Blackmailing His Bride (Court of Paravel) - Page 24

“I’m not asking you for anything,” I pant. It’s bad enough that I’m humping his leg like a demented bunny. He keeps catching me unawares and overwhelming me, and before I know it, all I want is to come with his hard body against mine.

He captures my chin and makes me look up at him. There’s no mocking in his eyes, only a savage need that’s mirrored in the way my thighs are clamped around him.

“I’m not trying to make a fool of you or win some sort of game. You’re everything I want. Let me give you what you need.”

He’s not supposed to be what I want, and he’s definitely not what I need. He lifts his leg higher and pushes me back against the wall. My breasts are right where his mouth is and he bites down on one of my nipples, and then the other through her shirt.

My movements reach a fever pitch and my whole body feels like it’s on fire. My pussy clenches tighter and tighter, my orgasm bearing down on me at alarming speed.

“Just like that, little fox. Right where I can see you.”

“Sir?” The stranger’s voice is becoming very confused.

A cry is ripped from my throat, but before I can really scream, his hand tightens around my throat and holds me by my neck against the wall. The blood rushes to my head and I feel like I’m flying.

I come back to earth with his large body supporting mine against the wall and his arms tight around me. He kisses my cheek, my jaw, my mouth, over and over. The operator seems to have given up; the only sounds in the elevator are my ragged breaths.

“Don’t make it too long before you ask me to take you to bed,” he murmurs, his lips moving against mine.

I kiss him back, indulging in the sweet sensations. I’m drunk on him and I can’t stop.

He reaches out and thumps the emergency stop button with his fist, and the elevator shudders to life and starts to rise.

“I’m going crazy for you. I might even do something crazy if you make me wait too long. Don’t make me wait, little fox.”

10

Jakob

I release Sachelle back to the floor. Her knees buckle, and I keep a firm grip on her waist until she can stand on her own.

The elevator slows to a halt, and the spell is broken. I see the precise moment that she pulls herself back together, and away from me. I hold out my hand, indicating that she should go first, and she steps toward the closed doors.

“Thank you, Mr. Rasmussen.”

“Stop calling me Mr. Rasmussen. Say my name.”

“I’m not calling you Jacob.”

“It’s Jakob.” Yah-kob. My grandparents emigrated from Denmark in the nineteen fifties and it’s pronounced the Danish way. “A few people call me Jakob. The King. Galen. People who are close to me.”

She’s looking up at me with a vulnerable expression, her lower lip very soft. Yes, that includes you, you pretty little troublemaker. I’ve never fallen for someone before, but I’m becoming obsessed with Sachelle Balzac. I’ll unravel her one little piece at a time until I’ve found a way to make her mine forever.

She’s about to speak when the doors slide open. She pulls herself from my arms and hurries out of the elevator.

I step into the corridor, watching her go. Reliving the moment when her climax transformed her beauty into something heavenly. Something only for me to witness. I follow her, expecting that we’re here to visit the same person. When I round the corner to Galen’s office, I see her in there, shaking my friend’s hand.

Galen’s giving her a polite smile, and then he spots me over her shoulder. “Jakob. Did you come and see me, too? I feel so popular today.”

“I just thought I’d drop by,” I tell him, seeing confusion flash over Sachelle’s features. She peers at me for a moment, and then seems to decide she’d rather ignore me.

“Lord Galen—” she begins, turning back to him.

“It’s just Galen,” he says with a smile, revealing his dimples. “My brother’s the one with the fancy title.”

“Sorry. Galen. As I said on the phone, I was hoping to talk to you about your life under the People’s Republic and your memories of the first revolution.”

I thought Sachelle would have dropped her cover story by now. Either she’s still snooping around, or she’s genuinely interested in her subject. My gaze runs up her legs to that peachy ass I just put my hands on in the elevator. I hope she doesn’t make me teach her a lesson about staying out of trouble.

Sachelle shoots me an acidic look, and I smile at her. Then again, I hope she does.

“We don’t need to talk in my office. Let’s all have lunch together. We can take my car.”

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