My body was trembling as I held onto him, silently trusting him to take control, to take care of me even as I lost control of myself.

Soren’s kiss deepened, lips bruising into mine as his fingers started to thrust harder, faster, his palm flattening on my cleft to engage my clit.

My own hips were rocking, desperate for release from the clawing ache deep in my core.

Even against his lips, my moans were growing louder, more frantic as he drove me ruthlessly toward that precipice.

Then he threw me over.

My whole body shuddered as the orgasm spread through me, leaving me shaking and clinging to him as the pleasure rolled over and over again.

Soren’s lips silenced most of my cries as I clung to him.

I was the one to break it, leaning forward to press my face against his chest, comforted by the quick thump of his heart against my cheek as my body slowly came back down.

I was always the one to recover first. Hell, to recoil first. Like everything in me wanted to get away as quickly as possible once the sweat was dry and the orgasm had settled.

But there I was, my face pressed to Soren’s chest, my hands still holding onto his sides. And no part of me wanted to let go.

Soren’s hand was still against me, his fingers still inside me, but his other arm had also raised, his fingers around the back of my neck, holding me against him. Like he also didn’t want to let go.

And in those stolen moments of post-orgasm clarity, I could see just how dangerous this was. Not just to want him. Desire was easy. Even, if you were both being mature about it, not messy.

The problem was, I didn’t just want him.

I liked him.

Respected him.

Wanted more of him.

Before I could make the decision to move away myself—and I was totally just about to do that—there was a quick rap on the office door that had my whole body jolting.

Oh, God.

Bastian was right outside the door.

Ten feet away.

Could he have suspected?

Or, worse yet, heard?

Soren recovered first, yanking away from me and turning to look out the window, likely trying to hide the fact that while I’d gotten some relief, he had not.

“Yeah?” I asked, moving off the desk and making sure my skirt was in place.

“Just a reminder that you have a four o’clock,” Bass said, ducking his head inside the door.

I definitely didn’t have a four o’clock. Since, well, this was a fake office where I conducted business with Soren only.

Was he interrupting because he knew I’d crossed a line?

“With R.L.”

R.L.?

Renzo Lombardi.

Shit.