MIRA'S POV
I looked at Adrian, my breath caught in my chest.
"You're everything." His hand came up to cup my cheek, and I felt myself leaning into the touch despite every warning bell in my head. "You're brilliant and beautiful and you challenge me in ways I didn't know I needed."
"Adrian—"
"I know this is complicated. I know there are a dozen reasons why we shouldn't do this." His thumb traced along my cheekbone. "But I can't pretend anymore that I don't want you."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Want. Such a simple word, but the way he said it made my knees weak.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I want you, Elise. Not just professionally. Not just as my assistant or my analyst." His voice dropped to that dangerous whisper that made my stomach flip. "I want you in every way a man can want a woman."
My breath caught. "We can't—"
"Can't we?" He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Give me one good reason why not."
I opened my mouth to list all the reasons; he was my boss, I was lying about who I was, Jesse was waiting for me back home. But standing there in that beautiful suite, with the moonlight streaming through the windows and his eyes dark with desire, none of those reasons seemed to matter.
"I can't think of one," I admitted.
"Neither can I."
He leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to stop him. But I wasn’t going to. I didn’t want slow. I didn’t want careful. I wanted Adrian’s mouth on mine, his hands on my body, his weight pressing me down until I couldn’t think straight.
When he kissed me, it was like a switch flipped—gone was the restraint, the pretend professionalism. His mouth claimed mine, hot and demanding, his tongue sliding between my lips like he already knew exactly how I liked it.
"Elise," he breathed, dragging his mouth to my ear, voice rough. "You need to be sure. Because once I start, I’m not stopping."
"I'm sure," I whispered, already breathless, already aching.
That was all he needed. He shoved his hands under my blouse, yanking it over my head. His mouth followed, licking down my throat, biting the curve of my breast through lace.
"Fuck, this body," he growled. "I’ve been imagining it for weeks."
He dropped to his knees and pulled my panties down in one swift motion, leaning in without hesitation. His tongue stroked me once—slow, filthy, deliberate—and I nearly sobbed.
"You're soaked," he muttered, eyes locked on mine. "You want it that bad?"
"Yes," I gasped, thighs trembling. "God, yes."
He sucked, licked, devoured until my hips were bucking and I was panting his name like a curse. And just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he stood, shoved his jeans down, and stroked himself once, slowly.
"Tell me to stop," he said. "I dare you."
I didn’t. I couldn’t. I reached for him instead, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him in.
When he pushed inside, I cried out—full, stretched, throbbing. He grunted, head falling to my shoulder.
"Fuck, Elise. You feel like heaven."
He started to move, rough and deep, grinding into me with every thrust. There was nothing gentle about it. This wasn’t sweet. It was raw, frantic, all hands and teeth and skin.
"Look at me," he demanded, voice tight.
I did—and the heat in his eyes nearly unraveled me. Possession. Lust. A dark kind of need that mirrored my own.
His pace got rougher, faster, until I was clinging to him, nails digging into his back, legs locked tight around his hips. My orgasm hit hard, blinding, a white-hot rush that tore through me.
"That’s it," he growled, slamming into me harder. "Come for me. Let me feel it."
I screamed his name, shattered in his arms, and seconds later he followed, groaning low in my ear as he emptied himself inside me.
After, he held me close, pressing kisses to my forehead, my temple, my lips.
I wasn’t a mission anymore.
I was his.