Page 25 of Wicked S.O.B.

“Are you good?” he asks when he’s watched me take several unwise mouthfuls of wine.

No,I want to shout.I’m bad. Worse.Instead, I glance at his plate. “You’re not eating.”

“If you’re worried that your efforts will be wasted, don’t be. Besides, the thought of eating is somewhat difficult when I’m so fucking hard I feel my balls at the back of my throat.”

From somewhat civil to sewer filth, the smoothly delivered words snap a gasp from me that fills the glass and chrome clinical perfection of his office.

His gaze drops to my gaping mouth and I’m somewhat mollified to see that despite his near-still economy of movement, a wild pulse is beating at his temple. I lower my gaze to the finger bouncing on the table and manage to suppress a smile.

“You still need to eat. I…I don’t want your temperamental chef on my case.”

“Perhaps you deserve to have him on your case.”

“No, I promise, my energy will be better utilized on something else.”

“Something like?” he asks with a barely elevated eyebrow.

“Like how to make your fucked-up afternoon much better.”

“No need to concern yourself about that. I have it covered.”

Oh God. “You do?”

“I do. Stand up, Elly.” His voice is gravel rough. Low. Deep.

I’ve never felt as weak as I do when I stagger to my feet. Or as strong when I see his chest expand in a deep, unsteady inhale. I’m a little light-headed from the half glass of wine drank a little too quickly. When my hip clumsily nudges the table, it draws his attention to my lower body. But his gaze doesn’t linger. Piercing eyes blazing with the unholy light of his arousal rise to my throat. Specifically, the buttons fastening the server’s uniform.

He follows my movement and rises to his feet too. In the ballerina flats I’m wearing, he’s way taller than me, and this close, I need the full range of a craned neck to meet his eyes. It’s not lost on me that this also exposes all of my throat to him. And true to form, the vulnerability of my position lights a deeper fire in his eyes as he stares down at me. The hand he raises and keeps poised an inch from my face is trembling.

“Do you have any fucking idea what seeing you here, dressed like this, does to me?” he breathes raggedly, his voice a white-hot flame aimed straight at me.

This first acknowledgment from him of this game we’re playing, this stepping outside of our role, hits me straight in the heart. Like his doorway confession this morning, this tiny baring of the soul he claims not to have, brings tears to my eyes. I blink them away before they can fall.

“No,” I reply.

“No?”

“Tell me,” I encourage greedily.

“The first time you walked into my office like this, I wanted you so badly, I could barely breathe. You were so fucking fierce, shooting defiant looks at me with your gorgeous eyes, and yet so fragile. I was terrified I would scare you off or go a little bit more insane and never let you leave.”

“But you already had me. You had Lucky.”

“Not that first time when I saw you in the restaurant. You hadn’t said yes yet. And even after you did, I had to get you up here to my office. I needed to see you again, in person. I needed to be next to you, breathe the same air as you, not talk to you through a camera.”

“And was that all you wanted to do?” I ask.

His eyes drop to my mouth, and his hot gaze makes a torrid promise, before it reconnects with mine. “Fuck, Elyse, I wanted to touch you so badly. You were buried under this…thisgarbageand all I wanted was to rip it off you, spread you on this table, and consume you until there was nothing left.”

My breath fractures and threatens to stop entirely. I don’t give a single damn. “Well…here’s your chance, Mr. Blackwood.”

And just like that, we’re snapped back into our roles. The air crackles around us, an electric storm churning from the raw power of our emotions.

“You think you can handle it, Elly?”

“I told you before, I’m not fragile.”

The hand, tantalizingly withheld from me, finally drops those precious inches. I gasp as volts of pure white-hot need shoot from the point of contact throughout my body. Quinn inhales sharply as his fingers slide down the side of my neck, to the wild pulse slamming at my throat.

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