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Feral certainty enters my voice on the word never.
I wish I could snatch it back immediately.
My body hurts just being close to her.
I can scent her in the air, her perfume mixing with her just-her smell, all of it swirling around me and driving me closer and closer to the edge.
“Okay,” she murmurs breathily.
It’s the same way she’ll get all breathy and hot when I claim that round, perfect ass of hers. I’ll massage it, spank it, let her know who it belongs to until she’s gasping and begging for more.
“How are you finding your first day?” I ask, striving to return the conversation to some sense of normalcy.
“It’s great,” she says brightly, with the sort of optimism that would fill our children with hope, confidence, and love.
I need to stop letting my mind veer close to thoughts like that.
Otherwise, they’ll consume me and I won’t be able to stop myself.
Her lips are as full like the rest of her, begging to be kissed, begging to be used in other ways.
“Everybody is really friendly. I can’t thank Caitlin enough for getting me an internship here.”
“No, Sophia,” I snarl, with far more passion in my voice than is appropriate. “All Caitlin did was show me your art. You got yourself the internship here. You’re incredibly talented. I’m just glad we found you before one of our competitors did.”
Her cheeks turn that flushed red color, the color of lust, of desire, of need.
I feel the same need, making my cock twitch as if it’s not rock hard enough already.
“Anyway,” I say, standing abruptly. “It was nice to check in with you. But I’ve got a lot of work to do today.”
That’s true, but it’s not the reason for this sudden goodbye.
If I don’t make her leave now, I won’t be able to stop myself.
The animal, possessive part of me will take over and I won’t be able to fight it.
I’ll claim her—her tits, her cunt, her ass, her lips, her soul.
Every part of her belongs to me.
“Of course,” she says, standing with me.
I walk around to her and offer her my hand, hoping she doesn’t look down and see what she’s done to me. My thick manhood must be a clear outline in the silver of my suit trousers.
She takes my hand, and I bite down, resisting the urge to pull her toward me. Her touch is warm, making me think of how she’d feel wrapped around my hot throbbing length.
“It was nice to meet you, Solomon,” she says.
We keep shaking hands, both of us holding on for far longer than is necessary. Her voice has become breathy and hot as if she knows what’s happening here as if this nineteen year old goddess isn’t as naïve as she seems.
“I know we’ve met before, but I was just a kid then. This sort of feels like the first time. Does that make sense?” she says quickly.
“Yes,” I growl, intoxicated with the way her words rush into each other, her nerves making her talk faster with each moment. “It makes complete sense. You’ve changed so much in just three years.”
Finally, I let go of her hand. I have to. I’d do something that would be unfair to Caitlin otherwise.
“I had my braces removed,” she murmurs. “Maybe it’s that.”
No, it’s so much more than that.
But I can’t tell her.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Sophia,” I say, gesturing toward the door. “Please enjoy the rest of your day.”
Those are empty words. I barely even hear them as I speak them. I just need her gone before the furious need inside of me becomes deafening and forces me to grab her hips, sink my hands into the fullness of her flesh, and claim her, taste her, own her.
She’s mine.
She’ll always be mine.
Why the hell does she have to be Caitlin’s best friend?
Chapter Three
Sophia
“You’ve been great today, Sophia,” Hermione says, smiling at me as she stands over my desk.
Hermione is a friendly faced woman with her hair in dreadlocks, wearing a Harry Potter T-shirt, probably ironically considering that she’s got the same name as one of the main characters. She has a sleeve of swirling tribal tattoos up one arm, making her look as stylish as the graphic design floor she manages.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling up at her.
She pulls up a chair and sits next to my desk.
My desk.
The phrase seems absurd in my mind, but it’s the truth.
This is my desk and I freaking earned it.
“You seem a little … distant,” she mutters a moment later.
I shake my head instinctively. I want to blurt that if I seem odd, it has nothing to do with her or the work.
It has everything to do with him.
My mind lingers on the way we shook hands when he seemed to clutch onto me longer than was necessary. I remember the way he glared at me, his stark eyes glinting. He’s even more muscular and intense than I remember, his face clean shaven, his hair a deeper shade of silver.
