Twisted Game

KAT

I squeeze my eyes shut. A heavy moan traps itself deep in my throat as the undeniable heat of his massive erection presses hard against my ass. This is not a fantasy. The thick, rigid length of his cock pushing into me is real. His heavy, ragged breaths ghost over the sensitive skin of my neck. His firm, bruising grip on my hips anchors me in place, forcing my back flush against his solid chest. The intoxicating, masculine scent of him surrounds me, filling my lungs with every frantic gasp I take. My body aches, desperate for his large hands to slip forward and touch the throbbing spot between my legs.

I grip the edge of the conference table for support. The polished wood bites into my palms. My knuckles turn stark white. I am on the verge of losing my sanity. The physical tension stretches tight, winding into a heavy coil deep in my gut. He shifts his weight, grinding his hips forward, and the friction sends a jolt of pure electricity straight to my core. Every logical thought shatters under the weight of this raw, pulsing need.

Then, his huge hands slide up under my tight skirt. Rough calluses scrape against the sensitive backs of my thighs, sending fresh shivers up my spine. His large fingers find the bare skin of my ass and squeeze with rough force. He kneads the soft flesh with a brutal, bruising grip that promises to leave marks by tomorrow. A dizzying wave of sheer arousal consumes me. Heat pools heavy and demanding in my center. I part my legs just a fraction, chasing the friction, wanting more of his skin on mine. I think he is finally going to touch me there. I wait for his fingers to dip between my thighs and push me over the precipice. I am ready to shatter into a million pieces for him.

Instead, his hands retreat.

He pulls away from my bare skin, smoothing my skirt down in a jarring, dismissive motion. His palms return to rest heavy on my hips. My eyes snap open. I gasp for air, panting and stunned by the sudden deprivation. The throbbing ache between my legs pulses with demanding, unsatisfied need.

He leans in close, invading my space once more. His mouth brushes the shell of my ear.

"Do you want this?" he whispers.

His voice is dangerous, deep, and primitive. The low rumble sends electric tingles down my spine and through my trembling limbs.

"You want it, don't you? Even though you know how wrong it is, you can't help it. But you need to decide."

Decide? The word struggles to process in my hazy, lust-addled brain. I cannot form the words to beg him to continue. My throat works, but no sound comes out. I am paralyzed by the overwhelming desire coursing through my veins.

Then, his next sentence hits my feverish skin like a bucket of ice water.

"Do you want to be fucked on this table so badly that you'd risk your career for it?"

The cruel question echoes in the quiet conference room.

"Tell me... What's more important to you, Voss?"

In a single heartbeat, blinding, fierce hatred washes over my intense arousal. The thick haze of lust vanishes, replaced by a sharp, cutting clarity that makes my chest ache. He is using my body. He is utilizing his own erection and my glaring weakness just to make a twisted, manipulative point about his brother. This is a sick, calculated game to him. He weaponized my attraction to prove a point about corporate hierarchy and family loyalty.

I clench my fists at my sides. My nails dig into my palms so hard they threaten to break the skin. I use every ounce of self-control to contain my explosive fury. My chest heaves with ragged breaths, no longer from desire, but from raw, unadulterated rage.

"Get away from me now." I growl the words, keeping my gaze fixed straight ahead.

He takes a single step back, releasing my hips. The sudden loss of his suffocating body heat leaves me cold, but the chill only feeds the burning fire in my veins. I spin around on my heels to face him. My intense desire to grab his neck and strangle the life out of him intensifies with every second that passes. He stands there, tall and composed, while I tremble with suppressed violence.

"Are you playing with me? Was this all a manipulative argument because of Nolan?" I snarl between my clenched teeth.

"That is what you need to decide before going out with my brother." He delivers the cold, clinical reply without a single hint of remorse on his sculpted face.

A split second later, my hand arcs through the air.

My palm connects with his face in a brutal, echoing slap. The loud crack rings out like a gunshot across the expansive conference room. My hand stings with a fierce, hot pain from the sheer force of the impact. Shock flashes across his stoic features. His head snaps to the side from the heavy blow. A second later, dark anger settles into his eyes, turning the irises pitch black. He stares down at me, a muscle feathering in his clenched jaw, but he does not advance on me. He holds his ground, letting the silence stretch between us.

"If you ever dare to put your filthy hands on me again, I will cut them off." I spit the venom at him, holding his dark gaze without flinching.

I grab my stack of manila folders and my leather purse from the polished wood of the table with aggressive force. I do not look back as I march toward the heavy silver door. My heels strike the hardwood floor like war drums. I storm out of the room, leaving the heavy silence behind me. Ronan Mercer has just crossed every conceivable boundary. If it is war he wants, it is exactly what he is going to get.