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I tilt her head up so our gazes lock, stroking my thumb across her pulse point. “Look at me,” I order softly. “Come for me, petit oiseau doux.”

She shatters beautifully, crying out as her orgasm takes her. Her throat flutters under my palm, her body arching off the counter as waves of pleasure crash over her. The sight of her coming undone, and knowing that I brought her to this point, sends me over the edge.

I stroke myself harder, faster, until I’m coming too, my release painting her inner thighs with hot stripes. The sight of myself marking her, claiming her in the most primitive way possible, makes me groan low in my throat.

“Good girl,” I murmur, stroking the soft skin of her throat as we both catch our breath, aftershocks rolling through both our bodies. “Such a perfect girl for me.”

We’re both breathing hard, staring at each other in the aftermath. The air between us feels heavy with satisfaction and something else—something deeper that I’m not quite ready to name or examine.

I can hardly believe what just happened. From the shell-shocked expression on her face, she’s feeling equally stunned. We’ve crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed, entered territory that fundamentally changes everything between us.

“Was that—did we just—” She starts, then stops, uncertainty creeping into her voice. I release her throat reluctantly, and her hand immediately flies to the spot I was touching, as if she misses the contact already.

“The only thing I regret,” I admit roughly, reaching for tissues from the ornate dispenser, “is not being buried inside that gorgeous pussy of yours instead.”

Her breath catches, and as I watch her pupils blow wide at my crude words, the urge to kiss her, taste her, and bury myself inside her is almost overwhelming. But I force myself to step back instead. The last thing I want is for her to regret this, so before I lose all control and do something she’s not ready for, I turn and head for the door.

Still, I can’t resist glancing over my shoulder and adding, “I hope you have sweet dreams, petit oiseau doux. I know I will.”

Then I close the door behind me, leaning against it as I try to wrap my head around what just happened… and all the lines we just crossed.

24

MAEVE

I stare at the spot where Gabriel vanished from view when he closed the door, stunned. I can feel my chest heaving, and yet I somehow feel like I’m not getting in any air at all. I feel vaguely like I’ve been electrocuted.

That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me, and we didn’t even kiss. We barely even touched.

And it was with one of my bosses. Oh, god.

I’ve tried for so long to deny just how attracted I am to Gabriel—to all three of my powerful, enigmatic bosses. Even Hayden interrupting my dates and somehow inserting himself into every aspect of my life could so easily become intoxicating if I would just let myself think about it that way. I cling to the annoyance and frustration toward him because it’s a shield. And Gabriel… charming, seductive, worldly Gabriel with that accent that does unholy things to my composure…

It’s always been far too small of a step to admit that I want him.

Sometimes, when I’ve touched myself at home alone, I’ve had glimpses. Flashes of forbidden thoughts. I never let them become more than that. I never let myself think of actual scenarios. When I let myself fantasize, it was always someone I’d met who was, say, a new client, or someone I’d run into in the rain who gave me an umbrella. Silly romantic comedy meet-cutes that felt safe.

But in my heart of hearts, they all looked like Gabriel—or Hayden, or Ford. I just pretended they didn’t.

My mind flashes back to the way his forearm looked as he stroked himself, all controlled power and masculine grace, and my pussy clenches all over again. My clit throbs, as if I didn’t just get off. As if I still need more.

Honestly, I think I still do.

Nobody can know this happened. Everyone will think I cheated on Ford, and Ford will probably be furious that I put everything at risk by doing this, even if it was spur of the moment.

I quickly freshen up, trying to make myself look presentable and, well, like I didn’t just have a mind-blowing orgasm with my boss watching. My legs still feel unsteady, but at least I look reasonably put-together on the outside, no matter how chaotic I feel inside.

Taking a deep breath, I exhale and nod at myself in the mirror. Whatever the hell this just was, no matter how much it shakes me in both incredible and terrifying ways, I have a job to do. I’m literally being paid for this performance, and paid incredibly well. I need to get back out there.

I head out into the hallway, but I only make it around the corner before I nearly trip over a step stool that definitely wasn’t there before.

A small yelp escapes my mouth as I stumble. “What the⁠—”

Ford is standing next to the stool, and he quickly catches me by the arm, steadying me. “You all right there, Spitfire?” There’s a lightbulb in his other hand, and he’s standing close enough that I can smell his cologne. I swear I see his eyes darken as he studies my face. “You look a bit unsteady.”

“I’m fine,” I manage to get out, but my voice comes out higher-pitched than normal.

Did I clean myself up enough, I suddenly wonder with growing panic. Can Ford somehow tell that something just happened? Do I still smell like sex? Do I look too flustered, too obviously like someone who just had a mind-blowing orgasm?