Page 54 of Dirty Game

"No." His hand cups my jaw, thumb pressing against my bottom lip. "The first part."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "I belong to you."

The kiss is immediate and devastating.

Nothing like the kiss we had last night.

This is Varrick claiming, consuming, and conquering me.

His tongue invades my mouth, his teeth catch my bottom lip, his hands tangle in my hair hard enough to make me gasp.

I'm spinning, then my back hits his desk, and he's pressing me down against the wood, his body covering mine.

The kiss turns desperate, hungry, like he's trying to crawl inside me through my mouth.

"Say it again," he demands against my lips.

"I belong to you."

"Mine." The word is growled against my throat as he kisses down my neck, teeth scraping over the mark he left last night, making it darker, deeper. "My accountant. My mouse.Mine."

His hands are everywhere—pushing up the shirt, his shirt, finding my bare skin.

When his fingers ghost over my breast, I arch off the desk, a sound escaping me that doesn't sound like my voice.

His hand slides down my stomach, over my underwear, finding me already wet and aching.

He groans at what he finds, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.

"So responsive," he murmurs against my skin.

"Please." I arch against his hand, seeking friction, seeking anything to ease this ache. "Varrick, please."

"Please what?" His fingers tease, light touches that make me writhe but give no relief. "Tell me what you want, little mouse."

"You. I want you."

"You have me." He proves it by sliding my underwear aside, his fingers finding where I'm desperate for him. "You have me now."

"All of you," I gasp as he slides one finger inside, then two, stretching me carefully. "I want all of you. Want you to?—"

His phone rings.

Not the regular tone—this is something different.

He doesn't move for three rings.

Just stares down at me, spread across his desk like an offering, chest heaving, lips swollen from his kiss.

His fingers are still inside me, and I clench around them involuntarily, making him groan.

On the fourth ring, he answers, never looking away from me, never removing his fingers.

"What?" The word is sharp, angry.

Whatever he hears makes him close his eyes.

His fingers slide out of me, and I bite my lip to keep from protesting.