Page 18 of The Boss
She bit her lip, fighting a moan. The water wasn’t enough to cool her, not with his mouth tracing fire along her throat, not with his hands teasing her mercilessly. She arched against him, betraying herself, giving him the proof he wanted. He gripped her wrist and pressed her palm against the slick tile above her head, forcing her to hold herself open to his exploration. His other hand skimmed down over her belly, resting there as if he owned every breath shetook.
“Say it,” he demanded softly, his voice velvet-wrapped steel. “Say you’re mine.”
“No,” she whispered, even as her body leaned back into his, even as her hips shifted against the hard ridge pressing into her spine.
His growl vibrated through her. His hand slid lower, over her stomach, down to the thin lace clinging to her hips.He stroked once, intentionally, through the fabric, finding her soaked. Her breath shattered. He dragged his fingers back up, then down again, adeliberate torture that left her quaking.
“Your body confesses it,” he rasped. “But I’ll make you scream it.”
He tore the lace aside with a brutal rip. The sound echoed, obscene, final. Then his fingers parted her, slick heat flooding them both. She cried out, leaning against the tile for balance as he stroked her clit with ruthless precision. Not gentle. Not teasing. Relentless. He alternated between slow circles that built her high and sharp thrusts of his fingers that drove her higher still, until she was keening, head thrown back into the spray.
“Leif!” Her voice cracked on hisname.
“That’s it,” he murmured, lips at her throat. “Let me hear you.” He sucked hard at the pulse point under her earlobe, marking her, branding her flesh as thoroughly as fate alreadyhad.
Her thighs shook, her breath coming in sobs, her body helpless under his mastery. He pressed her harder against the wall, his hand moving faster, deeper, until she shattered with a cry, her orgasm ripping through her like the blast they’d escaped outside. The climax seemed to go on forever, every nerve in her body detonating, her vision going white as wave after wave shook her. She trembled against him, spasms wracking her body as his mouth claimed her neck, his teeth marking her, his growl sinking into her bones.
When it was done, when her body slumped limp against the tile, he turned her in his arms. His mouth took hers in a kiss that wasn’t sweet—it was conquest. He devoured her lips, her moans, every ragged breath, until she was nothing but heat and hunger and him. His hands roamed her slick skin, cupping her face,gripping her ass, sliding up her back as though he couldn’t get enough ofher.
He didn’t take her. Not fully. He didn’t need to. He’d already proved what he wanted—that she was his, and the Brand would never let her forgetit.
By the time the water cooled, they were both shaking for different reasons. Leif shut it off, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around her like she belonged to him. She didn’t argue.
He dressed quickly, pulling on fresh slacks and a black shirt, then snapped his fingers for one of his men through the open door. “Get her a set of clothes from her apartment. Floor below.” His tone was flat command. No room for refusal.
Mariah stiffened. He was reaching into her space now, sending his men through her things. She wanted to object, but his hand landed firm on her shoulder, asilent reminder that she wasn’t leaving. Not yet. Maybe notever.
Her pulse stuttered. God help her, she wasn’t sure she wantedto.
Mariah slipped into one of Leif’s crisp white dress shirts paired with a pair of his soft lounge pants, cinched tight at her waist to keep them from sliding. The fabric was oversized on her frame, the sleeves rolled above her elbows, the pants threatening to tangle her feet. Everything smelled faintly of him—heat and spice and power—and wearing it unsettled her almost as much as walking into the room half-naked wouldhave.
Alaric and Magnus arrived minutes later, stepping into the vast living area. Alaric looked composed as always, black suit immaculate, eyes calm but sharp. Magnus was rougher, carrying a storm in with him. His stare cut straight to Mariah withsuspicion coiled in every line of his body. Leif didn’t offer drinks. He didn’t sit. He stood between them and Mariah like awall.
“The meeting was targeted,” Alaric began, voice even. “Timing was exact. Whoever planted the explosives knew the schedule, the entry points, the security rotation. This wasn’t sloppy. It was professional.”
“Inside job,” Magnus cut in, his eyes never leaving Mariah. “Someone who knew exactly when you’d be in that room.”
Mariah’s stomach flipped. She set her shoulders, refusing to shrink. The city glared in through floor-to-ceiling glass, the skyline a blade’s edge. Steam still clung to her skin beneath the borrowed shirt as if the shower hadn’t quite let hergo.
Alaric slid a folder onto the table. “Prelim footage from the mezzanine stairwell. Two minutes of dead camera. Aloop. Whoever did it had access.” His gaze flicked briefly to Leif. “They also knew the fire door on the west service corridor sticks and needs a hip to pop. There’s a scuff where one was forced.”
Magnus’s lip curled. “And she’s standing here, untouched. Like she knew.”
Leif’s voice cut like a blade. “She’d be dead, too, if we hadn’t paused in the hallway.” His eyes never left Magnus. “We both would. Don’t be a fool.”
“That hallway pause was what—thirty seconds?” Magnus asked, all jagged edges. “Funny timing.”
Mariah met his stare. “We were discussing the meeting.” Her voice didn’t shake. “If we hadn’t, we’d be on a slab. You’re welcome.”
A beat. Then Alaric’s mouth ticked, the closest he got to approval. “The blast signature suggests a shaped charge placedat the head table.” He angled one of the photos so the light caught the gray smear of residue. “Directional, designed to rip legs and take out anyone standing nearby when the meeting was called.”
Leif’s jaw worked once, lethal and contained. “Who has the sophistication?”
“Competitors who buy talent,” Alaric said. “Or someone close who knows our patterns. The call to hold the meeting back fifteen minutes saved a dozen lives, since the device was set for the original time. They misjudged our delay.”
“Or someone texted the bomber you were lagging,” Magnus said. “And the bomber didn’t get the message in time.” His attention snapped back to Mariah. “You showed up out of nowhere in a dress everyone remembers and a name no one can verify. How convenient.”
Heat flared in Mariah’s cheeks—anger, not shame. “Try ‘unfortunate,’ if you’re reaching for adjectives. And ‘boring’ if you want my name. Igave the name Mary at the Alabaster because it makes men underestimate me.”
