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“I’m asking you for the final time. What are you playing at, Annika?”
“No games,” I murmur. “I’ve just been thinking about your warnings and decided to take them seriously. I won’t bother you anymore. I swear on Tchaikovsky’s grave, cross my heart and hope to die.”
His expression remains the same, short of a slight tic in his jaw. “Too late.”
“What?”
“I’m not letting you go.”
My heartbeat skyrockets and my whole body seems to mold into his hold. “But—”
“Shut up.”
“Shouldn’t you want me gone? That’s what you’ve been campaigning for since we met.”
“Shut the fuck up, Annika.”
My lips purse and I tighten my thighs. This controlling side of him affects me in ways I refuse to admit and rushes to places I refuse to name.
He releases my hands and steps back. My stomach sinks as I consider that maybe he thought things through and decided it’s not worth it, after all.
But Creighton doesn’t leave.
Instead, he shoves a hand in his pocket, and I realize he does that when it seems like he’s stopping himself from doing something.
Like a storm that comes to an abrupt ending.
“Sit on the table.”
My gaze flicks to the only table in the space—my small desk that’s pushed against the wall with a stack of paperwork on top.
“W-why?”
“Quit asking questions. When I say sit on the table, you sit on the fucking table.”
I startle, hating and loving the tightening between my legs. It’s impossible to be in control of my body when he’s around, not when he confiscates and incinerates that control as if it’s his birth right.
After a futile attempt at calming myself, I climb onto the table. Once I’m sitting, he tuts.
“Open your legs as wide as you can. Feet and palms on the table.”
My cheeks heat and I can feel the thudding pulse in my neck. A part of me wants to fight this, but I’m unable to under his scrutinizing gaze, so I lift my legs and get into the position he asked.
My dress pushes back to my middle, revealing my bare thighs and the lace of my panties.
Panties that Creighton sees as soon as he walks in front of me. He remains there, as still as a statue, while I tremble and feel completely out of my element.
I start to close my legs, but a mere stern look from him is enough to make me abort the idea.
Damn it.
Why does he look like a completely different person right now and why am I reacting this strongly to it?
“That’s one.” He pulls the chair from my desk and throws his weight on it, sitting at eye level with my pussy. “Disobey me again, and it’ll be ten.”
This close, I’m drowning in his intoxicating scent while his dark eyes devour what’s between my legs.
“You said you were taking my warnings seriously, no?”
