Page 127 of Boardroom Sins

Lukas doesn’t give me time to recover. His thigh shoves between mine, thick and muscular, andoh, God, the pressure against my center is everything. There’s nothing between his leg and my aching, throbbing core except a whisper of transparent silk and the damp cotton of my underwear.

I grind against him. It’s shameless, but I’m so beyond caring what it makes me look like.

His beard scrapes against my jaw as he drags his mouth down my throat and nuzzles at the tender skin there. I roll my hips again, hunting friction, chasing what I’ve been denied for days now.

“That’s it,” he growls against my skin. “Take what you need.”

My hand fumbles between us, driven by an impulse I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. My fingers find the front of his trousers, and when I palm the length of him through the luxurious fabric, my brain goes haywire.

He’smassive.

As in, bigger than big. Devastatingly huge. It makes me wonder if everything I thought I knew about anatomy was wrong. Even in my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have imagined something so huge and intimidating. He strains against my palm, thick, hard, and I remember again what he said in the hallway:

I’d bottom out and hold there, making you spasm with how big and cruel it is.

He wasn’t lying about that, either.

I stroke him through the fabric, tracing his length from root to tip, and I’m rewarded with a sound that might be the most satisfying thing I’ve ever heard: Lukas Lazarev, groaning.

Forme.

His hips buck into my hand. “You have no idea,” he rasps, “what you’re playing with.”

“Then show me,” I breathe against his mouth.

But just when I think he might actually do it, Lukas pulls back.

His pupils are so blown that the gray of his irises has nearly vanished, swallowed by black. I’ve never seen someone so consumed by hunger. Well, if I could peek in a mirror, maybe I would—but otherwise, it’s just him on the top of the rankings, all by himself.

And then he steps away.

The loss of his heat is vicious. I sag against the tree, trembling, wet, and bedraggled.

“Not here,” he says solemnly. “Not like this.”

I blink at him, still dazed and throbbing from head to toe. “Why not?”

The vein at his temple pulses visibly. His chest rises and falls in controlled, measured breaths that do nothing to hide the way his hands are tightened into fists so he can’t reach for me again.