Page 38 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

I expected him to bark at me. Instead, he stepped aside and let me pass, silent as the grave. His quarters were as severe as I’d imagined, dark walls, one massive bed, all angles and navy linens, a desk stacked with reports, a walk-in closet that looked like it had been curated by an entire PR team. The windows faced the roses and treed mountains beyond, but the blinds were half-drawn, filtering everything in cold blue shadow.

I hovered, waiting for a command.

He crossed to the desk and leaned against it, arms folded. “Why are you still here?” he asked.

I bristled, ready for Round Two, but something about his voice - ragged, almost broken - stopped me.

“You asked me to come,” I said, keeping my tone even.

He looked at me, really looked, and the force of it made my knees want to buckle. “I don’t want you to quit.”

I stared at him, caught off guard. “I wasn’t going to.”

“You were,” he said, and the words landed like stones. “You were already halfway out the door.”

I thought about denying it, but I’d never been a good liar.

He pushed off the desk, hands braced behind him like he was holding up the world. “I can’t be who you want.”

That made me laugh, a bitter little thing. “Who do you think I want?”

He hesitated. Then, quieter, “Someone who isn’t a disaster.”

That surprised me, honestly. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t care about me.”

Silence. Not the angry, weaponized kind - just a silence that hung between us, something hot and uncomfortable that had my heart beating too fast and my mouth suddenly drying like the Sahara.

He moved first, crossing the space in three strides, and grabbed my wrist, not hard, just enough to pin me in place. Hisfingers were rough, warm, and I could feel the tremor in them. He stared at me like he was trying to memorize every line of my face.

“You drive me insane,” he said, voice low and brutal. “You’re reckless, you talk back, you undermine me at every turn. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words left me speechless, and I wanted to tell him I felt the same.

His thumb circled my wrist, pulse syncing with mine, both of us wild. “You want to know what terrifies me?” he said, teeth bared. “You’re the only person in this house who isn’t afraid of me. And I want you more than I want to breathe.”

Something broke in me. Maybe pride, maybe self-respect, maybe the last sliver of resistance I’d been hoarding for emergencies. I stepped forward, crowding his space, and kissed him.

It was a disaster of a kiss, messy, teeth clashing, hands everywhere, but it was real. He tasted like coffee and anger, and something shockingly sweet. His mouth devoured mine, greedy and unrestrained, as if he’d waited years for this.

He spun us, caging me against the door, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip so tight it bordered on pain. He kissed me until I was dizzy, until I was nothing but want, until my knees buckled and I had to clutch his shoulders just to stay upright.

He broke away, breathing hard. “Tell me to stop,” he said, voice shredded.

I shook my head. “Don’t you dare.”

His lips curved, a flash of feral delight, and then he hauled me up, hands finding the backs of my thighs, lifting me with a strength that made my stomach drop. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. He moved us to the bed, dropped me on themattress, and for the first time since I’d met him, Gareth Wolfe looked completely, gloriously unhinged.

He stripped his shirt in a single motion, tearing off every button on the white fabric. I stared, unable to look away from the lines of his chest, the constellation of pale scars, the fine dark hair that arrowed down his stomach. He made a frustrated noise, tugged at my blouse, and I let him, arms raised, all pretense gone. Buttons popped, fabric tore, and I was bare to the waist before I could blink.

He took a shuddering breath. “You’re beautiful,” he said, as if confessing a crime.

I reached for him, dragging him down, needing his mouth on mine, but he ducked away, trailing kisses down my throat, across my collarbone, over the swell of my breast. His tongue was hot, his teeth sharper than I expected, and every place he touched felt like it might burst into flame.

He caught my nipple between his lips and sucked, hard, and I gasped, arching into him. He switched to the other, gentler this time, rolling the tip between his tongue and teeth until I was panting.

I whimpered as he slid lower, mouth mapping a line down my stomach, teeth grazing the sensitive skin at my hip. He peeled my skirt down, slow and rough, and when he saw my underwear, navy lace, the nice pair, thank fuck, he groaned, like he’d just been punched.

He kissed along the edge of the lace, then mouthed me through it, tongue flicking in slow, maddening circles. I was so wet I could feel the fabric stick to my skin, every nerve ending lit up. I squirmed, desperate for more, but he pinned my hips with his hands and kept going, unhurried, as if savoring every whimper and moan I made.