Page 69 of The Bastard's Lily
His hand slides around to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple in a way that makes me gasp. "Five years," he reminds me. "Five years of fantasies. Tell meone."
The words stick in my throat, but his patience is dwindling. I feel it in the tension of his body, in the way his fingers tighten at my hip.
"I used to—" I start, then falter.
"Used to what?" His voice is silk and gravel, encouraging and demanding all at once.
I close my eyes, letting the sensation of him inside me override my embarrassment. "I used to imagine you taking me like this," I finally confess, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. "Hard and desperate. Somewhere we shouldn't. Somewhere anyone could walk in."
"Yeah?" His voice roughens, his pace quickening at my admission. "You like the risk? Like knowing someone could catch us?"
"God, yes," I moan as he hits deeper. "It's so hot when you lose control."
He growls against my ear, his rhythm growing more urgent, more primal. "I'm always in control with you, baby. Even when I'm losing my mind."
His hand slides from my hip to between my legs, finding me slick and swollen. His fingers circle my clit with devastating precision as he pounds into me from behind.
"You're so fucking wet," he groans. "So perfect for me."
The dual sensations are overwhelming—his thick length stretching me, his fingers working magic on my oversensitive flesh. Heat builds low in my belly, coiling tighter with each thrust.
"You're such a good girl," he rasps in my ear, his fingers working faster between my legs. "Taking my cock so well. Always knew how to take me, didn't you?"
His praise washes over me like liquid heat, making me clench around him. I'm so close to the edge again, my entire body trembling with need.
"That's it," he growls, his breath hot against my neck. "Feel how deep I am? No one's ever had you like this. No one ever will."
"Just you," I gasp, the words punched out of me with each powerful thrust. "Alwaysyou."
"My beautiful Calla Lily," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly tender despite the bruising grip of his hands. "My Calli."
The sound of that nickname breaks something open inside me. I come with a broken cry, my body convulsing around him as pleasure tears through me like a storm. My knees buckle, but his arm wraps around my waist, holding me steady as I shatter.
"Fuck…" he groans, his rhythm faltering as my muscles clench around him.
The world stays hushed in the stockroom, the table cool against my palms as the last echoes of our storm settle. Rook stays close, chest pressed to my back, his breath warm against the nape of my neck. He drags a slow hand along my arm, tracing the goosebumps rising on my skin until I shiver.
“Mine,” he murmurs, voice rough but quiet, the single word a promise and a plea.
I turn in his hold, meeting his eyes. He cups my jaw and pulls me into a kiss that’s nothing like the wild rush before—slow, grounding, a vow in the quiet.
For a heartbeat, it’s just the two of us, breathing in sync, the outside world shut out beyond the steel door.
Rook helps me put my shirt back on, his fingers lingering at my waist as if he isn’t quite ready to let go. We move in a slow, wordless rhythm—buttoning, tucking, breathing the same air.
When I finally look up, he’s already watching me. The heat in his eyes has softened to something steadier, something that feels like home.
“Hey,” he says quietly, brushing a thumb across my cheekbone. “You know you undo me, right?”
A small smile tugs at my mouth. “Pretty sure that’s mutual.”
He leans in, forehead resting against mine. “I love you, Calla.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back.
For a long heartbeat, we stay there, the thrum of the clubhouse faint beyond the door, the world waiting. Then he straightens, fingers lacing through mine.
“Come on,” he says, a trace of a grin breaking through. “Let’s go face it together.”
