Raw Redemption (Crossing the Line #4)(61)

“Yes,” she whispered, tossing her head back on the chair. His words were rough, but she was hugely turned on by the image they conjured. Henrik covering her mouth while pumping out his frustration between her splayed legs. Hard. Maybe even enough to make her scream against his palm. “I understand.”

When she attempted to slide her fingers beneath the low waistband of her bottoms, Henrik snagged her wrist. “No,” he grated. “I know you’re angry. I see that.” His gaze strayed to the wet teal triangle covering her private flesh. “But you’re going too far. I’m f*cked up, okay? Knowing you hate me only makes me want to f*ck you more. Fuck you harder. Makes me want to win your body back, right here and now. You’d like that, huh? If I gave you my cock hard enough to bust this chair?”

Unable to draw a decent supply of oxygen, Ailish only nodded.

Henrik released a low string of curses, before crouching down…and leaning in. His mouth hovered above her belly button, releasing hot puffs of air, creating goose bumps on every inch of her damp body. His lips opened, tongue licking out to stroke a devastating circle around her belly button—and the voices in the house grew louder. Closer. Henrik’s body tensed, but neither of them moved. Until footsteps could be heard in the distance, treading over the tile floor of the kitchen, which led out into the pool area.

...

“Shit,” Henrik grated, tearing himself away from the slick temptation of Ailish’s body and rising to his full height. “Put your top back on.”

Thankfully, Ailish didn’t need to be told. She was already replacing the triangles over her breasts and tightening the knot at her nape. It was unfortunate that Henrik couldn’t hide the evidence of their dangerous foreplay quite so easily, however. His cock was solid and ready, shoved up against the zipper of his jeans. God, if the men hadn’t returned from downstairs, would he be f*cking her right now? Out in the open where anyone could see them?

Yeah. He would. Logic was sorely lacking in anything involving Ailish. Even now, when they were seconds from having company in the pool area, he wanted to strip the bathing suit bottoms off of her and get a few thorough licks of her *. Just to get the taste in his mouth. Maybe he could even accomplish it before the men came outside.

You’re a sick man. Yes, he was growing more ill with every passing moment he couldn’t have her. She was the sickness and the elixir.

Henrik closed his eyes and focused on breathing deeply. If anything could loosen the hold of arousal, it was replaying the conversation he’d heard take place among the men inside. Just before coming out to find Ailish. To say they were antagonistic toward their boss’s daughter was an understatement. They resented her for having what they considered a cushy lifestyle and squandering it. Wanting to better herself. She thinks she’s so much better than us, huh? Too good for this life? I’ll show her the only thing she’s good for.

Yeah, that was all it took for rage to filter in. “Get up,” Henrik growled, just as they men stepped outside. The sounds of lighters flickering echoed off the walls, accompanied by small flashes of flame. He saw those flames in Ailish’s eyes, which was pretty appropriate, considering her temper had visibly risen with his command.

“I’ll come in when I’m ready,” she gritted out.

Aware that the men were watching, Henrik gripped her elbow and tugged Ailish onto her feet. “You have work to do.”

He reached behind her to retrieve the towel, holding it out to her, but she refused to take it. Instead, her face transformed with a smirk and she sauntered past him. In nothing but the barely-there bathing suit, she strolled past the group of men, her footfalls the only sound to be heard. Henrik followed closely behind her, giving the group a conspiratorial headshake.

Not that any of them were looking at him.

It didn’t matter that Ailish was playing a part. Flaunting herself in a way that brought men to their proverbial knees, the way she’d once done as daughter of the house. It didn’t matter that he understood why she’d chosen to act out in such a way. No, none of it mattered when men who’d so crudely discussed Ailish’s body before were now all but drooling as she passed. And he wanted to swing his fists until they were in a f*cking pile on the ground.

“Back to work, little girl,” one of them taunted.

Another one leaned close as Ailish passed, entering the house through the sliding glass door. “Make Daddy proud.”

Henrik ground his molars together—hard—shoving his right fist into his jeans pocket so he wouldn’t snap and use it. How much of this could he reasonably take? And this was just another sign that they’d lost respect for their boss. They’d never spoken directly to her before, according to Ailish, meaning there’d been a rapid shift in their behavior. God, he needed to get her out soon. Tomorrow night. Just have to make it to tomorrow night.

Following Ailish down the hallway toward her bedroom, Henrik tried to rein in the jealousy that made his blood boil. Mine. Mine. His brain repeated the word in time with her soft footsteps. A primitive beat played, beginning in the recesses of his chest, booming louder. Louder. When Ailish reached the door, she turned to meet his gaze, her lips parting on an intake of breath, obviously witnessing the results of what took place in his head. Too bad she was still pissed at him. It was there in the stubborn set of her jaw, the jerky way she opened the door.