Page 32 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

Her head rested against my shoulder, knees tucked to one side of the club chair. I kept my hands at her waist, careful not to slide any higher, even though every cell in my body was screaming for contact. We didn’t talk. We just listened to the fire wind down, the snaps and hisses, the rain pounding windows like it was demanding entry.

I could feel the outline of her body through the cotton and wool, the way she relaxed into me with total, boneless trust. Every so often, she’d tilt her face up and look at me, pupils wide, and I’d have to resist the urge to taste her again. She smelled like damp desire, heat, and sugar, like her entire body had caramelized in my arms.

If she’d asked, I would have torn her open. I would have made her come apart, right there on my lap, nothing between us but heat and want.

I imagined it in vicious detail, pushing her skirt up, feeling the muscle in her thighs tense as I lifted her, settling her so she straddled me, knees bracketing my hips. I’d make her look at me, hold her jaw so she couldn’t hide, and kiss her until she forgot her own name. She’d wriggle, squirm, grind down on my cock until I lost every ounce of discipline. I’d rip open the buttons on her blouse, bury my face in her chest, leave marks she could feel the next morning.

She’d gasp my name, low and hoarse, and I’d slide my hand under the waistband of her panties and find her slick and desperate, all for me. I’d slip fingers into her as she rode my palm, desperate for release, until she was a mess, until she was shaking and moaning and clawing at my back. Then I’d undo my belt, push my pants just low enough, and fuck her like I’d been starving for it all my life.

She’d ride me, wild and untrained, breath hot against my neck. I’d wrap my arms around her, crushing her against me, feeling every twitch, every pulse, every frantic thud of her heart.She’d come first, hard, nails raking the back of my neck and shoulders. I’d follow, helpless, emptying into her until my vision went white.

She’d collapse against my chest, panting as she melted, and I’d hold her there, fingers tangled in her hair, swearing to myself I’d never let her go.

I blinked, and the fantasy dissolved. Eden was still in my lap, but she was very real, very gentle, and very much not fucking me. Her face was soft, sleepy, mouth just a little redder than before.

If she could read my thoughts, she didn’t show it. But her hand drifted lower, tracing slow circles on my thigh, and I felt my pulse spike, raw and savage.

“Gareth?” she whispered, a little drowsy.

“Mm?”

She nuzzled into my neck, voice muffled. “Can we do this again? Tomorrow night?”

I wanted to say yes, wanted to say every night, but my throat locked up. All I could do was stroke her back, slow and steady.

She didn’t say more or ask for an answer, and I was glad for that. Because if she’d pressed, if she’d really wanted it, I would have destroyed every rule in the house for her.

We stayed until the fire went out, until the room was cold and blue and the only light was the moon outside the window. She pulled herself upright, hair falling around her shoulders, and looked at me like she was afraid to break the spell.

“I should go,” she said, but didn’t move.

“Only if you want to,” I replied.

She laughed, quiet. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Only if provoked.”

She stood, stretching, skirt riding up her thighs. I caught a flash of pale skin and nearly groaned. She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she did, and was daring me to say something.

She gathered herself, but hovered at the door. “Good night, Mr. Wolfe.”

I stood as well and crossed the room in two strides. I braced a hand against the doorframe, blocking her exit. Not trapping her, just a reminder that I could.

“Eden,” I said.

She turned, eyes wide. I cupped her jaw, brushed my thumb across her cheek.

“Tomorrow night,” I promised, and then kissed her again, harder this time, letting her feel the edge of my hunger.

She melted into it, sighing, and I nearly lost it. But I pulled back, just before I crossed the line from gentleman to animal.

She left, legs a little unsteady, and I watched her go.

As soon as the door closed, I leaned against it, head spinning. My cock was so hard it hurt. My hands shook with the effort of not dragging her back and having her right there on the carpet, the desk, my leather office chair.

I wanted her. Christ, I wanted her so badly I could barely think.

But I wanted her safe, too. Wanted her happy, unafraid, still Eden in the morning.