Vanessa dropped into a chair, shoulders shaking in manic laughter. He’d at least had the grace and professionalism to attempt fuck her outside of the workplace first and had even sent her a fancy invitation in which to do so. And you propositioned him right there in his office. She understood why he’d been so snappish with her and found she could even forgive him for the churlish, childish behavior. He’d been thinking about fucking her, wanted to fuck her, and she wondered how long he’d been doing so.

As she lowered herself slowly, rolling her hips down the silicone head, one thing was certain — she quite liked having Grayson Hemming chase her, and she wasn’t inclined to let him stop.

* * *

Chapter four

The elevator car, like everything else in the historic building in which the posh, old-money hotel was housed, was ornately designed. Art Deco scrollwork graced the grating, with Doric columns embossed on the gilded walls. The back wall was papered in a lush, dark red, giving the tight space the air of a luxury bordello, appropriate, considering her company.

She’d recently celebrated her thirty-second birthday, spending the evening the same way she’d celebrated her official third anniversary at the firm — slumped over her desk until late in the evening, sifting through paperwork, wondering if the pretty twenty-something shifter who’d recently started in reception was entertaining one of the partners that night. A specific partner. She’d mumbled to herself as she left that it wasn’t worth it, that she ought to have chosen a career path that offered a healthy work-life balance, and that it wasn’t too late to change.

Then again, she reminded herself, those late nights meant she got to come along to meetings like this, held in swanky midtown hotels, their clients not deigning to leave their hotel room for something as inconsequential as a meeting with their legal team. They were merely the help, invisible employees to people like this, and even though she knew she was included in that equation, the fact that Grayson was as well made her giddy.

They had reached the end of their three-year tango, it seemed. She’d put a sledgehammer through the wall of careful restraint that had kept them at a respectable distance, kept her fantasies merely that — fantasies, enjoyed privately and with a succession of men who weren’t him, whose names she didn’t remember, none of whom had fucked her as hard as she was sure he would.

The trial had been all-encompassing, the biggest she’d assisted on, for one of the firm’s most important clients, and there hadn’t been a spare minute of any day to dwell on that night in his office, but now the trial was over, and the full moon was just a few days away. The smell of him was driving her mad, and the thought of his cock, the heft and taste of it, was the only thing on her mind.

She had been unable to tear her eyes away from the shape of it the previous afternoon as he’d reclined in his leather office chair, using his heel to swivel in lazy half-circles as he took a seemingly endless call. She’d sat frozen, unable to breathe, unable to blink, captivated by the sight of his open legs and the bulge pressed against his thick thigh, outlined perfectly in the slate grey trousers. Her mouth had been slack, her work forgotten, and she’d leaned forward a bit in her chair, the outline of his fat cock the only thing that existed, until she’d realized he’d ceased his movements. He’d watched her watching him, never ending his phone call, but under the weight of her eyes, she had witnessed the shape of him thicken and expand, hardening for her audience until it had been a solid bar of flesh, straining against the fine grey wool, a promise of what he might do to her.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

His deep voice shook her from her ruminations, unsure of how she was meant to answer, knowing he would likely pile her desk with paperwork. The colleague that had been in the car with them had just exited on the twelfth floor, where the sky bridge to the parking garage was located, but she had planned on stopping at the little café at the street level, just outside the hotel doors, treating herself to an overly sweet coffee drink before trudging back to their office.

What she wanted to do was go home; go home and get away from him and his laconic voice and maddening smell, force herself to go out with her friends and find a dark-eyed, deep-voiced stranger to fuck, if only to take the edge off before the moon that weekend, a futile effort, but one she employed every month.

“I was going to stop and get a coffee before heading back. Are-are we already starting this case? Did you need me to pull anything up for you when I get back?”

Grayson’s eyes remained fixed on the doors, his sculpted jaw and sharp cheekbone in perfect profile against the red wallpapered backdrop, his expression impassive, ignoring her question.

He put in an enormous amount of effort. That, she was unable to deny. Unlike a large swath of the nameless, faceless succession of casual bed partners she’d entertained, his comportment was immaculate. Never a hair out of place, groomed within an inch of his life. Even on the days when the light in his office stayed off and his head tipped back, his knuckles white from the force with which he gripped the arms of his chair, not moving to the degree that she couldn’t tell from her place on the other side of the glass if he was even breathing, he looked impeccable. His nails were blunt and buffed, the result of a regular manicure; whoever did his eyebrows was, she was forced to admit, better than her own girl, and his smooth, supple skin spoke to the likelihood that he probably used a moisturizer that cost more than her monthly car note. He was gym-hardened and well-tailored, and while he’d certainly hit the genetic lottery, that he put in effort couldn’t be discounted. She swallowed, waiting for his answer, annoyed that the effort was one more thing she liked about him.

“I’m getting a room.” His voice was casual, as though he were musing over what to order for lunch, or some other trivial thing, equally as unimportant. “Have you stayed here before? The concierge can get your coffee if you want the place outside.”

The air in the elevator had vanished, her lungs seizing. Vanessa shook her head silently. His wide mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smile, but his eyes never left the gilded door of the car. She was unable to answer. Her mouth had gone dry, and her throat refused to work, suddenly feeling as though she were standing at the edge of a great precipice, one of her own making, and it was time to either leave or leap.

“I suppose this is the part when you have choices to make, rabbit,” he murmured, echoing her thoughts. “You can get your coffee, and I’ll see you on Tuesday, after the full moon. Or,” he mused, his hand reaching out, a long finger slowly depressing the button for the lobby, “you can come upstairs with me, and we can get this over with. I’ll even pretend you thought of it first.”

He turned to face her at last, smile splitting as she stiffened in outrage. Get this over with. It was hardly an indictment of mutual desire. He was an unimaginable asshole, the worst sort of person, and she would rather spend the next two days before the turn chewing glass than spend another minute in his infuriating company. His eyes sparkled like obsidian as his smile stretched, and she wanted to claw the dimple off his face.

“‘Let’s get this over with,’” she repeated with a sneer, fists clenching as she turned to face him. “Well, how can a girl resist a romantic proposition like that? I think that’s what my dentist told me before he performed a root canal. At least there I got a free packet of floss.”