Page 29 of Betray Me
Jaden’s other hand presses against the small of my back, drawing me closer as we kiss. The monitors reflect the physical contrast of us—his broad, muscular body caging mine in his chair.
I don’t want to do this, but I need to. It’s the only way to make sure he’s on my side—the only way to guarantee my safety.
Slowly, subtly, I begin unbuttoning his shirt.
He catches my hand, pulling back. “Belle, this isn’t a good—”
“Shh,” I whisper, pressing my mouth to his neck. “Let me do this.”
We are dancing a familiar dance—giving him an out, letting him feel noble and virtuous, pretending he’s the one resisting.
It never ceases to amaze me how easily men can lie to themselves.
He hesitates, and I can feel him slipping away from me, rationality overtaking his instincts. I switch gears, using a touch more forcefulness—men with hero complexes don’t always respond well to the shy, damsel-in-distress routine.
“I want you, Jaden.”
His breath catches.
“I want you so badly,” I continue, unbuckling his belt with practiced efficiency. “But I’m scared.”
Just the right combination of innocence and vulnerability to undo him.
He lets out a groan as I run my fingers along the length of him. He’s larger than expected, solid muscle beneath a softer layer of flesh. I kiss his throat, jaw, cheeks, making sure to avoid his mouth. When his body is shuddering, his breathing ragged, I step back.
“Please,” I murmur, playing the role of the seduced.
Predators always respond to weakness.
“I’ll protect you.” His voice is low, thick with desire. “I’ll do what I can to keep you safe.”
“Thank you.”
The words taste bitter, because he’s not doing it for my sake—he’s doing it for his own ego. But that ego also grants me access to the files I need.
Before I fully process what’s happening, Jaden’s body presses against mine, his chest against my back, his hands caressing my hips. There’s a hint of a breeze from the open window above the desk, and I fight the urge to claw away from his touch.
I start kissing his neck, then his ears, then his shoulders. I lean over his desk, just close enough, and he begins pushing up my skirt, fumbling with my underwear. I close my eyes. Taste coffee. Smell cigarettes. Feel my knees slam into the edge of his desk as he presses the tip of his cock against the back of my thigh. I clench my jaw and remember why I’m here.
And then, just as he’s about to push into me, just as I’m preparing for the inevitable invasion, he pulls back.
“Condom,” he mutters. “Hang on.”
From the corner of my eye, I watch him pull his wallet from his pocket and fish out a square foil wrapper. He tears it open with his teeth, his concentration total as he slides the condom over himself. Then, he positions himself once again.
“Ready?” he breathes.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He moans as he enters me, and my chest tightens as I feel him filling me. There’s a brief spike of pain as his hips slam into the bones of my buttocks, digging into the very edge of the desk, but I grit my teeth and try not to think.
But then he starts moving inside me.
Each thrust jars my body, bruising my pelvis against the desk. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, his sweat-slicked hands gripping my waist, and the aching tightness of my jaw as I bite down on my lip. The coppery tang of blood fills my mouth, and I have to force myself to breathe steadily.
Jaden makes muffled groaning noises as he drives himself into me, and even through the thick numbness in my brain, I can hear the rhythmic slapping sound his hips make as they hit my ass. I stare at the floor, my eyes roaming the carpet until I focus on a single particle of dirt. My gaze fixes on it as he slides in and out of me.
He lasts six minutes, which I grudgingly respect. When he finishes, his entire body goes slack, and I slide to the floor. Without looking up, I gather my things and cover myself. My clothes will hide the worst of it, but there’s no hiding the bruises around my hips, the red marks his fingertips left behind.
