LITMIR.BIZ

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      I’m wet again. I can feel it building and I know that only fucking him—properly—is going to release this beast of need inside me. But I’m still fuming with Jack. How dare he do that to me right before an important meeting?

      ‘No way,’ I snap. ‘Never again.’

      He raises a brow, his smile genuinely amused. ‘Really?’

      And he reaches around for my hand, dragging it to his cock. I stare at him, challenging him, showing him I’m not afraid, as he curls my fingers around his length, rock hard inside his suit pants. My heart begins to bang into my ribs so hard that I absent-mindedly wonder if anyone has ever broken a bone that way.

      ‘You don’t want me to sprawl you out on the table and fuck you so hard you forget your own name?’

      I want that so badly—but I have enough self-respect to know that he’s playing with me. That the way he can knock me sideways is insulting.

      And so I shrug. ‘I think you’ve got a pretty fucking exaggerated idea of your abilities in bed.’

      His laugh sends sparks of warnings through me. ‘Really?’

      ‘I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.’

      I jerk away from him but my hand forms a fist; it wants to go back. To grab his cock and hold it tight.

      ‘You want a demonstration of how wrong you are?’

      ‘Arrogant son of a bitch...’ I mutter, my eyes scanning the room until they land on my vintage Balenciaga bag.

      I scoop it up, sending him a fulminating look. ‘Keep them.’

      I want him to chase me. To follow me and slam the door shut. To press me against it and moan into my mouth. To beg me to get on the floor and let him take me. Because at the smallest sign of conciliatory, normal behaviour I would do anything Jack asked of me.

      But he doesn’t.

      I leave and I don’t even know if he watches me go—I am too proud to turn around and check. My knees are shaking as I make my way through the corridor. It’s only early afternoon, and I have a mountain of work to do, but suddenly I’m not in the mood.

      I don’t want to be near Jack.

      Oh, really? my brain prompts sarcastically, rolling its eyes with such force that my head starts to throb. Really?

      Really.

      I jab my finger onto the lift’s ‘down’ button and wait. As I step in I see Jack emerge from the boardroom, looking every bit the confident billionaire bachelor.

      Ugh.

      I press the button for the car park impatiently, and slam my palm against the ‘door shut’ button, holding my breath and praying I can avoid a shared lift ride with Jack to the basement. I’m not sure if I’d shout at him or jump him but neither is advisable.

      I tell myself I’m glad when he doesn’t arrive, jam his hand in the closing doors, out of breath from racing to catch me like men do in movies. The lift cruises downwards, taking my plummeting stomach with it.

      Hughes is waiting in the limousine. I smile at him tersely as he steps out and opens the door for me, grateful to slide into the luxurious leather interior. I stare at the screen of my phone and that ridiculous sense that I might cry is back.

      What the hell is happening to me?

      I tap out a quick email to Sophia, asking her to clear the rest of my afternoon—from memory I had a phone conference scheduled and I’m really not in the mood. Nothing won’t wait until tomorrow.

      I double-check the itinerary I’ve been sent for the Australia trip—it’s jam-packed, but that makes sense. Jack’s too busy—and so am I, come to think of it—to go halfway around the world on holiday.

      He’s setting up an office in Sydney, which will start with a staff of almost four hundred to oversee two of the companies he’s recently acquired there, as well as a winery in New Zealand that he’s bidding on, should he be successful. It’s a huge venture, and it’s the first time I’ve been involved in anything like it.

      Challenges like this are another reason I love working for Jack. Really, I was hardly qualified for this kind of job when I started working for him—my background in law and then banking give me excellent corporate insights, and yet this just works. He’s always challenged me. Trusted me. Thrown down gauntlets and stood back to watch me pick them up.

      He’s doing it now, isn’t he? Pushing me in ways I could never have imagined. But instead of meeting his challenge I’m acting like a terrified child.

      A frown tugs at my lips. Why have I just run away from him? He wants to fuck me and I want that, too.

      The car door opens abruptly and I tilt my head upwards, expecting to see Hughes’s face. It’s Jack instead, and he’s visibly pissed off.

      Ignoring the way my pulse immediately starts to fire in my veins, I send him a look of barbed curiosity. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’

      He doesn’t answer. Instead he leans forward and taps on the glass that separates Hughes from us, then settles back into the seat beside me. The car glides out of its parking space, moving through the underground car park with finesse.

      ‘Jack?’ I snap, angling in my seat to face him fully.

      ‘Not now.’

      My eyebrows shoot upwards. Even for the dictatorial side of Jack, this is a tad too much. ‘“Not now”?’

      ‘No.’ He turns to face me, and there’s such a searing...something in his expression that I blink several times, trying to understand him. This—us.

      But I get nada.

      ‘Okay, but I think we need to talk,’ I respond after a moment.

      He glares at me and my temper bubbles. ‘I don’t want to talk. I want to fuck.’

      My jaw drops. ‘You don’t just get to say that!’

      A muscle jerks in his cheek. He turns away from me, sits back in the seat, his body rigid, his face tight.

      ‘Not another word.’

      I’m not afraid of Jack. Not even a bit. Many times I’ve gone up against him, arguing my case until he either sees it my way or at least understands my perspective. I won’t do that now. I’m too fond of Hughes, and the idea of subjecting him to the tirade I’m about to unleash doesn’t appeal to me, so I bite my tongue—literally—curling my fingernails into my palms as I stare out at the City.

      It takes me a moment to realise we’re not going towards Hampstead.

      ‘I want to go home,’ I say coldly.

      His look is one of silent impatience, but before he can say anything the car pulls into yet another underground car park and comes to a stop right near the lift.

      I can’t describe how lost and confused I feel. I’m a swirling tempest of rage and insecurity, uncertainty and doubt. It’s as though I’m in the middle of a swamp, reeds tangled around my ankles, water rising.

      I want to fight with him. I’m angry. But I don’t know what about! Putting into words what I feel seems impossible.

      And then he speaks.

      ‘Come with me.’

      Three simple words, but they are enough because there is a plea in their depths.

      I nod slowly, and there’s a plea in that, too. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t use me. I haven’t even realised I feel it until this moment, but the idea of becoming to Jack what all those other women are is unpalatable. I weigh that against my need for him, and desire wins. I can only hope I won’t regret it.

      He pushes the button for the lift and then swipes a keycard. Soon the elevator is soaring

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