“I’m afraid when it comes to you, London,” he says, his accent thick, voice rough with barely leashed restraint, “I’ll never master that kind of control.”
I step back, putting space between us. “It doesn’t matter, Grayson. This is over.”
Anger ignites in his pale eyes. “Your lies don’t work on me. You feel everything I do.”
I shake my head, retreating another step. “You can’tfeelanything. You’re not capable.” My pulse spikes with adrenaline, the hypocrisy bitter on my tongue.
The panic button beneath my writing desk is just feet away. The moment he stands, I sprint toward it. Chains clank behind me, sending a flood of relief though my system, thinking I’m safely out of reach—until his hands seize my waist, and I’m thrust down against the desk.
His chest crushes my back as he holds me pinned to the surface. His hand covers my mouth to muffle my cry. Panicflaring, I reach for the button, and his other hand seals around mine, wrenching my wrist back before slamming my palm flat on the wood. My heart pounds violently, breaths hot against his rough palm.
He drops his mouth close to my ear. “We’re not leaving here until you admit the truth one fucking time.” His demand is a low rasp as his lips brush my ear, his deep tone vibrating against my back.
My vision blurs as reactive tears sting my eyes. I struggle for a breath, my glasses pressed to my face, then stop breathing all at once when he places a thin metal prong in my line of sight.
As the realization hits me, I mentally curse myself. I seal my eyes closed, shame swallowing me as I recall his hand sliding up my thigh, his other clasped to my waist—grabbing my belt.
He removes his hand from my mouth only to grip my jaw, still holding me restrained against the desk. “You’d have never been so careless unless you wanted this to happen,” he accuses. “Now, tell the truth, London.”
Chest tight, I gasp in a breath, my nails clawing at the desk. “You took advantage of me.”
He releases a low chuckle. “That is amusing,” he says, before he tightens his hold, the cuff around his wrist biting into my flesh as the cool metal links rub along my backside. “You’re really forcing me to do this the hard way.”
Fear spikes my adrenals. “I’ll scream,” I threaten.
With a groan, Grayson hauls the chain over my head and secures it around my neck, knocking my glasses off and forcing my back harder against his chest. “Not before I crush your windpipe.”
He chokes up on the chain, the links pinching my throat. I claw at the metal, trying to dig my nails beneath, scraping for a breath. The chain falls slack against the desk, allowing me an unobstructed breath.
Only as the fear of being strangled vanishes, a new one gripsme as Grayson wrenches my skirt up my legs. My body freezes against the desk, the weight of his body bearing down heavy on top of mine.
His rough fingers dragging over my thigh, he pushes his face into my hair and inhales deeply. “Fuck, your scent torments me.” His low groan stirs an unwanted heat where he presses too hard and intimately against my backside. “All your talk of control and blending… You’re a deviant, London. I know where you live, that dark corner where you hide.”
I whimper and shake my head against him. “You’re wrong, Grayson. You’ve built this up in your mind?—”
He kicks my feet apart, spreading my legs wide beneath him, as his fingers splay along my inner thigh to silence me. I clench against the fierce throb ignited between my thighs.
“No more lies,” he whispers coarsely against my ear. His fingers sink into my hair and tug my head back. “You’re a bad girl, London. Tempting me, fucking with my head. You knew exactly what you were doing to me this whole time, and now you want to play the victim.”
I curl my fingers around the edge of the desk, a tremble violently attacking my body. “Please, Grayson…” If I just stall him long enough for the guard to check in?—
His fingers brush against the most sensitive part of me, stealing my reason.
“Oh, baby, save the begging for when I’m making you a filthy mess.” Then he’s tracing over my thong. Agonizingly slow, he slides his finger beneath the string, pulling the thin material away from my ass.
As he glides his finger back and forth along the string, the rough drag of his knuckle against my skin arouses a pulse of pleasure deep in my core. The friction is torturous, and I squirm against him.
A low groan vibrates from deep within him as he gives thestring a hard tug, drawing the material tight against my clit. I buck beneath him on reflex.
He hums in approval at my body’s response, letting the string snap back into place. “Let’s play a game,” he says, rubbing his hand down my ass until he reaches the joint of my leg. “I want to see how you’ve mastered your passions.” My belly trembles as he grazes his fingertips over the seam of my panties, too dangerously close. “If you’re not turned on, I’ll stop. I’ll cuff myself to the floor. But if you are…” He pauses right before touching me. “Then you’re going to confess all those dirty sins to me.”
“I’m not playing your game, Grayson,” I say, my voice cracking, my body locked in anticipation.
“Hmm,” he intones as he pulls the slightest distance away. “Wrong answer.”
He grips the band at my hip. I hear the snap of material, feel the bite of it tearing against my skin as he rips my panties away. The sudden assault of cool air between my thighs reveals my arousal before he even confirms.
Then his fingers are there, touching me, rubbing and parting me open to him, where I can’t deny anything.
