Page 57 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless

She obeys, teeth sinking into the fabric, eyes wild above the makeshift gag.

The sight of her—powerful Chanel Warren silenced by her own pleasure, by the evidence of her desire for me—sends electricity racing through me.

I drive deeper, harder, the table sliding inches across the polished floor with each thrust.

"Fuck," I growl, watching her take everything I give her. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Our bodies move together in perfect synchronicity, as if the years apart never happened.

We've crossed a line we can't uncross, broken every rule—and I don't give a damn.

All that matters is this. Her body wrapped around mine, the wet heat of her gripping me in the way I still remember, still crave.

My hands find her hips, angling her higher, deeper, hitting the spot that used to make her come undone beneath me. Her head falls back, throat exposed, pulse visible beneath the skin I want to taste.

“You've always been mine,” I murmur, lowering my mouth, sucking on her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

She shudders, inner muscles clenching around me in a way that nearly ends everything too soon.

"Jake… Right there… I'm about to…"

I drive into her with a force that slides the heavy conference table across the floor, each thrust pushing us both closer to the edge. One of her hands drops to where we're joined, touching herself in a way that makes her inner walls tighten around me.

I remove the panties and stare into her beautiful eyes. "Nell…don't scream."

Her body arches, a saucy smirk playing on her lips. "I'll scream if I want to," she challenges breathlessly.

"Don't you dare," I growl, but it's too late.

Her cry of pleasure starts to break free, and I crush my mouth against hers, swallowing her moans as she convulses around me. The forbidden sensation of her climax triggers my own, and I explode inside her with devastating force.

This is heaven and hell wrapped into one intense moment. It's everything we shouldn't do—and everything we desperately want.

The worst decision. The best feeling.

Her body clenching around mine in the most beautiful sin I've ever committed.

For several heartbeats, neither of us moves. Just breathe against each other, foreheads touching, bodies still joined in the most intimate way possible. I can feel her pulse where we're connected, the slight tremors that continue to move through her, aftershocks of pleasure not yet faded.

Reality returns in slow degrees.

The conference room. The table beneath her. The fact that we just broke every professional boundary in existence. That we've taken a step there's no walking back from.

I lift my head to look at her, needing to see her eyes, to gauge what this means. To know if it's a beginning or just a momentary surrender to what's always existed between us.

Her gaze meets mine, and for one crystalline second, I see everything—the want, the fear, the confusion, the afterglow of pleasure not yet faded. Then her walls slam back into place, expression cooling, distance reasserting itself even while our bodies remain connected.

"Chanel—" I start, not sure what I'm going to say, just knowing I need to say something before she retreats completely.

"Don't." She places a finger against my lips, silencing whatever confession was forming. "Please don't ruin this with words."

She pushes gently at my chest, and I withdraw from her body, feeling the loss like a physical wound. She slides off the table, adjusting her skirt with hands that tremble slightly, not meeting my eyes.

I fix my own clothing mechanically, mind racing for something to say that won't drive her further away.

"This was..." She pauses, searching for the right word—the acceptable word. The word that won't crack the fragile moment we've created.

"A mistake?" I answer, throat scraped raw with need.