Page 10 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

“Meet my driver downstairs,” I say, my voice steady despite the fire in my veins. “She’ll take you to Rêve de Mode.”

Her brows knit, her confusion deepening. “You mentioned that earlier, but—” She blinks. “Now? It’s the workday.”

“Your attire isn’t exactly appropriate for the office.

” And I’ll get nothing done while she’s wearing it.

After all, yesterday, I’d raised her hem and laid her ass bare for my spanking.

Nothing would make me happier than to do it all over again.

“I want you to return to me, ready to work and totally presentable.” Tonight, I’ll burn that fucking uniform, after I treat her to the dinner she’s not expecting.

“Really, Rêve de Mode is too extravagant.”

“Part of your signing bonus, as I recall.”

“But I can shop somewhere else. The Galleria has some nice stores. There’s no need to spend so much on clothes.”

I appreciate that she’s looking out for my bottom line. But there’s no way I’ll let her shop anywhere else. Amelia will ensure Seraphina is properly taken care of, even if she objects. “Stop wasting my time with arguments. I need you at your desk.” The one I can’t wait to have you bent over.

“What’s my budget?”

“Amelia will let you know.” When she scowls, I add, “She’s the proprietress.”

“You buy so many women clothing that you’re on a first-name basis with the person who owns one of the most exclusive boutiques in the city?”

Raising one brow, I regard her. You’re the last woman I’ll ever spoil.

After a small hesitation, Seraphina turns, her sneakers a little squeaky on the marble as she heads for the elevator.

Like a man possessed, I watch her go, the sway of her hips searing into my brain.

The door closes, and I’m alone, my office too quiet, her scent lingering.

Finally, after far too long, I shake myself from my sexual reverie and call Amelia, outlining my expectations. Then I text Hargrove to tell him that the contract is official and to send someone to pick up the document. All that handled, I grab another cup of godawful coffee.

Time drags while she’s gone, each minute a slow burn. I try to focus on emails, on the Lockhart merger files piling up on my desk, but my mind keeps sliding back to her.

Thinking of my handprint on her creamy skin, I shift in my chair, my cock still half-hard, and curse under my breath.

She’s a liability. Celeste warned me, and she’s right—but not for the reasons she thinks.

Seraphina’s dangerous because she’s under my skin, and I’m not sure I want it any other way.

Frustrated as fuck with myself, with her, I stride to my bathroom, slam the bathroom door shut and twist the lock until it clicks into place. The silence echoes, broken only by the low hum of the ventilation fan. I brace my palms on the edge of the marble vanity, veins tight under my skin.

Goddamn her.

The contract should’ve calmed me. Binding her to me, on paper at least, should’ve been enough to cool the fire in my gut.

But she’s shopping right now, choosing blouses she’ll button up just so I can imagine ripping them open.

Picking out skirts that will hug her hips, tight enough I’ll see every curve I paid to own.

My reflection stares back—hair disheveled, pupils blown wide, tie crooked, my cock throbbing against the inside of my slacks. I’m a fucking mess, and it’s all Seraphina’s fault.

I reach down, tug my belt free. The faint snap of leather makes my skin prickle. I drag the zipper down, the sound too loud in the hush of the bathroom. The second my cock’s free, I curl my fist around the base, exhaling a low, ragged curse.

I’m already leaking, and I smear precum over the head. The slick slide makes me suck in a sharp breath.

Jaw locked, I tighten my grip. No one to witness this. No one but me. Just the fantasy of her.

I pump, slow at first, a long, dragging stroke that makes my thighs tense.

I picture her bent over my lap, the dress she’s purchasing right now bunched around her waist, one of my hands buried in her hair while my other palm lands hard on her perfect ass.

Her whimpers echo in my skull, sharper than the hiss of breath I bite back now.

Good girl.

Then I move her to my knees and watch her pink tongue tracing the thick vein that pulses for her, her eyes wide and innocent while she chokes on my cock.

I’m deep, and her gag is muffled.

When she looks up helplessly, her cornflower-blue eyes glassy, tears slipping down her flushed cheeks, I’ll celebrate that it’s all for me.

My hips jerk forward into my hand, the slick slide obscene, my pulse roaring in my ears.

The muscles in my stomach clench tight. I let the animalistic sounds emerge, a low growl in my chest, a ragged curse as I imagine her legs trembling, her breathless moans vibrating around me while she swallows every drop I give her.

My fingers squeeze tighter, punishingly.

She deserves it for doing this to me. For haunting me every tortuous moment she’s gone. My other hand slams into the wall for balance, knuckles whitening as the heat builds, cresting too fast to stop.

“Fuck—” The word tears out of me, low and savage. My release hits hard, pleasure searing through my spine as I spill over my fist, my breath ragged.

For a heartbeat, my vision goes white at the edges. I call out her name as I milk every last drop from my cock.

I lean over the sink, panting, watching the last tremor roll through my arm. Damn her.

But I needed this. Needed the edge blunted so I don’t shove her against that reception desk the second she walks back in.

I grab a handful of tissues, wiping myself clean, then catch a bead that slid onto the edge of the counter. Methodical. No mess. No trace. I tuck my cock back into my slacks, zip up, thread my belt through the buckle, cinch it tight.

My reflection’s calmer now. My eyes are clear, pulse slower. For now. I turn on the water, scrub my hands with soap until the water runs hot. Then I switch to cold and splash a handful over my face, chasing the flush from my cheeks.

Relief. Sharp. Fleeting. I towel my hands dry, force my tie straight. She’ll be here soon, all polite smiles and simmering defiance, pretending she doesn’t know exactly what she does to me.

She thinks I’m dangerous?

She has no idea yet.

Hours later, when my temper is fraying at the edges, the elevator finally dings.

I cross into reception and wait.

When she steps into the suite, my breath catches like a punch to the chest. Rêve de Mode has transformed her. A black pencil dress hugs her curves, the hem grazing mid-thigh. It’s much shorter than I’d like. No one else should see those shapely legs but me.

Her hair is loose, dark waves framing her face, and her heels click softly, each step a challenge. She’s a vision, polished and powerful, but that fire in her eyes hasn’t dimmed. She’s not the maid in my bed anymore. She’s the woman who will bring me to my knees.

I stand, my gaze raking over her, possessive and hungry. “Excellent choices.”

She nods, all professional.

If she hadn’t momentarily glanced away, I would have thought my opinion didn’t matter to her. “I’ll let Amelia know you approve of her selections.”

“Come into my office.” My voice is rougher than I want. “We need to talk.”

With a sharp inhale, she tightens on the strap of a new leather bag. The accessory is also thanks to Amelia, no doubt. There’s no way my beautiful assistant would have splurged on that kind of expense.

“My office,” I remind her.

“This is about work?” Though her tone is wary, she doesn’t argue.

“What else would it be?” The air between us hums with tension, thick and electric.

After pausing to tuck her purse into the bottom drawer of the desk where she’ll be spending most of her life, she follows me into my office. She stops just inside the door, her posture stiff, her gaze locked on mine.

I take my seat, then gesture to the chair across from my desk. She remains standing, her defiance a living thing.

Anytime you try to change the rules, little troublemaker, I’ll adapt and up the ante.

I stand to round the desk, leaning against it, my arms crossed.

“The Lockhart merger. You’re going to dig into the financials.

Find the holes. You did it before; you’ll do it again.

” My voice is all business, but my eyes trace the curve of her neck, the way the dress clings to her waist. I want to rip it off, taste the skin beneath, make her beg for me.

She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ll need access to the full dataset. And I want Reynolds’ projections. He’s still your lead analyst, right?”

“I’ll arrange to get you everything while you go to HR and collect your official ID, fill in your tax forms and direct deposit form, unless you prefer a paper check.

” I push off the desk, closing the distance between us, stopping just short of her.

Her breath catches, and her eyes flick to my mouth, then back up.

“And we should discuss the fact you’re all dressed up.

You need somewhere to go.” My voice drops, a dark promise.

“Dinner. Tonight. With me.” It’s not a question; it’s a demand.

She keeps our gaze locked on mine. “That’s not in the contract, Mr. Blackwell.”

I grin, slow and predatory. She’s trapped, and soon she’ll know it. “You agreed to work until seven. If we leave at five, we can enjoy a leisurely meal while you’re still on my time.”

Her lips part, a retort forming, but the fire in her eyes tells me she’s tempted, even if she won’t admit it.

The game to make her mine has just begun. I assured her she’s not a toy, and she’s not. Regardless, I’m playing to win. “Say yes, Seraphina.” I want her to hate me for asking. I want her to need me more than she hates herself for needing me. “Tell me you want to spend time with me.”