His hand slid inside my open trousers before I could form another protest.
Warm, rough fingers slipped under the soaked lace of my panties and found me dripping. The sound Rhys made when he felt how wet I was went straight to my core—low, almost angry, like I’d personally offended him by wanting him this badly.
“Jesus Christ, Elara.” Two thick fingers dragged through my folds, spreading the mess he’d already caused. “You’re soaked. For me. After five years of pretending you wouldn’t drop to your knees if I told you to.”
I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste blood. My hands gripped the edge of the desk behind me so tightly my knuckles ached. I refused to touch him. Touching him would make this real.
He didn’t give me the choice.
Rhys pushed one finger inside me—slow, deliberate, wa
