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e rubbing her back.
“I’m sorry,” she finally says roughly. “I’m sorry. I wanted his taste out of my mouth.”
“No harm done,” I assure her, trying to smile, but more fury ignites at the image her words invoke. “Feel free to use me anytime.”
She makes a small sound that sounds like laughter, but it dissolves into gasps. It has me cupping her face, trying to calm her down. Her eyes are wild, filled with anger and disgust and a ripple of fear.
“He said he came to apologize,” she says, still holding onto my shirt. “For Fred’s behavior. And then he asked me out.” Her mouth opens as she tries to find the words. I move my hands to her waist. “I said ‘no’.
“He laughed, and said he wasn’t here to accept ‘no’ from me. I told him to leave. When he refused, I got up to open the door and kick him out, then he just grabbed me—”
I instantly cover her mouth with my hand, my tone dark. “Don’t tell me anything else if you don’t want me to go out there and kill him.”
Eyes widening, she nods.
I lower my hand, my blood boiling, and I want to mark this woman, claim her, and while I know I can’t do it, I stare at her mouth, then look at her eyes, my tone soft. “Can I?”
She understands.
Vulnerability in her features, she nods. I carefully bring her toward me, our lips meeting in what begins as a chaste kiss. However, the urgency builds as she twists in my arms and makes a moaning sound. I stroke my palms along her back, reaching her hair, where I grip a fistful of her dark hair in a dominant hold, pulling our faces apart.
She is flushed with desire. Her lips tremble as she gazes at me, not protesting as I hold her in place by her hair.
When I tighten my hold almost painfully, her eyes darken.
Interesting.
I swoop in. This time, the kiss is filthy with open mouths, stabbing tongues, and a hunger we’re both trying to satiate. Her moans are making me hard. I kiss her desperately, demanding everything and then taking it. As I lick inside her mouth, making her go limp in my arms, she bites my lower lip in retaliation.
When we pull apart now, we’re both gasping for breath.
“I feel better,” I say, voice husky. “Less homicidal.”
She laughs breathily, and I’m relieved to see her fear has disappeared.
“I need to stop kissing you,” she says a few minutes later from where she’s perched on her desk, rubbing her hands over her face.
I gesture openly with my hands. “I’m not protesting.”
A dirty look is sent my way. “Of course not.”
I’m sitting on the chair she has for visitors with my hand on her knee. The physical contact with Lana calms me down.
“You started it,” I say with a faint smirk.
“I know.” She sighs. “I’m trying to regret it, but it’s not working.”
“Hopefully, we can work that kink out soon,” I suggest as I stand. Then, I study her face. “Will you be okay if I step out for a few minutes?”
Lana’s jaw tightens. “Don’t kill him. I want to press charges. A little hard to do that with a dead body.”
I make a noise of agreement. Without letting myself overthink it, I lean down and press my lips against her soft cheek. “Go out to dinner with me this Friday.”
She tenses up, maybe waiting for me to say, ‘not as a date’, but I don’t.
“Oliver…” Her voice is low, pleading, and I raise a brow.
“A dinner. I won’t take more than what you offer.”
