Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(50)

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t mistake me for anything other than what you’ve always thought I was. I’m not a good guy. There’s no way in hell I would’ve voted in favor of your application if I thought you weren’t competent. Hell, I’m still reviewing and judging your case.”

“You’re the last person I want judging me, you prick.”

Titan slammed down the other glass of Scotch on the desk, and the liquor lapped over the side and soaked the papers beneath it. But the papers didn’t stay long, because Titan shoved them—and the laptop—over to the other end of the desk.

“You gonna bend me over and f*ck me on the desk now?” I taunted him. “We know that’s how you like it best.”

His eyes burned into me as he reached for me. I should have been terrified, but heat pooled between my legs. I wanted him like this. It was easier to give in to lust when it was fueled by threads of anger instead of some other softer, gentler emotion. That wasn’t what we did. We did this—hate f*cking. And it was amazing.

Titan wrapped both hands around my waist and sat me on the desk. “No, I want you to see who’s f*cking you this time. I think you need to be reminded about who makes you come so hard that you forget for two goddamn seconds you despise me and everything I stand for.”

I didn’t wait for him to move in. I shoved my dress up my thighs, revealing that I was completely naked beneath it. “Well, at least this time you won’t rip my panties.”

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

Nostrils flaring, he shoved his shorts to the floor, and it seemed I wasn’t the only one going commando tonight. Titan’s cock—thick, straight, and perfectly veined—bobbed in front of me, and my mouth watered. My thoughts from earlier this week about what it would be like to bring this man to his knees by blowing him within an inch of his life surfaced.

But he was already on me and pushing my legs farther apart to make room for his hips. The head of his cock slipped against my entrance, and he thrust inside.

“Oh my God.” I moaned, unprepared for the invasion.

Tonight made every other time he’d f*cked me seem tame. He pounded me into the desk, thrust after thrust, until I ached, but in the most delicious way possible.

“Beg me for it,” he demanded as my body clamped down on him.

“Screw you, Titan,” I said, covering my clit with my hand and giving myself the extra pressure I needed to send me rocketing over the edge with a silent scream.

He fell forward over me, the motion of his hips slowing until it stopped with his deep groan, and heat filled me.

That was when I realized it.

I slapped his broad shoulder. “You didn’t use a condom, you idiot. What the hell were you thinking?”

Titan pulled away, his nostrils still flaring, but this time with rage. “Don’t call me a f*cking idiot.” He ripped off his T-shirt and threw it at me. “You can clean up with that. And you can find your own way out.” He snatched his shorts off the floor and shoved his legs into them before striding out of the room.

And there I sat, on the desk of the richest man I’d ever met, one who apparently had tried to set me on the right course to achieve my dream, and I felt like a bigger whore than my mother. My stomach twisted until I thought I’d be sick on his fancy carpet.

What the hell had just happened? What the hell had I done? Had I found a chink in Titan’s impenetrable armor?

And what was I going to do now?

I cleaned myself up, thanking heaven that I was on the pill and hoping Titan hadn’t been screwing around with every woman who’d tossed her panties his way. Then I slid off the desk.

As I saw it, I had two choices. I could follow him, or I could leave.





I DOVE INTO THE POOL and began cutting through the water. The rhythmic motion of my strokes could always calm my temper, but not tonight. Tonight I was on the edge. She’d better not follow me. She just needed to leave.

But, goddamn it, she has no way to get home.

I wouldn’t let myself care. I wasn’t a good guy. Besides, Yve was a smart woman. Both street smart and business savvy, she could take care of herself in any situation.

Except with every stroke, the almost faded scars on her body flashed through my mind. They weren’t obvious, and neither she nor I had mentioned them. Hell, she hadn’t even tried to cover them up—a faint slice on her arm, and starbursts on her knuckles where it looked like she’d been in a fight.

For as well as she hid it, she was vulnerable. Just, apparently, like I was.

I knew I should have burned that goddamn desk. I’d spent too many years being called to the carpet in front of it and told what a waste of time, money, and life I was. Idiot was a favorite endearment of my father’s. Dumbass. Moron. Imbecile, if he was already cracking into the vodka. Hearing that word in the vicinity of the desk had thrown me in a way I’d never anticipated. Ever.

I should feel guilt right now for leaving her sitting there with her legs spread and my cum spilling from her body. But I didn’t. I felt shame. Shame for being my father’s son. Shame for being my father’s killer. Shame for wanting a woman who would probably always hate me for no other reason than I was who I was. And how did I deal with that? Give her more reason to hate me by not protecting her.

God, she’d laugh in my face if I told her that it would be fine if she got pregnant. We’d handle it together. And by handle it, I didn’t mean take care of it. A heartless bastard like me wasn’t allowed to want the things that anyone else wanted, and I’d never admit that I did.