Page 127 of Their Arrangement

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I shifted in my seat.

Slowly.

The friction made my breath catch.

The lace was wet.

The garter clipped tight.

And the corset—oh God, the corset—was biting deep into my ribs like a hand gripping me from the inside out.

Every movement dragged silk across skin that couldn’t take another whisper.

Every inhale pressed lace tighter against swollen nipples that ached like I’d already been teased for hours.

My thighs were slick.

My pulse wrecked.

And I was?—

Ruined.

Without a word. Without a touch. Just from the want.

I gripped the edge of the desk. Hard. My fingernails bit into the laminate. I needed…something.

Anything.

Relief.

Release.

Or someone to step into the room and take it all from me.

I pressed my knees together. Tighter. My stomach clenched. My breath hitched. I blinked at the screen. Nothing made sense anymore. I wasn’t even trying. Wasn’t pretending. I wanted them to see. To know. That I was soaked through and aching and?—

Begging in silence.

The hallway creaked. A door opened. Laughter down the corridor. Too far. Too normal. None of it touched me. I was locked in this cage they’d built and I’d chosen. Corseted. Cuffed in silk. Painted in want. And I didn’t want to leave.

I wanted to be tied tighter. Pushed harder. Watched longer.

I wanted them to take the desk from beneath me and make me the surface. I wanted to be bent and broken and ruined.

I wanted Wolfe’s teeth.

Royal’s mouth.

Loyal’s silence.

Barron’s hands.

I wasn’t a girl anymore. I was a need. And every man in this building was starving. And I?—

I was the feast.

16

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