I round the table, and he reaches for me—or I reach for him. All I know is I’m in heaven astride his lap, knees tucked on either side of his hips as our mouths fuse. He groans into the kiss, his cock expanding between us, hard and long against the zipper of his slacks.

“When I get inside you for the first time,” he says, burying his face in my shoulder, “I’ll never want to leave.”

My core clenches, hot and snug against his cock, and I grind against him to inspire that gruff sound in the back of his throat again.

“Jesus, Novalee. We’re crossing a line here. You need to get up.”

“No.” I infuse my tone with pure defiance, tilting my hips once more, and he groans again.

“You think you can defy me because I can’t lay my hand on your ass? Is that it?”

“I want your hand on my ass.”

“You know it’s not allowed. But I can still punish you.” He yanks my hair, pulling my head back until our eyes meet. “I can cancel our next visit.”

“No!” I scramble off his lap, hurt that he’d even think to do that.

He rises with a glint of predatory glee and stalks toward me. “You think you don’t have to obey me because you belong to him for the month?”

“I…Liam, no.”

He takes me by the chin, his fingers gentle. “You’re still mine as much as you are his, so the next time I tell you to remove your tempting little body from the vicinity of my cock, do not tell me no.”

My gaze falls to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.” He presses his lips to mine, lingering with urgency. “Our time is up, my sweet girl. It’s time for me to escort you back to your quarters.”

8

Thankfully, my keeper is absent, locked away in his study on a conference call. Before dinner prep, I take a shower, turning up the water temperature as hot as I can stand, and wash the degradation of Mr. Bordeaux’s punishment off my skin. After dinner, I spend the rest of the evening alone in my room, curled up in front of the mullion window with a book about a shapeshifting dragon as the sun kisses the horizon.

Half past nine, a knock sounds on the door. I sit up, set my book aside, and call for Loren to come in because he’s the only one who gives me the courtesy of knocking. Mr. Bordeaux never announces his presence, choosing instead to barge in whenever he pleases and expecting me to fall to my knees, regardless of whether I’m decent.