Page 83 of Theirs to Hunt
And I do.
When he finally rises, jaw slick, eyes blown wide, he curls a hand around my jaw.
“You wanted power? You’ve got it. But don’t forget who lets you play with it.”
I smile slow, sharp.
“You’re right. It’s mine now.”
Chapter sixty-nine
Reagan, Monday 11:55 a.m.
The chair is too nice.
The kind you sink into.
Everything smells like leather and ambition.
I should be reviewing the files Grayson handed me, coded for discretion. Quietly rotting departments. But all I can think about is the way he sat me at the edge of his desk not thirty minutes ago.
How his mouth left me soaked and trembling and swollen.
And aching.
He didn’t fuck me.
On purpose.
Because Grayson is patient. A tiger in the tall grass.
He likes me needy.
Raw.
Thinking about him long after he’s left the room.
The thought makes me cross my legs.
And then hiss.
Because it doesn’t help.
There’s a knock.
I don’t answer.
The door opens anyway.
Brooks.
The look he gives me says he knows exactly what happened.
Probably because his father texted him something smug and half-coded.
She tastes like ambrosia.
He shuts the door behind him, turns the lock, and takes one slow step forward.
