Page 23 of Tuned To Break
“Come on then,” he whispers against my lips, his hand firm on my throat, fingers driving me higher with every thrust. “Come for me like you did that night. Show me no one else makes you feel this way. Because no one fucking will. Ever.”
My whole body bows, breaking apart around his hand. The orgasm rips through me brutal and fast, shoving a cry from my lungs that he swallows greedily with his mouth. His grip on my throat stays steady—gentle but inescapable—holding me in that edge-of-control bliss as I convulse around his fingers.
“Good fucking girl,” he growls, kissing me through the aftershocks, his voice rough. “Every goddamn time, darl. You break so fucking sweet for me.”
By the time he eases his hand away, I’m trembling, vision hazy, thighs slick and shaking against the edge of the desk. Hestrokes my jaw where his hand just claimed me, thumb soft now, almost tender.
“That was...” My voice is shredded, barely a whisper.
“Just like I remembered,” he finishes, eyes burning into mine like a brand. “And next time, darl...” His mouth curves into a sinful grin as he presses one last lingering kiss to my lips. “Next time, I’m not stopping at my fingers.”
“There can’t be a next time, Jake. We can’t do this again.” The words scrape out of my throat like sandpaper, brittle and dry, even as every nerve ending in my body screams the opposite. Screams for me to grab him by the collar, drag him back in, and beg him to finish what he started.
Hell, finish what we both started.
Jake doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. Just looks at me with those dark eyes, lips still swollen from the kiss that destroyed my entire week of carefully built self-control.
“Why not?” His voice is maddeningly calm, like he’s giving me the chance to admit the truth neither of us can ignore.
“Because...” I swallow, smoothing down my skirt with shaky hands, trying to gather what’s left of my composure. “Because we work together. Because it’s unprofessional. Because...”
Because if you touch me again, I’ll let you do anything you want. Because my body is already yours, and that terrifies the shit out of me.
But I can’t say any of that, so I just let the words die in the space between us.
“Because you’re scared,” he says as if reading my mind, and it’s not an accusation. It’s gentle. Understanding. And that makes it worse.
“I’m not scared.” Lie. Big, fat, neon-lit lie.
“Then what?” His question hangs there, sharp as a blade and just as dangerous.
I slide off the desk, forcing myself to put space between us before I do something stupid—stupider than what we already did. My thighs ache where he gripped them, my lips still tingling from the way he kissed me like he wanted to consume the breath in my lungs. I smooth my skirt again, pointlessly, because I can still feel the ghost of his fingers underneath it.
“This complicates things,” I mutter. My voice sounds thin even to my own ears. Pathetic compared to the pounding drum of want in my chest.
Jake’s laugh is soft and humourless. “Everything’s already complicated, Stella. Has been since the moment you walked into this place.”
God, he’s right. It was complicated the second I saw him leaning against that garage wall with that cocky grin.
“I’m serious,” I say, because it feels like I should, because someone in this room has to play the responsible adult.
“So am I.” He tilts his head, studying me like he can peel away every layer I’m trying to hide behind. “Is that what you really want?”
No. No, it’s not what I want. What I want is him—his mouth, his hands, that noose tattoo pressed to my throat while I shatter all over again. What I want is to feel that rush of reckless abandon that only he seems capable of giving me.
But I can’t say that either. So I lie again.
“It’s what needs to happen,” I say instead. My pussy is still throbbing from the orgasm he dragged out of me like it was his personal mission. My body doesn’t give a single shit about professionalism right now, but my brain is clawing to keep control.
Jake studies me for a long moment, his jaw ticking like he’s fighting a war I can’t see. Finally, he nods once. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” The words taste like ash, and I wonder if he can hear the crack in my voice that betrays me completely.
He takes a step back, giving me the space I demanded, even though every cell in my body is screaming for the opposite. His hand hovers near the doorknob, but he pauses, turning just enough to look over his shoulder at me.
“But Stella?”
“Yeah?” My voice is barely more than a whisper.
