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He lifted my skirt then groaned when he realized I wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. He palmed my ass, his skin warm against mine.

“Mm. Is this a fantasy of yours?” he asked in a dark voice. “Having your boss bend you over his desk and fuck you?”

“I would say yes, but you’re my husband.” I smiled at him over my shoulder. “Notmy boss.”

“But you like it when I tell you what to do,” he taunted, reaching around to tease my clit, his long, elegant fingers sliding through my folds.

I whimpered.Oh god. “Oui.”

This was insane. And yet, I’d never felt more alive.

Higher and higher, I climbed, until I was teetering on the edge. My desire was coiled tight, my body primed to explode.

“Lâche-toi.”His deep voice caressed me, telling me to let go. And I was powerless to resist, especially when he spoke in French.

It was as if I’d been waiting for his permission. His command.

After that, my orgasm came on quickly, barreling through me like a runaway train. Hard. Fast. Powerful. I was still feeling the aftershocks of it when he pulled out of me and gave my ass a slap.

“Turn around,” he commanded. I turned to face him, and he picked me up and planted me on the desk. “Wrap your arms around my neck, and don’t let go.”

I marveled at the sight of him in his suit. So buttoned-up and yet so unrestrained. Such a man of contradictions and hidden facets.

“Was this your fantasy?” I grasped his tie, wrapping it gently around my wrist and pulling so that his lips met mine.

“You are my every fantasy,” he said.“Mon rêve. Mon amour. L’exception à toutes mes règles.”

His kisses, like his words, were a balm to my soul. I was his dream. His love. The exception to all his rules.

My heart swelled at his admission, at all the ways this man showed me he loved me. From flowers laden with symbolism to words of love and so many big and small acts of service that I’d lost count. I’d never felt more cherished or wanted.

“Je t’aime.”I kissed him, wanting him to feel my love for him, my desire.“Prends-moi. Je suis à toi.” Take me. I’m yours.

I released his tie and shifted a little, both of us watching as he eased himself inside me inch by glorious inch. When he was fully seated, I groaned. “This is so much better than any fantasy.”

“Mm.” He pulled aside my dress, kissing my collarbone. “Tell me more about your fantasies.”

“Most of them involved marching in here and telling you what to do.”

“And what—” he dragged his nose along my ear, my cheek, my jawline “—would you have told me to do?”

“This,” I said, embracing the moment, dwelling in the fantasy. “This,” I sighed as he continued to pump into me in slow, lazy thrusts. “Fill me. Take me. Make me yours.”

“You are mine,” he said, lifting our left hands, lacing his fingers with mine and showing off our wedding rings.

“And you’re mine.”

He grunted, picking up his pace. We were racing toward the finish line when I heard someone say, “Oh god. Oh shit.”

Graham cupped the back of my head and pressed my forehead to his chest. My eyes widened. Jasper? Was that Jasper’s voice?

Oh my god. He’d…

“Get out!” Graham bellowed with a murderous look in his eyes. “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now!”

I cringed and dropped my head to his chest, beyond mortified. The orgasm I’d been chasing had evaporated faster than water in the desert. The door closed with a snick, and I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

I righted my dress, contemplating the scene Jasper had walked in on. It could’ve been worse. I could’ve been facing the door while Graham fucked me from behind as he had earlier.