Page 102 of The Owner's Temptation

Because there’s a part of me that smiled when I saw it.

A part thatlikedknowing Lucian Vale wants to watch me. Wants to know where I am. Wants to make sure I’m safe—and dirty and his.

I won’t admit how many times I’ve fantasized about him watching me masturbate. How often I’ve imagined him in his office, hand fisting his cock while I come with a vibrator pressed against my clit.

That’s exactly what I thought about three days ago.

Right after I stormed out of his office—sore, humiliated, and so fucking turned on I couldn’t think straight.

I knew what I wanted.

And Iknewhe would be watching.

So, I gave him something to obsess over.

I spread my legs wide. Teased myself.

Came for him.

Then I licked the vibrator afterward like a lollipop made of desire while I looked right at that fucking camera.

Because if he’s going to invade my space, I’m going to make damn sure he regrets it.

Or maybe… maybe he’ll beg for more.

The truth?

Iwanthim to watch me. Iwanthim to taste me.

His brooding, controlling mouth between my thighs. That wicked tongue making me cry out his name.

It’s all I can think about.

That—and how it’ll feel when Lucian finally stops playing and fucks me into oblivion.

That’s the fantasy playing out in my head this morning as I scroll through client profiles, not even seeing them.

Me, straddling Lucian Vale in his office chair—riding him like my life depends on it. His head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, a low growl rumbling in his throat as my hips slam down again and again. His hands gripping me hard, dragging me closer, guiding every movement.

Fucking me like he owns me.

Like I’mhis.

My thighs squeeze together under the desk, and I try not to squirm, caught in the spiral, chasing the heat behind my ribcage and the tension between my legs. I don’t even realize someone’s standing in front of me until I hear the sharpsnapof fingers.

“Office. Let’s go.”

I blink up and my fantasy shatters because Lucian is right in front of me.

Startling me with a single word and a flick of his hand. He’s already walking away, his broad shoulders cutting through the air with the same deliberate intensity that lingers in every part of him—even when he’s not touching me.

I scramble to my feet, nearly knocking my chair over in the process, jogging to catch up to him.

He doesn’t look back.

He doesn’tneedto.

My pulse races, my stomach tightens. And when I get close enough to breathe him in—that familiar blend of sharp spice, coffee, and expensive sin—I nearlygroan.

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