Chapter 61: Its Not Just Transactional
"It’s not just transactional, Ivy. I really, really do want you." He closed the gap by another step, his tall frame casting a shadow over her smaller one. His eyes burned into hers, searching, begging her to believe him.
Her lips parted, ready to protest. "I cannot explain it," he admitted, softer now.
"I barely know anything about you beyond the pieces you let slip. All I know is... you bite your lips when you’re nervous. You stir your tea three times before you sip, but you don’t put milk in it—only in your coffee. And for some reason, you gravitate toward red. Lipstick, a scarf, your shoes, even your damn pens. I’ve noticed."
She swallowed hard, heat crawling up her neck. He’d been watching her. Closely.
"I don’t know anything else, Ivy," he whispered, stepping nearer still, "but I do know this—there’s fire between us. And it’s real. Since the moment I kissed you, I haven’t been in control. My brain stopped working, and my cock—"
he gave a self-deprecating smirk—"took over some of my decisions. And the stupidest part is, I know you want me too."
Her breath came shallow. The nearness of him, the rawness in his confession, the brazen way he admitted his weakness—it tugged at every forbidden corner of her heart.
Ivy’s mouth fell open. "I..."
"I’m not asking you to love me." He had her backed against the wall, his broad frame closing her in. "I am asking you to save me."
His hands lifted and cupped her face. His palms were warm, his thumbs grazing the faintest line of her cheekbones.
Ivy’s brain was still in a haze. Save me? What in the world was she supposed to do with that? Winn Kane, billionaire CEO of House of Kane, a man who owned hotels, luxury condos wanted her. Ivy Morales. A college dropout who lived paycheck to paycheck, drowning in debt collectors’ calls. Her fingers itched with the truth of it.
He was a fire too big for her to hold.
He was right about one thing. She wanted him too. Against all reason, against all logic, against the survival instinct that told her run.
"Am I wrong, Ivy?" Winn’s eyes searched hers. He leaned in, so close that she felt his breath warm her lips. "I know I’m not. You get lost every time you look at my lips." His lips curved into a wicked smile. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed. That tells me everything I need to know. You want me to prove what I can do with it?"
Heat rushed through her body so fast she nearly trembled. Her lips parted, betraying her restraint.
"Mr. Kane..." She stumbled over his name. "We... we need to talk about this."
"Then talk," Winn commanded, as if her hesitation was nothing. His head bent lower, his mouth grazing her skin before she even realized what he was doing. His tongue flicked up the column of her neck, dragging goosebumps in its wake. Ivy shuddered violently, clutching his arm for support.
And then he sucked—right at the base of her ear, where her pulse thundered.
"Jesus Christ," she whispered, eyes squeezing shut, mortified by her own body’s betrayal.
Winn chuckled against her skin, low and infuriatingly satisfied. "Exactly," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "You can’t even pretend, Ivy. You want me. You’ve wanted me since the first day you walked in here. And I’ll be damned if I let you pretend otherwise."
Whatever she was about to say dissolved into thin air, stuck in her throat. "Mr. Kane..." She closed her eyes, clinging to his arm.
Winn’s lips brushed the hollow of her throat, his hands decisive as he undid the first few buttons of her blouse. He pushed the fabric open just enough to expose the lace edge of her bra, and his mouth descended. His kiss landed on the swell of her cleavage, branding her as his.
At the same time, he rolled his hips against her, letting her feel the hard, insistent length of his erection pressing against her stomach.
"I want to fuck you, Ivy. Now." The sheer bluntness of it shot through her.
Ivy’s breath hitched, her body trembling with the rush of sensation. The way he said it made it impossible to deny how much she wanted it too. Still, panic rose sharp in her chest. "Uhhhhh... Mr. Kane..."
She managed to choke the words out, her hands half-pushing at his shoulders, half-clutching his shirt as if she couldn’t decide whether to stop him or pull him closer.
But Winn wasn’t listening anymore. He was a man on a mission, his jaw set with determination that was equal parts carnal hunger and desperate need to prove a point. To him, this was proof.
Proof that the fire between them was undeniable, that marriage wasn’t a cold contract but the natural conclusion of a chemistry that burned hot enough to melt steel.
He turned them in one smooth motion, his strength making her gasp, and lifted her effortlessly onto the desk. The hard wood pressed against the backs of her thighs as her skirt rode up, exposing more skin than she was ready for. His fingers finished their ruthless work on her blouse, undoing every last button until the fabric gaped open.
He peeled it off her shoulders and tossed it aside, leaving her in nothing but her bra.
"Winn—" she tried again, but her voice died when he slipped the straps down her arms and freed her breasts into the cool air. His gaze darkened and she swore she felt herself melt just under the weight of it.
He bent his head, and before she could think, his mouth closed around one aching nipple. The sharp heat of his tongue dragged over her until pleasure spiked so hard she arched off the desk. His free hand cupped her other breast, kneading it before rolling the nipple between his fingers.
"Oh God..." The cry tore from her throat before she could swallow it back. Her legs clenched instinctively around his hips, pulling him closer as if her body had already made the decision her mind was too afraid to voice.