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“I have to put the phone down to take off the bra.”

All good answers
. “Put it on speaker.” Because he wanted to hear every move and she was going to need her hands free.

So was he.

Dropping his cell on the desk, he hit a button and let the sound of her rough breathing fill the room. With his hands free, one went to his lap.

“I can wait.” But he really couldn't. He craved that gruff rumble in the back of her throat. She didn't scream when she came—not yet—but that damn noise set his blood on fire.

“Done.”

“Are your breasts—”

“Tits.” She sounded so naughty, so tempting, when she used the word.

“Very good. Are your tits all wet with sweat? Rub them and see.” He closed his eyes and pictured her smooth skin. The way they fit his palms. “Hold them in your hands.”

She let out a little groan. “They feel good.”

“Massage them to make sure.” He rubbed a hand over his crotch. “Swirl your fingers over the nipples.”

“So good.”

“Harder.” He heard her mumble something but he needed her gasping. “I don't think you're giving them enough attention.”

“I am.” Her breath hiccupped.

It was as if she wanted to torture him. “If I were there, I'd push your breasts together and suck on those nipples until you screamed.”

“Come over.”

“I can't but it doesn't matter because you're touching them for me.” The temptation to get in the car and race over there rocked through him. “Imagine my hands under yours, right against your bare skin.”

“I love your hands.”

He wanted her brain misfiring as she fought for words and shifted on the bed. “Squeeze them together.”

She groaned. “You should see them.”

“I remember.” He could feel them without even touching them. “I remember every delicious part of you. How your skin turns pink and your hips come off the mattress as you get excited.”

“It's happening now.” The words slurred together.

He had to move to the next step or risk losing it right there. “Now your pants. Your underwear . . . are you wearing any?”

Hints of shuffling filled the line. “White cotton.”

Sounded sexy to him. On her, he'd take her in anything. “They're probably wet and tight.”

“So uncomfortable.”

His hand clamped down on the armrest of his chair. “Shove them down. All the way off. Clothes will get in your way.”

“Why?”

Man, she did dirty well. The questioning tone and mock innocence. She played the role and revved him up. And if he didn't have her again soon, he'd rip walls apart in frustration.

“You know why, Kyra. Don't be naughty.”

The deep laugh echoed through the phone. “But I love being naughty.”

“Answer me. Are they off?” He pressed his palm against his pants and rubbed the ridge of his erection. “You need to be naked.”

“I am.” She made a sound that suggested she stretched out and loved the sensation of it.

“Should I believe you?” Fuck, with his eyes closed he could see her, even smell her.

“You should come see me.” She cut off to treat him to a series of soft moans. “My tits are so sensitive. So ready for you.”

He was never going to survive his time with her.

“Lie back on the bed and open your legs.” Those incredible legs and soft thighs. “Nice and wide.”

“Okay.”

The way she obeyed played with his head. He slid his hand over his pants and let the friction of material on material build the pressure inside him. “In my dirty story the woman liked to touch herself. Do you like that, Kyra?”

“Yes.”

“Say my name.” Because he loved hearing it on her lips.

“Sebastian.”

The way she said it, as if on a whisper . . . fucking damn. “Are you already touching yourself? Are your fingers inside you?”

“On my inner thighs.”

The heel of his hand rubbed in circles over his fly. “You are so close. Just slide your hands until the tips of your fingers touch your pussy.”

“There's a naughty word.”

And he wanted to hear her say it. “Tell me where your fingers are.”

“Oh, no.” She sounded like she was scolding him. “I can't say that.”

She was born for this game. Destined to drive him to wild distraction. One minute she pitched her voice and sounded confused and embarrassed and the next she hit him with heated disobedience calculated to disarm. The dual act had his insides clenching.

“Tell me, Kyra. I want to hear the word.” He outlined his erection as he imagined her hands on him. “Where are your fingers?”

“In my pussy.”

He felt the word rattle inside him. “How many fingers?”

She gasped as her breathing quickened and grew louder. “One.”

“That's not enough, is it?”

“Hmm, no.” The half moan sounded like pleasure.

“Rub a fingertip over your clit. In circles, round and round.” Just as he would do if he were there.

“It feels so good.” She drew out the last word.

“Now slide the middle finger of your other hand inside your pussy. The whole way in. But don't forget to give that clit the attention it needs.” He could hear the rustle of the comforter and the beginnings of that adorable throat rumble. “Are you doing it, Kyra?” When she didn't answer, he kept pushing. “Raise your hips so your finger can go nice and deep. Pump it in and out while you rub your clit.”

“This is . . .”

“Do you need more?” His erection pressed against the back of his zipper and he lowered it with careful ticks before he had an accident he couldn't hide. “I think you do. I think you need to come.”

“Sebastian.” Her breath cut off at the end of his name.

“Add a second finger to the one pumping inside you.” He had his cock in his hand now, rubbing up and down and dreaming about entering her and how good she would feel against him.

“It's too tight.”

“You can stretch. Your pussy stretched around my cock, it can hug two fingers.” She was so fucking tight. The clench of her body around his tip almost had him coming before he slipped fully inside her. “Are you doing it, Kyra?”

The bed creaked and she sighed.

She was close. Hell, he was close. The sounds of the traffic floors below reached him and the life of the office outside his door filtered through the walls. He'd demanded his time with her be private and this barely qualified. And there was no one to blame but him for the violation.

Still, hearing her and imagining her body around his took him to a mental place that was anything but professional. “Plunge your fingers in faster.”

He needed her to come.

“I can't—”

“You can. I've seen you reach your peak. It is so fucking sexy.”

“Tell me.” It sounded more like a sigh than words.

“Your head snaps back and your pussy clenches.” A glorious sight and one he wanted her to repeat soon. “Is it clenching now?”

The shifting. The sexy sounds from her throat. They all came through before her answer. “Yes.”

“Clamp down on your fingers. Do it hard and hold.” He tightened his hand over his cock and pulled harder. “Are you right on the edge?”

“Yes.”

Imagining her, thinking about her body sprawled out and her legs wide open, his hips started to move. They slipped forward in time with his hand. “Flick your finger over your clit faster and faster. Pretend it's my tongue licking over your slick wetness. My cock fucking you.”

Her harsh breathing and the thump of the bedpost were his only answers.

“Clench one more time.” She teetered on the edge. He could feel it. “There you go, baby. Keep pushing and tightening.”

A half-strangled sound escaped her and wiped out every other noise. Having watched it all, he knew she was coming. The orgasm washed through her as he listened. He heard rustling and thudding and then only breathing, rugged and fast. She would blow out air and gulp it back in.

He put his elbow on the desk and imagined being there in her room for every expressive moment. Her heels digging into the mattress and head thrown back. The way she arched her back and pushed out her breasts. How slick she got and how hard her pussy pulsed.

He loved it all.

That fast the fire swept through him. He dropped his fist to the base of his cock and pulled one last time as his head fell forward. He barely grabbed the tissues in time. His cock twitched and jumped. He sucked in a breath. Come filled the tissue and dribbled onto his palm. He missed the suit pants, but only by pure luck.

When his head cleared enough to listen, he realized everything had stopped and the other side of the line had gone quiet. “Kyra?”

“Damn.” Her voice was filled with awe.

“You can say that again.”

“Your groan—”

“I groaned?” He had no memory of anything but her sexy sounds.

“Did you come, too?”

There was no reason to lie and he'd promised her he wouldn't. “In my hand like an untested teen.”

The lack of control shocked him. Not just the part about using his office, the idea he let his mind go there and couldn't hold the reins on his body's reaction.

She giggled. Actually giggled. “It's kind of flattering.”

He would never understand women. “It was all you.”

“And what you heard from over here was all you.”

Man, he loved the thought of that. “This couldn't have been the first time you did that to yourself.”

“True, but I don't usually do it naked across the bed in the middle of the afternoon.”

“That's a shame.” Because he'd be able to call up the mental picture whenever he wanted now. She could be at work or in class, and in his head she'd be on that bed touching herself. The vision worked for him.

“And I've never had a director before.”

He made a mental note to have her do it again. Soon. “Think of how it will feel when I'm there with you, watching you touch yourself.”

She blew out a long breath. “I'm going to have a heart attack.”

Damn, he wished he could see her face and the flush on her skin. “Then you will never know the joys of my whirlpool.”

There was a weird clicking sound, almost as if she were hitting her tongue against the back of her teeth. “I know it's cliché that women like bubble baths and all that, but I have a confession.”

Since she sounded weirdly shy, he had to know. “Go ahead.”

“I've never been in one.”

That seemed like a pretty fundamental experience to him. “How is that possible?”

“Didn't have one growing up. It wouldn't have gone with the dinners of cheese and crackers. And if I tried to put a bathtub in my apartment now, I'd have to lose the bed.”

“I oppose that option.”

The giggle turned into a deep throaty laugh. “I thought you might.”

Every now and then he forgot about her upbringing. The idiot dad who thought he was a player but didn't bother with feeding his kids. The guy kept both kids on a tight leash and put them in the family business—basically, loan sharking and stealing—early. Wade wasn't his biological kid but the father insisted he owned them both.

Despite the odds, they both broke out. Kyra relied on her quickness and toughness to find another way. She'd earned a better life.

No reason not to start with a tub full of bubbles. “Then you can enjoy my tub.”

“I'll try it.”

He wasn't there to see the shoulder shrug but could almost hear it. “Did I mention there's a separate sprayer?”

“Do I want to know what that means?”

“I'll show you one of the many uses for the strong jet spray tomorrow. How I can use it on you and get you squirming.” Just thinking about the water hitting her sensitive pussy made him fidget in his seat. “Think about that while I'm working tonight.”

“I doubt I'll think about anything else.”

An hour later all Kyra had to do was call up the memory of Bast's deep voice and her skin flushed with heat. Touching her body while she listened to his words turned into a wild ride. Which turned into a shower and a mental countdown until tomorrow night.

If he canceled again, she would head over to that fancy office and make a scene. Better yet, she'd go over and drag his sorry ass out of there and to the nearest bed. She had no idea what his ex-wife was like, except for her unfortunate love of tattling, or any of the others in the parade of women Bast had dated. Could be he liked the type who took his nonsense without complaint and let him do whatever he wanted. The ones who hung on every word and sucked up whatever precious few minutes he deigned to give them.

Screw. That.

In this relationship—and that's what it was no matter how he referred to it—she insisted on being equal. He could boss her around in bed because that was so hot her blood sizzled, but she was not a sex toy or a mere convenience. The sooner he realized that, the smoother the whatever-it-was-they-had would go.

But the idea of seeing him in his office did have some appeal. Maybe she could wear a coat and nothing underneath . . . just to test his control. As far as she was concerned, the man could stand a little less. The whole cool, detached smart guy thing with the sexy glasses totally worked for her, but now she knew he possessed another side. A guy who lost it in bed, didn't hold back. She wanted to explore more of that guy.

Tightening her belt across her stomach, she pulled the lapels of the short robe closer together. The heat on her skin died down, leaving her with a slight chill. It was the perfect excuse to sit on her bed, eat soup and watch bad television. Not the night she had planned, but an okay alternative.

She walked over to the kitchenette lining the wall. Not having a full stove turned her into a microwaving expert. She doubted Bast would be impressed with her cooking skills. Hell, he probably had a cook or some other weird rich-person thing.

And that fast, a wave of insecurity washed over her. She balanced her hands against the edge of the counter and fought it off. She refused to feel inferior. She'd spent her whole life pushing back on that useless emotion and shoved one more time.

She'd almost wrestled the negative thoughts down when the knocking started. Not a gentle tap. No, this was an insistent banging. The noise had her jumping from one side of the small studio to the other to check the door.

Up on tiptoes, she peered into the hallway hoping to see Bast but knowing she wouldn't. The hovering presence outside took on an eerie vibe. That's what happened when a person stood right on top of the door.

The knocking started again. “Open up.”

The angry voice matched the scowl she could just make out through the distorted lens. All of it reminded her of the days before she broke away and found a life of her own.

“Now, girl.” Her father's demands hadn't changed. He used the same command he'd used since she was six.

Him being here, in her private space, shook her confidence and had her mind racing. So did the bodyguard bouncer type hanging around out there with him.

Almost without thinking, certainly without entertaining the possibility of saying no, she unlocked and opened the door. Her father's furious gaze raked over her. The guy with him took more time on the visual tour. Both of them had her wanting to tug down the bottom of the robe and hide behind the door.

“What took so long?” her father barked out.

The gruff voice had the same effect as always. At least the same since she became an adult. She stood up even straighter, refusing to snivel and hide. “What's going on?”

Ignoring her, her father motioned to his man. “You stay out here.”

Before she could say anything, her father pushed his way in and slammed the door shut behind him with the toe of his foot. He walked around, checking out every inch. Touching this book and that plate. He stopped at the window and pulled back the curtain to the streets of the Foggy Bottom neighborhood below.

“What are you doing here?” She crossed her arms over her chest and held her ground near the door.

“You know why.”

Her mind zipped to Bast and her protective instincts rose. “I don't—”

She broke off when her father turned around. Fury pulsed off him and almost smacked her across the room. Richard Royer stood just under six feet. He wasn't blessed with Wade's size or strength but they could both pull off a death stare that made her want to crawl under a bed and stay there. Her father shot it at her now with full force.

“You've been keeping some interesting company.” He dropped down into her oversized chair with his arm across the back top of the cushions. “Secret company.”

This couldn't be about Bast. If her father knew, if he mentioned Bast, she'd have to walk away from him. Anything to keep him clean of her father's stench. Of his awful reach.

The idea of her time with Bast being over before it started had her fighting to keep from doubling over.

“What are you talking about?” The question was her way of stalling. Possibilities ran through her head as she tried to figure out where she messed up.

The days passed as they always did. She checked in with her father, provided scattered bits of information on her life, enough to keep him satisfied, and stayed as far away from him in person as possible. Appease and survive. That had been her motto since she turned eighteen. Before that survival at any cost had been the only game.

Wade believed she'd broken all ties with the man who always acted like being her birth father meant having ownership over her, whether that meant battering her as a potential future unwilling bride to some slick piece of garbage he did business with, or having her play lookout on a job. But she knew one did not simply disappoint Richard Royer and go on to find a normal life. Her father hounded and destroyed. He figured out what mattered and tried to take it away.

That was his way of handling someone. Wade escaped but only because of his size and his luck in having the power of Jarrett looming behind him. Her father had tried to move in, insisting that by adopting Wade all those years before and giving him a new last name, he'd earned rights over his stepson. Jarrett and Wade had pushed back and kept pushing back.

They stepped in and issued demands about her father's organization leaving her alone, too. But things were different with her. Wade was the disappointment he inherited when he married their mother, then drove her to an early grave. She was his blood.

“You continue to test me.” Her father pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit.”

She thought about refusing but knew that would only result in him grabbing her arm and putting her there. Tucking the robe under her, she sat down. “Why?”

“Jarrett Holt.”

The name skidded through her. She'd expected one thing and heard another, and her brain rushed to catch up. “What about him?”

“You're working his club.” Her father leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Are you fucking him?”

Her thoughts screeched to a halt. Forget trying to reason or form a new argument. “No.”

“That's a shame.”

And that summed up her father's belief in the value of women. He used them for sex and as pawns, and neither wife—her mom or Wade's—lived long enough to contest the treatment. “Jarrett has a girlfriend.”

“How is that relevant to my question?”

“Jarrett is loyal to her.” Kyra tried to imagine how Becca would react to her father. To Kyra's mind, Becca was this tall, beautiful strong woman. That didn't mean she couldn't be broken.

“You know the rules.” Kyra's father peeked up at her. Gray touched the edges of his black hair and the veins stuck out on the back of his hands. He'd lived a rough life and seemed to age at rapid speed, adding years each time she saw him. “If you move in on a mark, you contact me.”

“I'm going to school. I'm not working Jarrett.”

“Bah.” He waved her off and stood up. “It's a smart cover. The degree will put you in bigger circles than managing that clothing store in Georgetown did.”

“The job was fine.” It grated to defend a job where she hated the people and the work, but no way was she giving her father one inch.

He shook his head as he started to pace. “Like that school, it was a waste of good time and money.”

Never mind that it was her time and her money. This man had never paid for a thing for her. After her mother died, he barely provided the basic necessities. He got away with as little as he could to keep child services off his tail.

“Holt has access to important people.” Her father nodded his head, as if he became more enthralled with his argument the longer he talked. “Getting in there, wearing that tight skirt, will put you in touch with them. It's smart.”

“That's not what's happening.”

“Take credit, girl.” He went to her small fridge under the counter and shoved some of the bottles around. “For once you're using your gifts the right way.”

The temptation to agree just to get rid of him proved great. The easy way out. Lie and duck. But that solution went nowhere. “I am not working a con on Jarrett.”

He slammed the door hard enough for the jars inside to clink together. “You will do what you're told.”

A scream rattled in her throat. “I'm in school now.”

“No one cares about that.”

She did. An education gave her a start. Let her put a few inches between the life she'd known and the one she wanted.

He snorted. “Don't make me bring you back home.”

The threat started a terrified twisting in her stomach. She was an adult and had resources and it couldn't happen but the thought of it brought all the youthful worries rushing back. “I am not playing Jarrett. It's a job. A good job. It pays the rent.”

So did the loans and the series of jobs she'd taken to earn cash. Undergraduate school took forever because she kept stopping to stockpile some money. She let her father believe she kept leaving because of poor grades. Truth was she left to maintain her independence, to not have to beg Wade for money or rely on her father for anything. The strings to him were the type she'd never be able to snap.

“We are not arguing about this.” Her father stopped in front of her.

“I agree.”

He towered over her like he always did, intimidating and menacing while his ego sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. “You finish the setup and I'll work on how we can use this to our advantage.”

“No.”

“It's done,” he said, talking over her as if she'd never spoken. “What are you wearing?”

“What?” She looked down, relieved the material pulled tight and hugged her body. She hated anything that made her more vulnerable in front of him. “My robe.”

“You'll need something sexier if you plan to make this con work.” He headed for the door and opened it, stopping only to issue one last warning. “Be ready for my call.”

When the door shut, Kyra slipped down to sit on the side of the bed. A frigid air filled her apartment. Her father had that talent. To freeze everything in his path. Hollow and aching, she sat there with her hands open on her lap.

She didn't hear the door open. Nothing registered until Gena crouched in front of her.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No.” Because that was the truth. The chill wouldn't leave Kyra's bones and her head throbbed.

“Who was that?”

“My father.”

After a brief hesitation Gena spoke again. “And the other guy?”

“I don't even want to know. Probably the latest version of his mindless muscle.”

“I don't understand.” Gena sat next to Kyra on the bed. “Did he just stop by for a quick visit?”

“To issue threats, actually.”

Gena's head snapped back. “What?”

The stunned sound of her friend's voice woke Kyra up. She glanced over and saw the pale skin and stunned stare. For a second Kyra wondered if she wore the same expression.

“He's not a nice man.” In the world of understatements, Kyra considered that a doozy.

“He's your dad.” Gena said it as a statement, drawing out each word.

“Not the take-you-to-school, father-daughter-dance type.” Kyra didn't even know how to explain it. Gena came from a regular family in a regular town somewhere in the Midwest. Someone like Richard Royer probably moved in very different circles. “He's more like the ‘do what I tell you or someone will get hurt' type.”

“Are you exaggerating?”

“Not even a little.” Kyra thought she undersold it. The man she knew growing up, the one who went to prison and came out more paranoid, liked to hurt people any way he could. “He thinks he's a mafia-like figure but he doesn't have that much power.”

“Then he can't be that bad.”

“Don't be fooled. He wallows in filth and does awful things.” She had to get up. Move. Maybe making the soup would help.

“But he looks . . .”

“Normal?” With the graying hair and khaki pants he resembled other men his age. It was the gun and the scar along his check that suggested otherwise. “Yeah, he's worked on that over the years. He fits in better since getting out of prison.”

“Prison?”

Kyra's hand shook as she reached for the can of soup. Setting it down without slamming it against the counter took all her concentration. “It was the one time he couldn't get one of his minions to take the fall, and the charges stuck. Thanks to those nineteen months I was able to get into college and settled without him being able to stop it.”

“I don't get it.”

“You don't want to.” With a deep inhale, Kyra abandoned the can and turned back around to face Gena. “And he treats me well compared to how he treats my brother, Wade.”