I am silent on the ride from Midtown to the Upper East Side, but my mind buzzes and hums with thoughts of him. My lips still burn with yesterday’s kiss. The space between my legs has been soaked with my desire since he left me.

He could be my downfall, but my body can’t resist him.

The moment I got into the car, it was all over.

Once the decision was made, my mind went into a kind of sexual overdrive, and as Louis steers the car through the New York City traffic, I look out the window but see nothing. Not the buildings, not the people hustling by, not an ounce of the life that teems here in the concrete jungle. I am consumed with imagining Christian and his touch, his kiss, his body.

Maybe he’s already dismissed what happened earlier and intends to show me, right now, that it was a one-time mistake that won’t be repeated. Maybe he’s going to sit me down across from a desk in one of his private buildings somewhere and ask me to discuss the plans I’ve come up with to enhance his image. Maybe that’s how he works—he draws you in and then, when he has you where he wants you, hook, line, and sinker, he lets you dangle before cutting the rope and watching you fall.

I shake my head, my lips pressed together. No. This can’t be related to the work I do for him in the office. I felt the passion in our kiss. I felt the mutual need, so hot it almost scorched the walls of my office.

He’s summoning me because he can’t bear to be away from me one second longer.

I know how he feels.

I don’t know what it is about him that’s making me so crazy, so willing to disregard my commitment to professionalism and sneak away to do God knows what with one of my clients on the second day at my new job. And it can’t be that his body makes my mouth water even when it’s hidden under tailored suits, not an inch of skin showing. It’s more than that, but what? Is it the look in his eyes when he talks to me? Is it the electricity that charges through our veins when we both touch? Is it something deeper, wilder?

The car comes to a stop, parking curbside somewhere north of Midtown.

We’re here.

* * *

Louis gives me a key card. “Use this to access the elevator inside. The doorman is expecting you. Top floor.” Then he turns and gets back into the Town Car without another word.

I take a deep breath, force myself to stand up straight, and lift my chin in an attempt to gather a burst of confidence before moving inside the building.

He wants me to be here, and I want to be here. The only thing left to do is let this scene play out.

I stride confidently into the lobby of the building, It’s fairly nondescript, although there are small touches of luxury everywhere I look—marble flooring and countertops in the lobby, a uniformed doorman who gives me a wink and a smile as I go past, my heels echoing with every step, whisper-quiet elevators. The air inside is cool and comfortable, a welcome break from the summer heat.

The elevator doors slide open as soon as I wave the card in front of one of the scanners embedded in the wall. Blessedly, the car is empty, so I’m left in peace to push the button for the eighth floor. The penthouse.

Moments later, the elevator deposits me in a silent plushly carpeted hallway. Five steps away from the elevator, a single door is set into an alcove in the wall.

If I lose my nerve now, I’ll never go in. I step up to the door and rap on it lightly with my knuckles.

Then I wait.

It seems to take forever before the door opens, the moments dripping languidly down the chain of time as if my heart is not pounding, as if my mouth is not suddenly dry.

The door swings inward.

There he is.

I look into his crystalline blue eyes for one long moment. Finally, he extends his hand to grasp mine, and he pulls me inside the entryway, closing the door behind us. He turns to face me.

I cannot remain silent and still.

My need, my overflowing lust boils over.

No, I cannot remain silent and still another second.

I throw myself at him. As soon as our bodies connect I wrap my arms around his neck. Our lips lock together like we’re on a plane plummeting toward the ocean and have only moments left to live, and I plunge my tongue deeply into his mouth, I bite at his lip. He responds to me in kind like he can’t control his animalistic urge. Without realizing it, I wrap both my legs around his waist, hiking my skirt up around my hips. His arms flex against me, pressing me even tighter into his hard body. We fit together. Perfectly.

He lets out a low groan and puts one hand to the back of my head, taking control of the kiss, forcing his tongue into my mouth to taste and devour, and then he’s moving us, still hooked together, through the apartment. Moments later, we’re in his bedroom. He tips us both onto the bed, crawling on and over me, his arms on either side of me as he dives in for another kiss that draws a whimper from me.

I need him and he knows it.

He leaps off the bed and strips off his clothes. I can’t help but gasp at the perfection that is Christian Pierce in the nude—ripped abs, muscular arms, and a cock so thick and long, already hard and pulsing, that for the briefest moment, I wonder if it will fit inside. He’s beautiful.

Then he’s back on the bed, kissing me hard and tearing at my clothes. Soon they’re tossed in a pile on the floor next to his, and I’m splayed out before him, my arms and legs thrown wide.

My mind is empty except for one word. “Please.”

It rings like a bell in the silence between us, and a half-smile that lights me aflame spreads across Christian’s face.

He leans down over me, balancing himself above me on his elbows, and nips at my earlobe. “Please what?”

“Please, you have to fuck me.”

“I have to fuck you?” His voice is quiet and deep and every word out of his mouth creates an inferno in me that can only be quenched by one thing.

I turn and look him directly in the eye. “I know you do.”

“Hmmm,” he says, leaning to the side, tracing one finger down the side of my neck, over my collarbone, and down to my nipple, which he circles as if he has all the time in the world, and then he rolls it between his fingers. I moan softly at the spikes of pleasure shooting straight down my spine to my aching wet pussy. “You might be right about that.”

“I am right about that,” I pant.

He plants kisses on the side of my neck, his hot breath brushing against my skin. “You have quite the attitude, Quinn Campbell. I wonder if I can tame it.”

My hips roll and writhe underneath him as my desperation grows, and at the words “tame it” a new gush of wetness soaks the inside of my thighs. Yes. Yes. I want to be tamed by him, taken by him, claimed as his.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I say, trying my hardest to raise my hips up to make contact.

Something in my voice gets under his skin, strips him of his remaining self-control, and the next instant his hand is under my jaw, gripping my neck with a gentle force as he covers my mouth with his, our lips crushed together. With the other hand he spreads me wider, then positions the head of his cock at my slick opening.

Then, with his free hand—Jesus, how does he know the secret fantasies I’ve never told anyone?—he catches both of my hands and pins them above my head.

“You don’t know it,” he says, flicking his tongue against my jawline, “but you’re already mine.”

Then he slams his hardness into me, filling me to the hilt, sending me crashing down in an explosion of pleasure that goes on and on and on.