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His hands cup my ass under the dress, and it’s only now I remember that I didn’t put on any pants. He feels it because he pauses and pulls away, his hooded, icy eyes gazing into mine, turning darker within milliseconds.

“Over to the desk,” he commands.

I obey him—sliding down to the floor and making quick work of standing by the desk. I spin around to see his chest heaving, watching me.

He takes slow steps towards me, his gaze travelling around every inch of my body. He looks like the devil incarnate with only the small glow from the lamp, which hardly provides any light in the black-furnished room.

Arousal starts leaking down my thighs as my pulse rises with every step he takes towards me. He stops in front of me and fists his hand around my neck, bringing his face a breath away from mine.

“Bend over the fucking desk,” he growls lowly.

My knees give way as I gradually spin around. I don’t have a chance to bring my chest down to the desk because Xander’s hand is already on my back, impatiently pushing me towards the cold surface.

I turn my face sideways, facing the door. He places his hand on my head, holding it down into the glass.

Anticipation takes hold of me as he lets go, and I can’t feel him anymore. All I can hear is the sound of my own rapid breathing, my sighs fogging up the varnished wood.

Suddenly, he kicks my right foot out to the side, and I grasp the desk as best as I can with the gun still in my grip, steadying myself.

“Spread those pretty legs for me.” His voice is all sex and danger. A heady mix that I never imagined would send goosebumps over my skin.

I move my left foot further out, spreading myself for him.

My pussy pulses with desire as I wait for his thick cock to fill me, desperate to feel him inside me again.

He hums low, his fingertips grazing my back. They trail towards the zip of my dress. He teases the zip, pulling it down leisurely then bringing it back up.

“Xander,” I breathe. I want to beg him to rip this dress off me, but he tuts and moves himself away from me again.

His hand unexpectedly appears on the inside of my lower leg, making the hairs on my skin stand. He drags his hand further up, towards my already aching centre, fingers gliding smoothly along the inside of my thigh, gathering up the leaking arousal.

“Your cunt is always so ready for me.”

And it is. Since that night in the corridor, I find myself craving his touch more so than I'd like to admit.

His fingers continue their pursuit upwards, closer and closer to where I need him the most.

And then they disappear.

I blow out a breath of frustration which morphs into a gasp of pleasure as his hot tongue licks up the side of my leg.

He thrusts his fingers inside me without warning, eliciting a moan from my throat. “And no pants.” He pulls his fingers out slowly, continuing his taunting. “In front of all those people?” He curls his fingers as he pushes back in, sending tingles through me. “Don’t you know who you belong to, Camila?” His fingers retreat, and I sigh in frustration.

I hear him stand behind me.

“Lift up your dress,” he commands softly.

I loosen my fingers around the gun, but before I can place it down on the desk, his warm hand covers mine, tightening my fingers back around it. “Don’t let go of the gun,” he murmurs in my ear. He tucks strands of my hair behind my ear and kisses the sensitive area.

I reach behind me, lifting the material to rest on my back.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers as his hand connects with one of my ass cheeks, charging up a delicious sting. I can’t help but throw my head back with a moan, my hands shooting out in front of me. The gun clangs on the desk with the movement, but I keep it in my grip.

He rounds the desk, standing right in front of me, all muscles and black ink. His thick fingers grip at his belt, undoing the buckle and pulling the end of the belt out from the loops. The last one comes out with a whip.

He leans his arms on the desk, his face coming level with mine.

“Who do you belong to, Camila?”