Mr. Hunter is practically vibrating with a dark, sexual energy, and when those words slip from between my almost-drunk lips, I see something inside him snap.

I'm already flat against the bricks, their cool roughness pressing against my back, but then he's pressing against me, too, his hands wrapping around my face so that he can raise my lips to his and kiss me so hard I almost lose my balance. It should be impossible to fall, but I feel like I'm falling—or flying. His lips possessively capture mine, taking me completely, and all I can do is moan into his mouth.

Mr. Hunter is strong—he's built—and being held by him is the closest I’ve been to feeling really safe in months, maybe years. He's lighting me on fire with his touch, and he hasn't even moved his hands down my body.

Then he does, and everything inside me goes molten hot. He slides his hand down my neck, inching his way toward my shoulder, my wrist, my waist, and finally his fingertips are hovering just outside my pants.

“Fuck,” he growls into my ear, and I throw my arms over his shoulders, holding on for dear life. I want his fingers on me like I'd want water in the desert. “We shouldn't do this, Skye.”

I gasp. “Say it again.”

He pulls back, a hint of amusement in the darkness on his face. “Say what?” Then he gives me a wicked grin. “That we shouldn't do this?”

“No.” I'm so wet that I have to be soaking through my shorts. “Say my name.”

“Skye,” he whispers into my ear. No hesitation, no holding back. “Skye, we shouldn't do this.”

I lean my head back against the wall. “But I want to do this.” The wine has completely removed my filter. It's completely removed my sense of embarrassment from earlier. It's forcing me to be a hundred percent honest with Mr. Hunter. “Please. I'll do anything, if you just fuck me. I need your hands on me...”

And it's true. I do need this. I've been carrying the stress of Robin's health, and the more recent development of Peter totally fucking me over career-wise, and the moment I saw Mr. Hunter, I wanted him. I need to get something that I want, even if it's just being taken by him. For once, I just want someone else to be in control. I don't want to be spiraling into oblivion anymore. 

“Are you begging me to fuck you? Is that what's happening right now?”

I open my eyes and look straight into his. He's holding back now, just a little, a tiny bit of restraint coming over him once more.

I'm going to shatter it.

“Yes,” I say, breathless, my hands tightening on his shoulders, pressing my breasts into the firm expanse of his chest. “Please. Please.” Then I say the words that unlock everything that follows. “I'm begging you.”

* * *

He doesn't live very far from the place Robin and I share. That's the first thing I learn. But four blocks might as well be a world away, for how different it is. Mr. Hunter lives in one of his own buildings, on the top floor, looking over a wide, peaceful park instead of being shoved in next to the train tracks.

But I only have a fleeting instant to take it all in, because he's taking me to the bedroom, holding my hand tightly in his.

To the bedroom, and then through the bedroom, to a set of sliding doors that open onto a private balcony. He pushes me through, then slams the door shut behind us. My head is spinning—with the speed of all this, with the hasty flight over here, with the way the professional walls between us are crumbling into nothing.

“Hands over your head,” he barks, and I obey him, and Christ, does it feel good. He's been my boss for a month, but this is what I've wanted from him since the moment I met him. Real control. Real power.

He strips my shirt over my head, then my bra, and my shorts hit the floor the moment after that. The sultry night air slips over my skin, making my nipples go hard. I'm naked on a balcony overlooking a park. Anyone might see us. The thought makes me even wetter.

“Turn around.” His voice is the only sound that means anything to me right now. I turn toward the railing, facing the park, and wait. “Bend over. Hold on to that railing.”

I do, and Mr. Hunter steps behind me. I hear the clasp of his belt as he undoes it, and his zipper. Then his hands are on me, strong and warm, reaching underneath to tweak my nipples. I gasp, an electric current of lust spiking through me.

He glides his hands down to my waist, then down to my hips.

“If we do this,” he says, hands firm on my hips, “there's no going back.”

“I know,” I tell him. “Please. I want this.”

That's enough for him, because then he's spreading me wide, making me move my feet apart to give him the access he needs. He runs two of his thick fingers over my slit and that alone is enough to bring me almost to the edge, I'm so sensitive, so ready.

“Fuck, Skye, you're soaking wet.” I hear a sound—him sucking his fingers off. “And sweet.”

I can't stand it any longer. I need him inside me, and I need it now. “Please—” I start to beg again, but he cuts me off.

“Quiet. You be as quiet as you can.”

He lines the head of his cock up with my entrance, and his hands grasp my hips tight. 

Then he thrusts in, all of him at once, filling me completely, stretching me almost past my limit. I cover my own mouth with my hand, stifling a cry of sheer pleasure. 

Down below us, a couple walks in the dark. They're so busy looking at each other that they never turn their faces up to the balcony.

I'm almost a little disappointed.

And then I'm lost in the sensation of being claimed, fully, by my own boss.