Page 7 of Forbidden Daddy
"Still think I wasn’t supposed to read it?" he murmured, taking a step closer.
"Stop." I held up my hand, but my voice came out breathless instead of firm. "Just... stop."
Another step. "Stop what? Reminding you that you begged me to tie you up and fuck you until you couldn’t walk straight?"
My cheeks flamed. "That’s not what I?—"
"Until you were so thoroughly claimed that you’d feel me for days afterward?"
"Shut up." The words burst out of me before I could stop them.
Roman’s eyes flashed with something dark and dangerous. He was close enough now that I could see the way his pupils had dilated slightly. The air between us crackled with electricity,and I realized with growing alarm that my anger was quickly transforming into something else entirely.
"Make me," he said softly.
The challenge hung between us like a loaded gun. Every rational thought in my head screamed at me to apologize, to back down, to remember who I was talking to. Roman Creed wasn’t just my boss—he was a man who could make problems disappear with a phone call. A man whose family had built an empire on fear and violence.
But the way he was looking at me—like I was something he wanted to possess —made rational thought impossible.
Instead, I did the stupidest thing I’d ever done in my life.
I shoved him.
My palms hit his chest hard enough that I should have sent him stumbling backward. Should have put some distance between us so I could think clearly again.
He didn’t move.
Not even an inch.
It was like pushing against a brick wall wrapped in expensive silk. My hands lingered on his chest longer than they should have, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt, the heat radiating through the fabric. His heart was beating just as fast as mine.
"Try again," he said, his voice dropping to a register that made my knees weak.
"I hate you," I whispered, but the words came out wrong—breathy and desperate instead of angry.
His mouth curved into that dangerous, almost-smile. "Say it again."
"I hate?—"
Before I could finish the sentence, his hands fisted in my hair, and he yanked me against him. The breath left my lungs in a rush as our bodies collided, chest to chest, hip to hip. I could feel every hard line of him pressed against me, could see the flecks of hazel in his blue eyes, and the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting for control.
"Last chance," he growled against my lips. "Tell me to stop."
I should have. God help me, I should have pushed him away and walked out that door and never looked back. Should have remembered that this was my boss, my job, my livelihood on the line.
Instead, I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him down to me.
The kiss exploded between us like a live wire touching water. His mouth was brutal and claiming, taking everything I offered and demanding more. I kissed him back just as desperately, five months of inappropriate fantasies finally finding their outlet.
He spun us around, pressing me back against the door with enough force that the wood shook in its frame. The slam echoed through the office, but all I could focus on was the weight of his body pinning me in place, the way his hands roamed over me like he was trying to memorize every curve.
"Jesus Christ, Cassie," he groaned against my throat, his teeth scraping along my pulse.
The sound of my name in his mouth—not Ms. James, but Cassie—sent electricity shooting straight to my core. My hands wereeverywhere, desperate and trembling, pulling at his shirt until I could feel the heat of his skin. He had tattoos, dark ink sprawling across his chest and shoulders, and I wanted to trace every line with my tongue.
His mouth found mine again, hungry and demanding. I bit his lower lip hard enough to make him growl, and he retaliated by sliding his hands down to grip my thighs, hiking my skirt up until cool air hit my overheated skin.
"This what you wanted?" he asked roughly, his voice raw with need. "This what you were thinking about when you wrote that message?"
