Page 29 of Masked Seduction
The name he called me in mid-thrust.
I frown, set the glass down, and reach for my phone. I try to sound it out in my head then type a few clumsy phonetic guesses into Google. The last one pings Russian.
I click the translation result and stare at the word.
Baby.
My breath catches.
It means baby.
A tiny smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. There’s something unexpectedly tender about him calling me that without thinking I’d understand. Like he forgot himself for a second.
I’ve seen those hands before. Felt that same weight when he entered the room. The unspoken demand that makes people sit up straighter. The barely leashed danger beneath every calculated word.
No.
I shake my head, but the thought slams into me like a truck.
Did I just fuck my boss?
CHAPTER 10
ABRAM
An hour later, I’m sitting alone in the booth, the low thrum of bass vibrating through the velvet walls around me, eyes fixed on the drink I’ve barely touched. The glass is sweating, condensation pooling beneath it, but I don’t move.
I’d been awake the whole time. I could feel the way she was looking at me—curious, hesitant—like maybe she’d been seconds away from lifting the mask and revealing my secret. I couldn’t let that happen.
I’d already slipped. I’d forgotten the damn accent. Let my Russian bleed through. I remember her eyes fluttering shut, lips parted, the soft little gasp she made when I whisperedmalyshkaagainst her skin.
Beautiful but dangerous.
Because if she hadn’t been dizzy with orgasm, if she’d been thinking clearly, she might have recognized my voice. Might have put it all together.
And then what?
Then I’d be the man who fucked his assistant in a club he’s about to purchase while masked, anonymous, and completely goddamn addicted to the way she tastes.
I drag a hand down my face.
Jenna Ridley.
Jesus Christ.
She’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever had in my life—period. And that includes Paris. That includes Kiev. That includes the goddamn model in Mykonos whose name I never learned. Jenna tops all of them.
She’s fire and defiance; tight, wet heat that clamped around me like her body was made for mine. That mouth, those curves, the way her hips rolled beneath my hands like she wanted me to wreck her.
Watching her get dressed was its own kind of torture. Her back arched as she leaned down to pick up her dress, that lush ass high in the air, dim light sliding over smooth, milk-white skin. Her thighs were trembling faintly, the aftermath of what we’d done.
My cock—fucking traitor—hardened again at the sight of her. She had no idea I was watching.
I almost pulled her back into the bed. Almost grabbed her by the waist, flipped her over, and taken her one more time—hard and messy, no slow buildup this time. Just possession. Just the need to feel her shatter around me again, her voice raw from moaning my name.
But she didn’t want a conversation. Didn’t want a reveal. She wanted to leave clean, walk out with the memory intact.
And maybe that’s for the best.
