Page 33

We settle into dinner—cross-legged on the floor with heaping platters of steak, veggies, and an assortment of fresh bread and cheeses.

And then the questions start. Not invasive. Just . . . interested.

When I talk about the charity, they don’t just nod along politely—they’re excited. They want to—are begging—-to get involved.

It’s a dream come true. A pinch-me moment that should ideally make me excuse myself and go do some hopping around on the bed, before returning to lock shit down.

Too bad I’m in no frame of mind to share their enthusiasm. I only nod and give a vague promise of keeping them posted on our upcoming events.

The disgusting truth is I can’t focus on anything else apart from Kai’s hand on my leg, stroking my sensitive scars. It’s subtle. Too subtle. A slow, absent rubbing. The occasional squeeze. Everyone sees him touching my leg but they have no idea what it’s doing to me. Not even Kai.

Not Jerome, who’s now dramatically recounting how an actor almost died on a set he was directing. Not Tom, who’s shoveling food into his mouth. Not Eva, who keeps sneaking Leona’s tiramisu off her plate when Tom wouldn’t let her steal his.

I take another sip of wine, and even that reminds me of the way Kai spat it into my mouth earlier. The heat pooling between my thighs has become unbearable. I’m achy, restless,teetering on the edge of something too big to contain.

By the time Jerome suggests we watch a movie, I want to cry.

We move to the home theater and Kai settles me on his lap at the back of the darkroom while the others call dibs on the lower couches.

He leans in, his breath warm at my ear. "Relax, love. You’re tense as a bow."

Relax? Relax!

The movie starts, and I vaguely register that Jerome directed it. Soon everyone—including Kai— starts roasting him for plot holes, throwing popcorn at the screen and each other.

I kiss Kai’s neck, dragging my teeth lightly against his skin. He pauses mid speech but doesn’t stop me.

I let my fingers roam, slipping under his T-shirt and digging into his abs. Kai exhales sharply through his nose before hurling another jab at Jerome for yet another gaffe.

Loving the fact that he’s not attempting to stop me, I palm his cock through his pants. He goes still and I get bolder, lifting my butt so I can reach under his waistband. Then I wrap my fingers around his length, take him out and start stroking.

His breathing gets shallower. Still, he lets me.

My whole body throbs at the realization. We’re back in his office, where I forced him to orgasm while speaking to the Dean. The blinding euphoria, the absolute corrupting power of taking that much control from him is something I’d do anything to experience again.

I’m going to suck him off right here, right now and he’s going to let me.

"Quit going at this with a magnifying lens and suspend disbelief for a fucking second, morons!” Jerome grumbles loudly enough to cut through my heated thoughts. "It's a fantasy. Fantasy and reality never collide.”

I stop breathing.

He sounds too much like my therapist. Like what I’ve been telling myself all those years.

And they're both wrong. Fantasy and reality do collide.

This warm, rich chalet in this snow-dusted, dreamlike village is real. The scent of Kai on my skin, in my hair, it’s real. The way I’m surrounded with easy love, where no one here expects me to perform, to be perfect, to be grateful. Kai, obsessed with me . . . It's no longer fantasy.

“Kai,” I whisper, glancing up at him—

Wrong move.

I find he’s flushed. His jaw is tight. His eyes unfocused. He looks feral—the way he does when he’s inside me.

And I realize I’m still jerking him off. I unwrap my fingers from his cock, snatch it back like I’ve been caught stealing.

His fingers flex hard on my thigh. “Don’t make a sound.”

“What are you—?”

I don’t get to finish. Suddenly, I’m on my back, his weight on me as his mouth crashes against mine in a savage kiss. I don’t even have time to process how far he plans to take this before his hands are everywhere, his teeth sinking into my bottom lip, a delicious bite he immediately soothes with his tongue.

"Finally!” someone shouts at the TV, and the rational part of me dimly registers that we’re not alone. But the rest of me? She doesn’t care. And she should. Because Kai is shoving my dress up and bunching it at my waist.

A rough growl vibrates against my lips when he finds me bare beneath my dress. His thumb flicks my swollen clit and I choke on a gasp, arching into him, my thighs falling open, shame deserting me.

Kai shoves his sweatpants down.

Oh God, he's going to fuck me here and now.

Kai presses his thumb—slick with me—inside my mouth. “Bite down,” he whispers, notching his thick head at my entrance.

And then—bracing himself on one elbow—he thrusts inside me. Before I can even blink he withdraws and slams back in. And keeps going like a fucking piston.

I bite down hard on his thumb to keep from screaming. He’s too fast, too deep, too hard. Yet I hear myself—my wetness letting him fuck me this rough. My hips churn, and I’m not sure if I’m trying to get away or closer.

"Fuck,” Kai grits against my ear. He takes his hand away from my mouth and grip my hips, to hold me still. "You’re going to stay quiet and take it."

I can’t even form words. My hands fly to my mouth as he hits my G-spot repeatedly, but it's no match for the pressure building in my core as I clench around him, my pleasure peaking unbearably.

Kai groans. "Let go."

I shake my head, my eyes widening in horror. I can't. I dare not.

"Now!” He commands.

And I do. Shamelessly. My body writhes beneath him, my pulse roaring in my ears. Kai fucks me through it, his thrusts rough and unforgiving, his face buried in my neck as he loses himself too.

All I hear is sound of his ragged breathing, the sharp snap of his hips, then the deep, broken moan as he spills deep inside me—

When I come back to myself, I realize my mouth is hanging open. My fingers are twisted in the bodice of my dress, pressing into my own nipples.

My hands weren’t muffling my screams. They were part of the performance.

A slow, creeping heat spreads up my chest, licking over my throat, my cheeks.

The movie is still playing but the room is too quiet.

There's no more laughter. No more popcorn fights.

My breath stutters and I force myself to lift my head. And find Jerome sipping wine, legs crossed at the ankles, looking entirely too pleased. Like a director watching actors nail a scene.

Tom is beet red and glaring at the screen, clearly trying not to combust.

Eva . . . doesn’t even try to hide her reaction. She’s openly gawking in our direction, her jaw as slack as mine, awe and disgust tangled into one.

And then Leona stands up and starts clapping.

My stomach plummets. This is hands-down, the filthiest, most reckless thing I’ve ever done.

Kai is still gasping into my neck—no—the bastard is actually laughing. A low, dark, deeply satisfied sound.

And then—the others start laughing too.

Oh, my fucking God. Are we insane?

But then Kai lifts his head and looks at me and just like that, the rest of the world vanishes. His eyes are half-lidded with lust. His thumb drags over my swollen lips, brushing them open. "I’m sorry. These guys are too thick to catch a hint."

Then, louder, without looking away from me, "That was your cue to get the fuck out, guys. Dinner’s over."

Tom snorts. "Yep. I’d say.” He stands, scoops Eva into his arms, and hobbles out.

"Their movie definitely beats yours, Jerome,” he calls behind him. Then—"And I’m just putting it out there, I may or may not be in love with Kai’s girlfriend—ow!” His yelp—no doubt from Eva’s elbow—fades as they leave.

Jerome only smirks, guiding a still-grinning Leona toward the door.

The second the door shuts, laughter erupts from the hallway—loud, thunderous, belly-deep rumbles.

I close my eyes. Just kill me now.

A beat of silence. Then, finally, I turn to Kai. "What the fuck did we just do?"

"I grossly miscalculated.” He leans in, voice dropping to a wicked whisper against my lips. "You didn’t survive dinner."