Chapter 5
The Taste of Power
There’s something dangerous about silence.
The kind of silence that follows a man like Julian Lancaster when he enters a room. Controlled. Predatory. As if he’s already decided what he wants, and you’re just waiting for him to make his move.
That was the silence filling his penthouse office as I stood in front of his desk, my legs still weak from what he’d done to me in the elevator just an hour ago.
He leaned back in his leather chair, one hand on the armrest, the other holding a glass of scotch. His jacket was off. Sleeves rolled. Tie loose. And his gaze—God, his gaze—was a promise of destruction.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how his mouth had tasted between my legs. Or how my body still throbbed with the ache of being used so thoroughly, so unapolog
