Page 13 of Bred By the Savage Bidder
"You can't just say things like that," I tell him, and my voice has lost all of its edge now, every inch of it.
"I only say true things. It's more efficient." He stands off the desk, releasing my sleeve without touching my wrist at all. It’s a maddening, deliberate restraint of a man who's decided this has to be mine to take, and the not-touching is louder than any hand would be. "Your father sold you as a thing that stops beinginteresting the moment it's used. He was wrong about your value when he set the price, and he's wrong about this. There's no version of you I could ever lose interest in. I've run the model. It doesn't exist."
He goes back to his side of the room and pulls up his screen as he sits down like he hasn't just rearranged something structural in my chest, and the casualness of it, the sheer infuriating control, is the single most attractive thing I have ever witnessed.
I look down at the Gdansk contract.
I read the same line a fifth time. I get no further than I did the first four.
"Serik."
"Mm."
"I'm not going to be able to work in here today."
He doesn't look up, but I see it, the corner of his mouth, the thing that on another man would be a grin and on him is a whole confession.
"No," he agrees. "I don't imagine you are."
Serik
I watch her from across the ops room, the harbor displayed through the glass behind her like a backdrop she was always meant to stand in. She hasn’t touched the Gdansk contract since I said those words. Her fingers rest on the edge of the page but they don’t move. The pen she retrieved earlier sits beside her now, forgotten. I know exactly what I’ve done to her focus, and the knowledge sits hot in my chest.
"No," I agree. "I do not imagine you are."
She looks up at me then, and the composure she rebuilt after our kiss has cracked wide open. Her cheeks carry a flush that has nothing to do with the cardigan she wears. I stay seated because I promised myself I wouldn’t push. She has to choose this. But my body has other ideas, my blood pooling low as I remember the way she rose into that kiss earlier, fist tight in my shirt like she was claiming something overdue.
"Serik," she says again, softer this time. It’s not a warning anymore. It’s an admission.
I push my chair back slowly. The wheels make a quiet sound against the floor. "Tell me what you need."
She stands too. The movement is decisive, the same way she crossed the room to clean my hand last night. No hesitation once she has made the calculation. She walks around the table toward me, eyes locked on mine.
"I need you to stop talking about what you would do if I were carrying your child. Or I need you to show me."
The words hit me like a breaker against the hull. I reach for her before I can talk myself out of it, one hand sliding to the small of her back, the other cupping the side of her neck. Shecomes to me easily, mouth already tilting up. This kiss isn’t careful like the first one. It’s hungry and savage. Her lips part under mine and I taste the coffee we shared earlier. She presses closer, her body fitting against me in a way that makes every plan I had for the afternoon evaporate.
My hands move down her sides, learning the shape of her curves through the soft wool. She makes a small sound into my mouth when my fingers find the hem of the cardigan and slip beneath it to the T-shirt underneath. Her skin is warm, smooth. I trace the line of her waist and feel her shiver.
"Here?" I ask against her lips, giving her one last out.
"Here." She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. "Right now. In the room where you work. Where I work now too."
That’s all I need. I lift her onto the clear edge of the table, papers scattering under her. She laughs once, low and surprised, then hooks her legs around my hips and draws me in. The sound goes straight to my cock. My tongue slides against hers while my hands push the cardigan off her shoulders. It falls to the table behind her. Her T-shirt follows, tugged up and over her head and thrown to the floor. She isn’t wearing anything underneath it. The sight of her bare tits in the daylight coming through the windows steals my breath.
"Beautiful," I murmur, bending to take one nipple into my mouth. I suck gently at first, then harder when she arches into me with a gasp. Her fingers thread through my hair, holding me there. I switch to the other side, tasting her, learning what makes her breath catch. My free hand slides up her thigh, over the loose trousers she chose this morning. Her hands fumble with the button before she wriggles them down her hips without breaking the kiss. She is already wet when I reach in to find the heat between her legs.
"Serik," she breathes, rocking against my fingers.
I straighten and kiss her again, pulling her panties aside and sliding two fingers inside her while my thumb finds her clit. She is tight, hot, and so responsive that I have to fight not to rush. I stroke her steadily, curling my fingers until her head falls back and she moans my name again. The sound echoes softly in the glass walled room, mixing with the distant hum of the port below us.
I need more. I pull my hand away long enough to strip off her trousers and underwear completely. She helps, lifting her hips, her eyes dark with the same need I feel. She reaches for my belt, her hands steady as she opens my pants and frees me. When her fingers wrap around my cock, I groan and press my forehead to hers.
She strokes me as she guides me closer until I can line up and push inside her slowly, savoring every inch as her body opens for me. Her perfect pussy yields and grips me tight. When I am fully seated, I stay there a moment, letting us both feel it. Then I start to move.
The rhythm builds fast. The table creaks under us. She meets every thrust, nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt. I kiss her neck, her jaw, her mouth, whispering against her skin how good she feels, how right this is. My hand finds her breast again, pinching the nipple lightly while I drive deeper.
She tightens around me, breath coming in sharp pants. "Don't stop. Please."
