Page 91 of The Owner's Temptation

He doesn’t answer—not with words. Just steps toward the desk, his movements precise, calculated. He removes his cufflinks—the same ones I picked up from the jeweler two weeks ago, the ones I remember being heavy and sharp in my hand—and places them gently on the wood surface, one by one.

Then, slowly, he rolls his sleeve. Not rushed. Not rough.

Deliberate.

Revealing bronzed skin, thick forearms roped with strength and veins that make my pulse skip.

“You’re about to learn exactly how serious I am,” he says, voice low and even. He starts on the second sleeve, rolling it to match the first.

“Hands–on–the–desk.”

Each word lands like a promise.

I move. Hesitant. Not because I don’t want this, but because suddenly Ido.

And that’s more terrifying than anything.

I walk to the desk, walking softly across the polished floor. My fingers touch the surface first, then my palms.

I bend forward, mimicking the position he had me in the other day—but not quite. My stance is off. Elbows too tight. Back not arched. Feet not wide enough apart.

Part of me does it on purpose.

Part of me doesn’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.

Lucian follows—quiet, patient.

I don’t hear him move. Ifeelhim behind me.

And then his hands are on me.

Not rough. Not fast.

Just…firm. Controlled.

He adjusts my hips with a touch that lingers too long. Smooth palms sliding down my sides, pressing one hand between my shoulders until I sink deeper into the position he wants.

It’s humiliating. It’s thrilling.

It’s everything I didn’t realize I needed because I feel electrified inside and it’s flowing straight to my pussy.

This feels like foreplay and just this thirty seconds of interaction has me soaking fucking wet. So much more so than Ben was ever capable of.

Lucian’s voice slides over me like smoke. “You’ve been very naughty, Sienna. Rolling your eyes. Talking back. Pushing.”

Oh my God.I swallow. My fingers flex against the desk.

“The point of today’s exercise,” he continues, his tone calm and almost… instructional, “was to teach you the art of conversation. How to read a client. Engage. Anticipate. Not flirt. Not pout. Not compete for attention like it’s some game.”

“They all failed today.” Lucian says, his voice a murmur near the base of my neck.

His hand glides over my spine again, slow and deliberate.

“But so did you.”

My breath catches, my cheek pressed to the cool wood of his desk. The contrast of temperature sends a chill through my body—one that’s chased away the moment his warmth crowds in behind me again.

I should be ashamed.

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