Every tick of my wristwatch felt like a drop of icy water on my spine.
Ten minutes.
That was all the time Tom had given me before he threatened to dismantle my entire life with a single whispered sentence to my husband or to Eric.
I stood paralyzed in the center of the hallway, staring at the polished oak door of the study at the far end of the corridor.
My camera bag felt extraordinarily heavy on my shoulder, its leather strap digging painfully into my skin.
In my trembling left hand, I clutched my digital laser tape and measuring notepad like a desperate shield.
Just turn around and leave, a panicked voice shouted inside my head.
Walk out the front door, get into your car, and drive home to Ethan.
Tell Eric you had a sudden migraine.
But even as my mind scrambled for an escape, my legs betrayed me.
The terrifying truth was that I wasn’t just afraid of Tom’s threat—I was utterly intoxicated by it.
The boundary had already been blurred on Sunday night in that cramped washroom, and my body still carried the scorching residual heat of his fingers.
The guilt wracked my conscience, yet my pulse thrummed wildly at the raw, undeniable thrill of being hunted by a man who took whatever he wanted.
Slowly, as if moving through deep water, I forced my heels to click against the floorboards toward the end of the hall.
When I reached the heavy door, I paused for a trembling breath.
I raised my knuckle and gave three soft, hesitant knocks.
“It’s open,” Tom’s smooth, quiet voice called out from inside.
I pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold.
The study was dark and opulent, illuminated only by a pair of vintage desk lamps casting long, amber shadows across high bookshelf walls lined with leather-bound volumes.
The rich scents of aged cedar, tobacco, and expensive bourbon filled the air, instantly wrapping around my senses like a tight velvet trap.
Tom was standing near the edge of a massive mahogany desk, holding a crystal tumbler of whiskey.
His jacket was unbuttoned now, revealing the subtle outline of his broad chest beneath his tailored shirt.
He didn’t say a word at first.
He simply watched me, taking a slow sip from his glass while his dark eyes tracked my entrance, taking in my flushed cheeks, my ragged breathing, and the subtle tremble in my hands.
Before I could say anything, he reached past my shoulder with one long arm and pushed the door shut behind me.
The heavy brass latch clicked into place with a sharp, terrifying finality.
“You took eight minutes,” Tom murmured, his voice dropping into that dangerously low register that sent a violent shiver down my spine.
“I was beginning to think I’d have to go back out into the hallway and drag you in here myself.” “Tom, please,” I whispered, my voice cracking slightly as I pressed my back against the firm wooden panel of the locked door.
I held the measuring tape up between us like a pitiful barrier.
“Eric is going to come back from the kitchen any second with the wine.
If he sees us in here with the door closed—” “Eric is pouring three glasses of a very expensive twenty-year-old Cabernet,” Tom interrupted smoothly, setting his crystal tumbler down on the corner of the desk with a quiet clink.
He turned back toward me, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps that made my knees feel like water.
“He won’t be back for at least another five minutes.
Which means right now, Rain, you belong entirely to me.” He stopped less than three inches away from me.
The sheer heat radiating off his body was overwhelming, suffocating every rational thought left in my brain.
My core throbbed instantly, a slick wave of heat drenching my panties as his shadow swallowed me whole.
“I don’t belong to you,” I tried to protest, but the words lacked any real conviction.
They came out as a soft, breathless gasp as Tom reached out and casually plucked the laser tape right out of my trembling fingers, tossing it onto the couch beside us without taking his eyes off mine.
“Don’t lie to me,” Tom whispered, his fingers reaching up to lightly cup the side of my jaw.
His thumb was warm and slightly rough against my sensitive skin, applying just enough pressure to tilt my chin upward.
“Your lips are saying one thing, but your body is telling a completely different story.
Your heart is hammering like a trapped bird right against your ribcage.
And I know for a fact that if I put my hand between your thighs right now, you’d be soaking wet for me.” I gasped, my eyes fluttering shut for a fraction of a second as his words sent a jolt of pure electricity straight down to my pussy.
The crude, possessive nature of his voice ruined me.
Ethan was gentle, patient, and sweet, but Tom was a storm that threatened to tear down every wall I had built to protect my comfortable, predictable life.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I pleaded softly, opening my eyes to look into his.
“You’re my father-in-law’s closest friend.
You’re James’s friend, and Eric’s.
If Ethan or James ever found out—” “Ethan doesn’t appreciate what he has,” Tom murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips as his other hand came around my waist, pulling my hips flush against his.
The hard, unmistakable line of his erection pressed firmly against my stomach through my pencil skirt.
“Ethan treats you like a delicate piece of glass he’s afraid to break.
But you don’t want to be treated like glass, do you, Rain?
You want to be handled.
You want to be taken.” His words hit me like a physical blow.
A whimpering breath escaped my lips as his hand slid lower, gripping the curve of my hip and lifting me slightly toward him.
My mind screamed at me that I was a terrible, unfaithful wife, a slut who was betraying her marriage in the dark of her father-in-law’s friend’s study.
But as Tom leaned down, his hot breath brushing against the corner of my mouth, my hands betrayed me completely, rising up to grip the fabric of his shirt shoulders to keep from collapsing.
“Tell me to stop,” Tom whispered against my cheek, his fingers digging possessively into my hip.
“Say the word, Rain.
Tell me you want me to leave you alone, and I’ll walk out that door right now.” I bit my lower lip hard, my eyes wide as I stared into his dark, hungry gaze.
My tongue felt heavy in my mouth.
I wanted to say it.
I wanted to utter the word Stop.
But the thought of him pulling away, of him walking out and leaving me cold and unsatisfied, filled me with an unexpected, agonizing dread.
I couldn’t say it.
I couldn’t speak at all.
A slow, victorious smirk spread across Tom’s face.
“That’s what I thought,” he growled softly, leaning in to capture my lips in a deep, bruising kiss that completely erased the rest of the world.