Page 12 of Raziel

He shoved me in, stepped inside, turned a key, and pressed a hidden button.

The elevator moved.

The office he took me to was small and cramped, filled with a desk and overflowing file cabinets.

He lifted me onto the desk.

“You know I own this club?”

I shrugged. “No. I wouldn’t have come here. I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why?”

“You told me to.”

His eyes narrowed. The muscle in his cheek ticked—like he hated being reminded of his own words.

He looked terrifying.

Mad.

I leaned in, pressed my lips to his—soft at first, testing.

He didn’t move.

So I did it again.

Lingering this time.

His breath hitched.

“Don’t be mad,” I whispered against his mouth.

He leaned back, wiped his lips—but his eyes never left mine.

“I don’t know where your mouth’s been.”

“Childish.” I laughed in his face.

Kissed him again. Slower.

This time, he let me.

His hands came up, fingers tangling in the little bit of hair I had, pulling me closer.

His tongue slid against mine.

I melted into it.

Moaned.

Just a little.

Just enough to make him deepen it.

His grip tightened, dragging me to the edge of the desk.

His hands slid under my dress, greedy.