” he admits, an overwhelming sadness washing over him as he runs his hands through his hair, dropping his head.

“How old were you when she died?” I push, finally feeling like we’re getting somewhere.

“Twelve.”

I drop down on my knees in front of him so I can see him properly. I want him to know I’m here for him. “And you don’t remember anything?”

His sad eyes meet mine. “Leo thinks there’s something wrong with me. He’s had me in therapy since I was a kid, trying to work out why I’m so broken. But I’m not. I deal with pain in my own way.” His eyes implore me to understand.

“By laughing it off, making a joke, or fucking the next thing to walk past you to fill the emptiness.”

His lips twitch at the sides. “You know you’re not telling me anything I don’t already hear on the weekly from my therapist.”

He reaches out for me, pulling me up and onto his lap. I run a hand through his messy hair, straightening it out for him. Gazing into his eyes, he’s so broken. “I want to help you,” I whisper, wishing I knew how.

“You want to help me? Stop talking and take off your jeans. Let me eat your fucking pussy.”

His dirty words make my stomach clench. “Kobe,” I chastise him. That wasn’t the help I had in mind.

“Mr. Rivera,” he says more seriously.

I glance back at him. So, we’re playing this game again, are we? “Mr. Rivera,” I repeat, playing along.

“I need to fuck you, Arabella. Now.” It’s more of a plea than a demand. I stare him down, not sure if I should give in to him ornot. I’m feeling weak and vulnerable as well. Neither of us are in a healthy place tonight. “Do I need to bring up the contract?” he adds.

“You know it’s not even my real name on that contract.” I gaze at him intently.

He opens his desk top drawer and pulls out the contract. With his eyes not leaving mine, he tears it in half, then again, not stopping until the paper is nothing but tiny shreds, then he sprinkles them over the floor dramatically. “We never needed a paper contract. You knew you would willingly give yourself to me the second our eyes first met.”

I swallow the lump in my throat; he’s right. I don’t know why, but I stand up and unbuckle my jeans. He watches me as I shrug out of them. Hooking my fingers inside my thong, I slide it down my legs. He smirks at me like he’s just won something amazing and shoves stuff off his desk. Papers fly everywhere in total chaos. Delicately he picks me up and places me on the desktop in front of him. Shoving my legs apart, he nips at my thighs, sending goosebumps in his wake.

I lean back, propping myself up on my elbows. He places a hand on my stomach and pushes me down all the way to his desktop. His hands cupping my ass, he grabs me aggressively, dragging my pussy toward him. Then his tongue is on me, licking through my folds. Teasing me, tasting me, swirling around my clit, then dipping inside of me. It’s sweet torture, every movement done with perfect precision.

He takes his time toying me into a frenzy, then backing off just before I slip over the edge. I can’t help but moan into the room. Everything he does feels so unbelievably good. My body trembles with anticipation, waiting for him to let me have it. But he doesn’t. He’s doing this for him, and he eats me like I’m his medicine, every lick bringing him back to life.

Suddenly his mouth is gone, and I hear him undoing his pants. I prop myself up on my elbows in time to see him rolling on a condom. “I need to fuck you hard, sugarplum. Tell me if it’s too much,” he warns me, a flash of dark carnal desire in his eyes.

I give him a nod, signaling he can go for it. I don’t know why, but I get it. I understand what he needs, and I want it too. I’m desperate to feel his pain, and if this is the only way he can show where he’s at emotionally, then I want him to. He lifts my legs up higher off the table and pushes into me so hard it nearly knocks the air from my lungs.

His eyes meet mine, and he moves in me with deep thrusts, over and over again, and I take it. Everything he needs to give me. This is the real Kobe, and he knows the real me, and somehow in this messed-up situation, we still want each other. We can be each other’s escape from the tortures of our past.

His hand comes to my throat, and he wraps his fingers around with just enough pressure so I can feel it. He’s crazy like this, but something about him in this moment is so beautiful. My broken psycho who wants to corrupt me, make me as bad as him. There is no coming back from this. I know it makes me just as fucked up as him, but in this moment, with his hands around my neck and his cock thrusting deep inside of me, I know for sure I’m in love with this tortured man, flaws and all.

He examines me, a silent understanding passing between us. He feels the same. Against all odds, in the most unlikely of circumstances, we’ve fallen for each other. My eyes are locked with his, enjoying every deep thrust. It’s a mix of pleasure and pain. Unable to take it anymore, my eyes roll back in my head as my orgasm takes over, pulling him right through with me.

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