Jasper didn’t tell me to come in. He didn’t fight me on taking Sunday for myself, either. I don’t know what I was hoping for when I sent that text, but I sure as hell was disappointed when he caved. That’s not the kind of thing I’d expect from Jasper. Especially not after that sweet, sweet torture he put me through at the awards ceremony.

The hardwood on his office floor isn’t nearly as comfortable to kneel on as the carpet in his penthouse, which comes as no surprise. What is a surprise is how hard my heart is beating, the pounding traveling all the way up to my ears. That secretary is probably standing right outside the door, right now, and here I am, on my knees, pretending that yesterday was all my fault, that it was a misunderstanding.

Yesterday was its own special hell. If I’m going to admit it, I thought that Jasper might tell me to get to his penthouse within the next half hour. I wanted a little more punishment, if that was going to take the form of any kind of orgasm. The ones I gave myself weren’t nearly as satisfying.

He stands up from behind his desk and comes over to me, his footfalls sharp on the floor. His shoes have been shined recently, and the morning sunlight gleams on their surface. It’s all I can see of him, and a tremble goes through my body. “Is there anything I want?”

Jasper’s voice is a low growl, and I fold my hands together, locking them in the center of my lap. “Yes. Anything.”

“I want you to honor the terms of our agreement.”

“I am—” I cut myself off. Arguing with him isn’t part of the game, and it’s not part of my master plan, either. I need to keep him on his toes as much as possible while I figure out what the hell I’m going to do. I spent Sunday morning at a long brunch with my mother and sister, and she’s clearly not taking it well that the building is now owned by Pace, Inc., no matter how much I try to reassure her. And as much as I want Jasper, I keep the drumbeat repeating in my mind: he’s a cold, ruthless bastard. He deserves to be taken down a notch or three. It’s my own fault that I feel this conflicted about him. But all that is for another time. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You think that’s enough of an apology?” There’s a smirk in his voice, and in spite of myself my heart sinks a little. Rein it in, Isabella. You don’t care what he thinks. Getting sweet, sweet revenge is all that matters. 

“No?” I let the word come out as a question.

“No. It’s not. I suggest you think of something better, if you’re going to interrupt my workday for this kind of thing.”

This kind of thing. I struggle to keep the smile off my face. This—all of this—is so hot I can hardly stand it, even if it is part of some big twisted game that we’re both using for our own purposes. 

Jasper turns on his heel and strides back to his desk.

I don’t think about it. I already know what I want to do to him. I knew it the moment I hailed the cab outside my own headquarters. 

I rise to my feet and follow him across the room. He’s already seated, pretending to look at something in a folder in front of him. He doesn’t look up at the sound of my high heels on the wood floor and he doesn’t look up when I’m next to his desk. He doesn’t look at me at all until I’ve knelt on the floor next to his chair.

“You’ve come to a quick decision.”

I don’t take my eyes off him. “How do you know it was quick?”

One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile that sends a wave of heat down my spine. “It must have been on impulse, showing up here without an invitation. There’s no other explanation.”

I drop my voice. “You don’t think I had this on my mind all day yesterday? You don’t think I wasn’t sorry the moment I sent that text?” I wasn’t sorry about sending the text—I was sorry that I didn’t lead him to making a decision that would have been better for me in the end. But that’s neither here nor there.

“How sorry were you?” He swivels toward me.

I don’t say another word. I reach for his belt. He tightens his grip on the arms of his chair, and makes no move to stop me from undoing the buckle. Or his zipper. He doesn’t stop me when I reach into his boxers, either, tugging his cock—rock-hard and standing at attention—out of his pants.

As it turns out, Jasper Pace is hung.

I keep the shock on my face to a minimum, but damn.

“This sorry,” I whisper, and then I finally tear my eyes from his gaze and focus on the task at hand.

The instant I swirl my tongue over the head of Jasper’s cock, he tenses. It doesn’t seem like a good sign until I flick my eyes upward. His blue eyes are bright with lust, and he’s looking at me like I might be an angel descended from heaven.

I don’t need any more than that to continue.

He raises a hand and works his fingers through my hair—purposely left loose today—while I lick up and down his shaft. His breath picks up, but he doesn’t say a word, even when I’m certain he wants me to get more aggressive.

I let him dangle as long as I can, and then…then I get more aggressive.

He’s so big that it’s almost a struggle to fit him into my mouth, but I don’t hesitate for a second, working it in inch by inch. I don’t stop, not even when he bottoms out against the back of my throat. Not even when I swallow, eyes watering, to accommodate all of him. I keep the pressure up, inviting him to have me this way. I know he won’t be able to resist. We’ve both been playing with each other, but with my lips wrapped around him, he’ll give a little—at least on this.

With a low groan, he explodes into my mouth. I take every drop. I would do nothing less.

When he’s spent, I stand up, reaching for a tissue on his desk. I pat the corners of my mouth with it, then plant a gentle kiss on his cheek—like the one he gave me in the alcove at the awards ceremony. “I only have one question.” I whisper it into his ear. “Should I come back tomorrow?”