Page 52 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
I step forward, closing the distance between us, and press my mouth to his.
For one heartbeat, he doesn't respond, body rigid with surprise. Then his control shatters like glass.
His hands come up to frame my face, fingers threading into my hair, destroying the careful updo. His mouth opens against mine, desperate and consuming, like a man starved finally allowed to feast.
I make a sound low in my throat, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. His tongue slides against mine, tasting of champagne and desire and everything I've missed.
He walks me backward until I hit the wall, body pinned beneath his, the heat of him burning through silk and wool and every defense I've built.
His hands move from my face to my shoulders, down my sides, around to my bare back where the dress dips low.
Skin against skin, the contact sending lightning through my veins. I arch into him, seeking more, memories colliding with present need until I can't separate what was from what is.
He breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down my neck, and I gasp, head falling back against the wall.
His teeth graze my pulse point, the slight pain sending pleasure spiraling through me. I pull at his shirt, needing totouch him, to feel him, to reclaim what I've denied wanting for too long.
"Jakob." His name falls from my lips like surrender.
The sound seems to break something in him. He stills against me, breath ragged against my throat.
For a long moment, neither of us moves, just stands panting in the dim hallway, bodies pressed together, hearts pounding in mismatched rhythm.
Slowly, reluctantly, he pulls back. His hands slide from my skin, coming to rest on the wall on either side of my head. His forehead touches mine, eyes closed as if he can't bear to look at me.
"Not tonight. Not with champagne and your job clouding what this means." His voice drops lower, almost dangerous. "When I take you to bed again, Chanel, you'll know exactly why you're there. And it won't be to appease the partners at RSV.”
The words land crystal clear.
Not a rejection—a promise. Not refusal—restraint.
His eyes open, meeting mine with an intensity that steals my breath. This isn't the careful, controlled Jakob that accompanies me tonight. This is the man beneath the mask—the one who would burn cities to the ground for what he wants.
The one who still wants me.
I step away, needing distance to think clearly. My hands shake as I smooth my dress, as if I can erase the imprint of his touch with the gesture.
"You're right," I say, voice steadier than I feel. "This isn't—we're not?—"
"I know."
Jakob straightens, rebuilding his control piece by careful piece. Becoming again the man who hides his emotions and desires well. Not the one who just kissed me like his life depended on it.
"Goodnight, Jakob."
I turn toward the door, needing to escape before I do something even more foolish. Like ask him to stay. Like admit that tonight felt more real than anything has in four years.
"Goodnight, Chanel." His voice follows me into the room, wrapping around me like a promise I can't afford to believe.
But I want to.
I close the door, leaning against it for a moment. Eyes closed, breathing through the storm in my chest. Then I cross to the bathroom, turning the shower as hot as I can stand. As if water can wash away the memory of his mouth on mine.
His hands on my skin. His body pressed against mine.
The dress slips to the floor in a puddle of black silk, and I step into the steam, letting it envelop me. But even as water pounds against my skin, I can still feel him.
Still taste him. Still want him with an intensity that terrifies me.
