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“Where were you going?” he continues, his voice quite, but no less intense. “You came with me this morning, how exactly were you planning to leave?”
I draw in a deeper breath, trying to steady myself, but it only pulls more of him in—his scent, his warmth, that clean, masculine note that seeps into my bones and makes it harder to think clearly.
“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice soft, shaped by the tension between us. “I haven’t decided if I’m going with them for dinner or going home to change before the club.”
He laughs quietly as his fingers slide under my chin and tilt my face upward, forcing me to look at him, his mouth hovering just a breath away from mine.
“You came with me, you leave with me,” he says, his tone serious, his gaze moving slowly across my face as if taking in every detail. “And you’re not going to dinner with them or home.”
“Excuse me?” I snap, irritation cutting through the haze for a moment. “Since when do you decide for me?”
“You need a dress for tonight,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting teasingly. “Didn’t you say we’re going clubbing?”
A dress? When I have an entire closet at home?
And we’re going? He took that seriously.
“Oh God,” I mutter under my breath.
He lets out a low chuckle, and with the slight move of his head, his lips brush against mine in a fleeting, almost careless contact that only makes the need grow.
Not enough.
Not even close.
I want more. No—I need more.
My hand closes around his shirt, pulling him fully into me as I kiss him hard, hungry, like everything I’ve been holding back all day finally explodes.
Yes.
That’s better.
“You’re kissing your CEO, Thalia Gomez?” he asks against my lips.
His hands slide down to my ass, pulling me flush against him, and I feel him instantly, hard and unmistakable, my body reacting just as quickly, desire pulling low, my panties already damp—no, more than that, soaked in a way that makes it impossible to pretend otherwise.
“Shut up,” I whisper, catching his lower lip between my teeth before releasing it, my gaze lifting to meet his with a defiant edge. “Does anyone check the cameras in here?”
Ke smirks, clearly entertained. “Why? What are you planning?”
I don’t answer.
Instead, keeping my eyes locked on his, I let my bag slide from my shoulder, the soft sound of it hitting the floor registering as my fingers find the front zipper of my dress—that runs from my collarbone to my thighs—and pull it down in one smooth motion.
The fabric parts, revealing red lingerie—thin, vivid, leaving almost nothing hidden.
His pupils darken instantly.
Without breaking the moment, I reach for his belt, undoing it quickly before pushing his pants down.
He watches me with that same satisfied expression, because he knows what he did, exactly how far he pushed, and exactly how I let him cross every line I tried to draw.
Every single time.
“I really hate you,” I say, breath unsteady.
He throws his head back and laughs, the sound deep, sending a shiver through me.
