Chapter 3

Skye's POV

"I... here?" I whispered.

He tilted his head slightly. "Where else?"

I stared at him and he stared back. He wasn't going to explain. He wasn't going to spell it out. He was going to stand there and watch me figure it out on my own.

My fingers moved to my blouse before my brain gave them permission.

The first button came undone. My hands were shaking so badly I almost couldn't grip the second one.

He didn't move or speak. He just watched me with those dark blue eyes like he had all the time in the world.

Second button. Third. Fourth.

The fabric parted and my white lace bra came into view. My chest was heaving‚ pushing against the thin lace with every breath‚ and the cool air of the elevator hit my exposed skin like ice water.

Fifth button. The blouse hung completely open now‚ framing my body like curtains pulled apart.

I reached for the clasp of my bra.

"Stop."

I froze.

"Is that what I asked you for?" he said quietly.

"I... I thought you wanted me to—"

"I said show me what you're willing to give. I didn't tell you to undress."

The embarrassment hit me like a truck. He didn't even ask me to strip. I had just started taking off my clothes in his elevator like some kind of — oh God.

My hands flew to my blouse‚ grabbing both sides‚ trying to button it back up‚ trying to undo the last two minutes of my life.

His hand caught my wrist before I could fasten a single button.

"Did I tell you to button up?"

"But you just said—"

"I said stop. I didn't say cover up."

He pinned both my wrists above my head with one hand‚ pressing them firmly against the elevator wall. My back was flat against cold steel‚ my blouse hanging open‚ my chest heaving in thin white lace just inches from his body.

Then he leaned in close‚ so close that his lips nearly brushed the shell of my ear.

"This is a company‚ Miss. Not a strip club." His breath was warm against my skin. "What kind of secretary walks into her CEO's private elevator and starts undressing without being asked?"

The words landed like a slap across my face. I shoved against his chest as hard as I could.

He didn't budge. Not even an inch.

"Let go of me. I'm buttoning up and I'm leaving. This was a mistake—"

"You can't close up after showing me all this."

His free hand traced along the edge of my bra‚ featherlight and barely there‚ following the curve of lace across the top of my breast. My breath hitched despite everything I was telling myself to feel.

"You opened yourself up for me‚" he murmured. "On your own. Nobody forced your hand. You wanted me to see you."

"That's not what happened. You told me to show you what I was willing to give and I misunderstood. Now let me go."

I didn't want him to let me go.

His fingers hooked under the center of my bra and shoved it upward in one rough motion. The lace scraped over my nipples as it went and then my breasts fell free‚ bare and exposed‚ my nipples already stiff and aching from the friction.

I gasped and tried to pull my hands down‚ but his grip held me firmly in place and his mouth closed over my left nipple.

"Oh my God—"

Every thought in my head went white.

His lips were hot and firm and he sucked hard enough to make my back arch completely off the wall. A moan ripped out of me before I could catch it‚ loud and shameless in the small space. His tongue circled the peak‚ flicked against it‚ then he sucked again‚ deeper this time‚ pulling the sensitive flesh into the wet heat of his mouth.

"Oh God — Thorne—"

He stopped. His mouth lifted from my breast and the cold air hit my wet‚ swollen nipple like a shock.

"It's Mr. Anderson to you‚ Miss. Not Thorne."

I felt so embarrassed‚ but it was true. Why was I calling him by his first name when he didn't know who I was? I was nothing but a stranger to him.

To him‚ I was just Ms. Latecomer. A complete stranger who had gotten a job as his secretary and was now willing to do anything to keep her job.

"I'm sorry‚" I whispered. "Mr. Anderson."

His mouth found my other nipple before I even finished the sentence. He sucked hard‚ his teeth grazing the peak‚ his tongue swirling around it in slow‚ deliberate circles. My knees buckled beneath me and his body pressed harder against mine‚ holding me upright while his mouth moved between my breasts‚ licking and sucking and biting until I couldn't tell where one sensation ended and the next began.

"Oh my God—" I gasped‚ even as my back arched deeper into his mouth. "Please — stop—"

He released my nipple with a soft‚ wet sound that echoed through the elevator. "Then why are you pressing yourself into my mouth if you want me to stop?"

I had no answer for that. Because he was right.

His free hand slid down my stomach‚ past my navel‚ all the way down to the hem of my pencil skirt. His fingers gripped the fabric and pushed it up‚ bunching it roughly around my hips until my thighs and the white lace panties between them were completely exposed.

"Spread your legs‚" he said.

"W—what?"

"Did I stutter?"

My thighs were pressed together and trembling.

"I can't. This is — we shouldn't be—"

*Open your legs‚ Skye. You know you want to. You've wanted to since the moment you stepped into this elevator. Stop pretending.*

"You can." His hand came to rest on my inner thigh‚ warm and impossibly heavy. "Open."

My breath shuddered out of me. Slowly‚ shaking‚ I shifted my feet apart.

His fingers slid up my inner thigh to the edge of my panties‚ and one finger traced along the lace‚ right along the crease where fabric met skin. My hips jerked toward his touch before I could stop them.

"So responsive‚" he murmured‚ almost to himself.

"Please—" I breathed‚ and my hips rolled toward his hand again.

His hand slipped inside my panties‚ and he pushed one finger inside me. I gasped so hard I choked on the air. My eyes flew wide open‚ locked directly on his face‚ my mouth hanging open in a silent scream. His finger was buried inside the most intimate part of me‚ a part that no one had ever touched except me‚ and the slickness that greeted him was undeniable‚ humiliating‚ and completely obvious.

Then he smirked.

"Soaking through your pretty little panties and I've barely even started." His finger pushed deeper. "Such a desperate‚ dripping wet little pussy‚ Skye."

Skye?

He... He knew who I was?

Chapter 4

Skye's POV

He knew my name.

"You knew me‚" I choked out‚ my nails clawing into the fabric of his suit jacket. "This whole time you stood there and pretended you didn't know who I was—"

His finger thrust inside me again.

The gasp that tore from my throat was so sharp it bounced off every steel wall of the elevator and came back to me like a slap. My mouth fell open‚ my spine arched‚ and my hands gripped his shoulders so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Still talking?" he murmured‚ his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

"You— you have no right to— nngh—"

He curled his finger against a spot inside me that made my entire body seize. My knees gave out and he slammed his hips forward‚ pinning me harder against the wall‚ his thigh between mine‚ holding me up with nothing but the weight of his body and the finger buried inside me.

"You played me‚" I gasped. "You made me call you Mr. Anderson when you knew — you knew the whole time—"

"And you unbuttoned your blouse for a man you thought was a stranger." He pulled his finger out slowly‚ dragging it along my inner walls‚ then pushed back in‚ deeper than before. "Which one of us should be more embarrassed?"

I had nothing to say to that. Because he was right. And because his finger was so deep inside me I couldn't form words anymore.

He added a second finger.

My body went rigid. The stretch was sudden and full and overwhelming‚ and the sound I made was something between a moan and a scream that I would never be able to unhear.

"That's it‚" he said quietly. "Take both of them."

"It's too much—"

"It's not enough." He pushed both fingers all the way in and held them there‚ buried to the knuckle‚ and I could feel my own heartbeat pulsing around him. "And we both know it."

He pulled his fingers back slowly‚ letting me feel every inch of them dragging against my walls‚ and then pushed them back in with a deliberate‚ controlled thrust that made my hips jerk forward to meet him. Out. In. Out. In. Each stroke deeper than the last‚ each one finding that spot inside me and pressing against it until my thighs were trembling and my head fell back against the steel wall.

His eyes never left my face.

That was the part that undid me. The way he watched me. Those dark blue eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that felt like being held down‚ like being stripped open far more completely than any unbuttoned blouse could manage. He watched every twitch of my expression‚ every flutter of my eyelids‚ every time my lips parted around a gasp I couldn't swallow. He studied me like he was memorizing what I looked like when I fell apart.

And I was falling apart.

"Look at me‚" he said‚ and I realized my eyes had drifted shut. I forced them open and met his gaze and the raw hunger staring back at me made my walls clench so tight around his fingers that he exhaled hard through his nose.

"There she is." His thumb found my clit and pressed down in a slow‚ firm circle‚ and my entire body jolted like a current had passed through me. "Keep your eyes on me‚ Skye. I want to watch you feel every single thing I'm doing to you."

His fingers pumped faster. The wet‚ slick sounds of him moving inside me filled the elevator‚ obscene and rhythmic and unmistakable‚ and each thrust was punctuated by the soft‚ helpless moans falling from my mouth that I had completely given up trying to suppress.

Because I couldn't pretend anymore. I couldn't say stop when my hips were grinding down on his hand with every stroke. I couldn't say I don't want this when my fingers were tangled in his hair‚ pulling him closer. I couldn't say no when every nerve ending in my body was screaming yes so loudly it drowned out every thought in my head.

His free hand grabbed my breast‚ rough and possessive‚ kneading the bare flesh‚ his thumb rolling hard over my stiff nipple‚ and his mouth dropped to the other one‚ his tongue dragging a hot‚ wet circle around the peak before sucking it between his lips.

"Oh God—" My voice broke into a moan so loud it startled even me. My back arched completely off the wall‚ pushing my breast deeper into his mouth‚ and his fingers drove into me harder‚ faster‚ his palm grinding against my clit with every thrust.

He released my nipple and lifted his head‚ and his eyes found mine again‚ dark‚ burning‚ completely fixed on me‚ and he didn't look away as his fingers curled deep inside me and his thumb pressed circles into my clit that made my vision swim.

"Does your brother know‚" he murmured‚ his voice low and wrecked‚ his fingers still pumping into me in slow‚ devastating strokes‚ "that his worst enemy has his fingers buried inside his little sister's dripping wet pussy right now?"

A broken whimper escaped me.

"No‚" I gasped‚ grinding down on his hand‚ chasing the pressure of his palm against my clit. "He can never know — oh God — he can never find out—"

He curled his fingers deeper and hit a spot inside me that made my words dissolve into a scream.

"Good girl‚" he whispered. "This stays between us. Okay?"

"Yes — yes — nngh—"

His pace turned relentless. His fingers pumping in and out with a rhythm that made the wet‚ filthy sounds grow louder‚ echoing off the steel walls of the elevator until it was the only thing I could hear‚ that and my own shameless moans‚ rising higher with every thrust‚ and the low grunts he let slip against my neck that told me he wasn't nearly as unaffected as he wanted me to believe.

His mouth found my breast again‚ sucking hard‚ teeth grazing‚ tongue swirling‚ and his hand squeezed the other one roughly‚ kneading and rolling my nipple between his fingers‚ and the combination of his mouth on one breast and his hand on the other and his fingers buried deep inside me was so overwhelming that my body began to shake.

"Something's happening‚" I gasped‚ my fingers gripping his hair so hard he groaned against my skin. "I'm — oh God — I'm going to—"

"I can feel it." His voice was rough and strained‚ his breath hot against my breast. "You're squeezing my fingers so fucking tight‚ Skye."

"I can't hold it — please — I'm right there—"

"Are you going to come on my fingers?" He lifted his head and his eyes locked onto mine one final time‚ dark and burning and utterly devastating. "Are you going to come all over my hand like a good girl?"

"Yes — yes — please — I'm right there — don't stop — please don't stop—"

He pulled out.

Both fingers. Gone.

The emptiness hit me like a physical blow. My hips bucked against nothing‚ my walls clenching around air‚ and the orgasm that had been right there‚ right at the peak‚ crumbled and dissolved into a throbbing‚ aching void that pulsed between my legs like a second heartbeat with nowhere to go.

"No!" The word ripped out of me raw and desperate and I didn't even care how I sounded anymore. "Why did you — bring them back — please—"

He stepped back.

I almost collapsed. My legs were shaking so violently I had to press both palms flat against the wall just to stay upright. I stared at him‚ wrecked‚ panting‚ my bra shoved above my bare breasts‚ my skirt bunched at my hips‚ mascara smudged‚ my thighs slick and trembling while he looked unaffected.

He raised his hand slowly. Both fingers glistened under the elevator light‚ coated in me‚ and he slid them into his mouth one at a time‚ his eyes locked on mine‚ his tongue dragging along each finger from base to tip.

"Just as sweet as I knew you'd be."

He straightened his tie with slow‚ precise movements‚ then adjusted his cuffs‚ smoothing everything back into place like nothing had just happened‚ like he hadn't just taken me apart with two fingers and left me shaking against his elevator wall.

"Fix yourself‚" he said.

My throat tightened. "You can't just—"

"Now‚ Skye."

I pulled my bra back into place with trembling hands‚ fumbled with the hooks‚ then started on my blouse‚ missing a button‚ going back‚ trying again‚ my fingers so unsteady I could barely grip the fabric. I tugged my skirt down over my hips. Everything felt wrong‚ crooked‚ twisted‚ like I was trying to put back together something that had been permanently rearranged.

But I did it. I fixed myself while he stood there watching with a gaze so detached I might as well have been a painting hung slightly crooked on a wall.

The elevator dinged.

The doors slid open to the harsh fluorescent brightness of the parking garage. Not his office. Not the floor where I was supposed to start working. The parking garage.

"Get out."

"The job‚" I said‚ my voice completely wrecked. "You said — you said if I showed you—"

He looked at me one last time. His eyes traced down my body and back up‚ cold and flat and utterly empty‚ as though the man who had just groaned against my neck and called me good girl had never existed.

"I never said showing me your body meant getting your job back."

"W—what?"

"And Skye‚ that wasn't what I meant when I asked you that question. You assumed." His voice was flat‚ bored almost‚ like he was correcting a typo in an email. "You walked into my elevator‚ took off your own clothes‚ spread your legs on your own‚ begged me not to stop with your own mouth‚ and now you want to act like I owed you something in return?" He adjusted his cuff one final time without looking at me. "Nobody forced you‚ Skye. You gave it away for free."

The elevator doors began to close.

"Your services are no longer required. Get out."

Thorne's POV

"I — I don't understand," she said, her voice breaking. "How could you be so evil?"

Tears slipped from her eyes. As she stared back at me, I could see the anger and hatred written clearly across her face.

She hated me.

The thought hit me hard in the chest. It hurt more than I expected. But deep down, it also stirred something dark inside me, something hungry and possessive that wanted her to feel every single emotion she was feeling right now, as long as those emotions were directed at me.

Hate me, love me, fear me, want me — I didn't care which. I just needed her to feel something for me so intensely that she could never walk away from it.

My wolf growled low in my chest, agreeing.

I stared at her for a long moment, watching her tears fall as the elevator doors closed in. Then I made a decision I knew would change everything.

"I have another proposition for you," I said, stopping the elevator from closing.

"And what could that possibly be? Another chance for you to humiliate me?"

"Resume tomorrow at nine," I said, keeping my voice flat and steady even though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "And don't be late this time."

---

The rest of that day was completely useless.

I sat through two meetings and didn't hear a single word anyone said. I stared at reports on my screen without reading them. I signed three documents that my assistant put in front of me, and I honestly couldn't tell you what any of them were about.

All I could think about was her.

Skye.

My former best friend's little sister. The girl I had watched grow up from a distance. The woman whose scent had been burned into my memory for over a decade.

My mate.

My fated mate.

The universe had a sick sense of humor, pairing me with the one woman on earth I was never supposed to touch.

I discovered the truth when she was thirteen. I had gone over to Ethan's house for dinner like I did every week, and the moment I walked through the front door, something shifted inside me so violently that I had to grab the doorframe to keep from falling. Her scent hit me like a freight train, sweet and warm and completely overwhelming, and my wolf surged to the surface so fast that my eyes flickered gold for a split second before I forced him back down.

She had been sitting on the kitchen counter, eating cereal and swinging her legs, completely unaware that my entire world had just rearranged itself around her.

Thirteen. She was thirteen years old, and the mate bond had just snapped into place like a chain locking around my throat.

I wanted to throw up.

Not because of her. Never because of her. But because the bond didn't understand age, didn't understand morality, didn't understand that what it was demanding of me was something I could never act on. My wolf didn't care that she was a child. He only knew that she was ours, and he wanted her claimed, marked, and bound to us in every way that mattered.

And I hated him for it. I hated myself for it.

Every visit after that became torture. Her scent clung to the furniture, the hallways, the air itself. My wolf clawed at the inside of my skull every time I was near her, demanding that I claim her, mark her, make her mine. And every time, I shoved him down so hard that my hands shook and my teeth ached from clenching my jaw.

I couldn't touch her. She was a child. She was my best friend's sister. She was off-limits in every possible way that a person could be off-limits.

But the bond didn't care about any of that.

Then came the night I lost control.

Ethan had invited me over to watch a game. It was late, past midnight, and he had fallen asleep on the couch. I should have left. Every rational part of my brain screamed at me to walk out the front door and drive home.

Instead, I went upstairs.

To her room.

And that night destroyed everything I had with Ethan.

The guilt stayed with me. It lived inside my chest like a second heartbeat, constant and heavy and impossible to ignore. For ten years, I carried it. For ten years, I hated myself for what I had done, for what I had almost done, for what my wolf still wanted me to do every single day.

But the obsession never died.

I watched her from a distance as she grew up. I kept track of her through people I trusted, learning about her life in small, careful pieces. I knew when she graduated high school. I knew when she chose management science over medicine, and I knew her brother gave her hell for it. I knew when she started college, when she made the dean's list, when she became one of the top students in her graduating class.

I watched her turn from a girl into a woman, and with every passing year, the pull grew stronger, the hunger grew deeper, and the voice of my wolf grew louder.

*Mine. She is mine. She has always been mine.*

So on her graduation day, I made my move.

I sent a representative to her convocation with an offer she couldn't refuse. Ten thousand dollars a month for a fresh graduate with no experience. It was absurd, and I knew it. But I also knew she needed to prove her brother wrong, and I used that need like a key to a lock.

I fired my existing secretary to make space for her. I arranged everything down to the smallest detail. Every single step was calculated to bring her into my building, onto my floor, and into my life.

And then I ruined it.

I ruined it by firing her on her first day because my wolf couldn't handle the rage of watching her walk in late, looking flustered and beautiful, while every unmated man in that boardroom stared at her legs. The jealousy was so blinding, so immediate, so completely irrational that I snapped before I could stop myself. I humiliated her in front of the entire floor, dragged her into my elevator, and then did the one thing I had spent ten years swearing I would never do.

I touched her.

And it was worse than I ever could have imagined. Not because it was wrong, but because it was perfect. Because the moment my fingers slid inside her and her walls clenched around me, hot and tight and impossibly wet, my wolf nearly shattered the cage I had spent a decade building for him. Because the sounds she made — those broken, desperate, shameless little moans — were the most beautiful thing I had ever heard in my life. Because she tasted exactly the way she smelled, sweet and warm and mine, and the moment her flavor hit my tongue I knew with absolute certainty that I would burn the entire world to the ground before I let another man taste her.

And then I sent her away.

I looked into those gorgeous tear-filled eyes and told her she gave it away for free, and I watched her walk out of my elevator looking like I had reached inside her chest and crushed something that could never be put back together.

I did that.

I did that because if I hadn't, I would have dropped to my knees in that elevator, buried my face between her thighs, and made her come so hard on my tongue that she would have screamed my name loud enough for the entire building to hear. And then I would have marked her. Right there. Right then. My teeth in her neck, my bond in her blood, my claim on her soul, permanent and irreversible and completely without her consent.

So I chose cruelty instead.

Because cruelty I could take back. But a mating mark was forever.

"Fuck," I muttered, shoving off the bed.

It was past midnight, and I was lying in the dark with my cock so hard it ached against my stomach. The memory of what I had done in that elevator played on repeat behind my eyelids, every detail sharp and vivid and maddening.

The heat of her. The impossible tightness of her walls gripping my fingers. The way she moaned, soft and desperate and ashamed, like she couldn't believe her own body was betraying her. The wetness that coated my hand, so warm and slick that my wolf had nearly broken free right there in that elevator.

I could still taste her on my fingers.

I groaned and rolled out of bed, stalking to the bathroom with heavy steps. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, jaw clenched, eyes dark, chest heaving with the kind of need that no amount of cold showers or self-control could fix.

My hand wrapped around my cock, already slick at the tip, and I stroked once, slow and firm, squeezing at the base the way I imagined her hand would feel. Small and warm and trembling, the way her hands trembled when she unbuttoned her blouse for me.

She was so beautiful it made my chest ache.

I remembered the way she looked pinned against that elevator wall, her wrists locked above her head, her back arched, her breasts pushing against the thin lace of her bra before I shoved it up and took her nipple into my mouth. I remembered the sounds she made, those broken little whimpers that went straight to my cock every single time. I remembered how she clenched around my fingers when I found that spot inside her, like her body was trying to keep me there forever.

My strokes grew faster. Rougher. I braced one hand against the bathroom counter and let my head drop forward, my breathing turning ragged as the pressure built at the base of my spine.

I imagined bending her over my desk. I imagined pushing into her slowly, feeling her stretch around me, inch by inch, watching her back arch and her fingers claw at the wood as she took every last inch of me. I imagined the sound she would make when I bottomed out — that sharp, breathless gasp that would tell me I was the first man to ever be that deep inside her.

Because I would be the first.

And the last.

And the only.

"Fuck," I groaned through clenched teeth as my release tore through me. My body jerked hard, and thick ropes of cum spilled over my fist and onto the counter, the pleasure hitting in violent waves that made my thighs shake and my vision blur. I rode it out with my eyes squeezed shut and her name on my lips, pumping every last drop out of myself until my arm gave out and I slumped forward against the counter, panting.

But even after everything, the hunger was still there. Quieter, maybe. Duller. But not gone.

Never gone.

It would never be enough without her.

So I did the one thing I never thought I would ever do.

I picked up my phone, scrolled past every rational thought telling me not to, and called my lawyer.