Page 9 of Heir of Blood and Moonlight

I held absolutely still; the prey caught in a predator’s sight. The desk still hid my lower half from Bastian’s view, but based on the dark desire burning in his eyes, he knew exactly where my unseen hand was and what I had been doing just a moment ago.

Bastian rounded the desk and stopped behind my chair. I would have sworn I could feel his body heat as he stood behind me, his aura of virile sexuality cocooning me.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his voice deeper and rougher than before. “I thought so.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders and leaned over the back of my chair, grazing his fingertips down my right arm. His touch was a gentle tease. Goosebumps formed on my skin, trailing after his fingers as his hand traveled over my elbow, down the length of my forearm, and over the back of my hand to delve into my underwear.

My mind finally caught up with what was happening. This was where weworked, and technically, I was Bastian’s superior! Panic fluttered in my chest.

“Bastian,” I said, his name a breathy whisper. “I don’t think—” I cleared my throat. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Bastian leaned over the chairback and raised his other hand to my throat, gently holding me in place as he nuzzled aside the mahogany waves I had gathered back in a ponytail. He traced his nose along the edge of my jaw, breathing deeply.

“You smell like sex,” he whispered, and need pulsed against my palm as his breath brushed my skin.

Bastian’s hand slid lower, covering mine. He applied gradual pressure, slowly, gently grinding the heel of my palm against my swollen, sensitive clit. His fingertips glided over my knuckles and followed the line of my fingers to where they disappeared into my soaked core.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, teasing my entrance.

I sucked in a shivering breath when he sank two fingers inside me. His thicker fingers added to mine, stretching me blissfully. I rocked my hips against his hand as his forearm flexed, pushing his fingers deeper into me.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned, withdrawing his fingers, then thrusting them back into me.

I moaned involuntarily, savoring the feel of Bastian stretching me. He curved his fingers over mine, seeking the secretplace inside me that would drive me wild. His palm pressed against the back of my hand in a slow, rhythmic rocking motion, stimulating my swollen bud. He was creating tantalizing sensations that quickly built to staggering intensity.

I sucked in a shaky breath and held it, hovering on the brink of what promised to be a mind-shattering orgasm. And from the way Bastian carefully checked the press of his hand against mine and alternated between teasing the rim of my entrance and curving his fingers to rub the sweet spot deep inside me, he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“Bastian, please,” I gasped. I was already unraveling, and he’d barely been in the office for two minutes. What would it be like to actuallybewith him?

I was no virgin and certainly no saint. I had been in love once when I was sixteen and living on the street, but I hadn’t been with anyone since then. Since Wes. Since what happened with the other boys. Since the baby . . .

I gripped my pendant and squeezed my eyes shut. I wouldn’t think about that right now. I wouldnotthink aboutanyof that.

“Look at me.” Bastian’s words yanked my attention back to the here and now, to him and the delicious sensations he was drawing out of my body.

I opened my eyes and turned my face toward his.

Bastian’s mouth hovered a hairsbreadth from mine. “Stay with me,” he breathed, echoing my words of the previous night.

“I’m here,” I whispered. I wanted to forget the past. And to stay here, in this moment, with Bastian . . . Hell, Ineededto be here. To experience this.

Without warning, Bastian’s hand stilled. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked, his voice a rough purr. When I said nothing, he added, “I can feel you hesitating. Tell me what you want, Sophie. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, and I hope you know I would never—never—hurt you.”

Still reeling from the emotional whiplash of my past attempting to waylay my present, and clutching desperately onto the pulsing near-orgasm tightening my abdomen, I whimpered. It was the only response I could manage, given the circumstances.

Bastian removed his hand. “It’s all right if you’re not ready,” he whispered and straightened behind me. “I’ll be around when you are.”

I watched him round my desk and head for the door. If I let him leave, I would probably finish myself off, thinking about him touching me. It would be boring and typical, and my body ached for something beyond that. I yearned to be filled. By him.

Hell, I had been imagining him fucking me mere minutes ago. Now, I had the chance to experience my fantasy in real life. Only a moron would turn this opportunity down.

“Wait,” I said as Bastian reached for the doorknob, my voice more than a little hoarse.

He paused with his hand resting on the knob, but he didn’t turn to face me. It was impossible not to admire the fit of his jeans over his trim hips and tight ass or the way his sweater, charcoal gray today, hugged his broad shoulders. My attraction to him was undeniable. Even before last night, before the club and the dancing and the dreams, I had wanted him.

I just hadn’t considered that he might want me too.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again and swallowed. “I . . .”

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