 “You drive me insane,” he growled against my throat.  
 “Good,” I gasped. His hands slid up my thighs beneath my skirt, thumbs stroking the inside of my legs with slow, torturous intent. When he pushed my panties aside with one firm stroke and pressed his fingers against my wet heat, I arched into him, helpless.
 “You’re soaked,” he said, voice like gravel. -“Shut up and don’t stop.” He laughed—low, dark, wicked—and sank to his knees on the boardroom floor. The edge of the conference table dug into my back. The city watched through the glass, but I didn’t care. Not when his mouth met my body and he devoured me like a man starved.
 He used his fingers, coated with the liquid of my climax, to grasp my milky-white, taut nipple, repeatedly rubbing and squeezing with a deliberate rhythm that sent electric pulses through my trembling body. “Jordan,” I gasped, my fingers tangled in his thick hair, hips arching instinctively toward his warm mouth. “Louder,” he commanded....

I was done with love—until Jordan made me scream again. Fashion is my life—runways, deadlines, the high of creation. I built my empire on instinct and ambition. Love? That ended the day I caught my boyfriend buried between another woman’s thighs.
I didn’t break down. I ignited.
I swore never again. No more distractions. No more men.

Then Jordan walked into my boardroom and bedroom—and ruined everything. Billionaire. Powerbroker. Sin in a tailored suit. One look, and I forgot every rule I’d ever made. One touch, and I was unraveling.
It started after midnight in the glass conference room, city lights flickering like temptation. The pitch deck lay forgotten as he kissed me—hard, hungry, dominant. His hands found my thighs, pushed my panties aside, and teased until I was begging. I moaned—desperate, unfiltered—as his tongue circled, teased, and plunged. My thighs trembled. My mind shattered.
I came apart on that cold glass table, against all reason, all professionalism, all logic.
And I wanted more.
He wasn’t safe. He wasn’t simple.
But I wanted him anyway.
When he fully slid inside me, heat and pleasure flooding every nerve, a whisper ran through my mind: Would I let myself get hurt again？

Threads of Desire Comments

Louise Mitchell

marina hudson