Free Hostile Takeover by Joey W. Hill Page A

his spine, tugging playfully on his dress shirt, since his coat was hanging up behind his door. Her touch felt good, too good. Ben stepped away, taking Don down the hall and back to reception.
    After he turned him over to Janet, doing a few more minutes of necessary bullshit chitchat, he pivoted on his foot and headed back down the hall. Since he was striding back to his office like a wolf running down a kill, he made himself stop before he hit the corner that would take him into view of his office area. Holding himself there, he took a breath. Thought it through.
    That pause didn’t change anything. He knew what was needed, and wouldn’t turn back from it. Wherever the hell this took them, she’d pushed it too far. Time to give her a taste of what she thought she wanted.
    * * * * *
     
    After executing her Plan B, Marcie had been too wired to sleep, her body needy, hungry, but she didn’t give it the orgasm it was screaming for. She wanted to stay like this, wild, reckless, so she’d have the courage to make some really terrible decisions in judgment in the morning. Like masturbating right there where Don Alexander might have seen. But the look in Ben’s eyes, the flame in those green eyes, had been worth the risk. She’d broken his chain of self-control, she knew it. He’d obviously seen the security footage, because there was an edge to that look, a promise of retribution.
    As she heard his footsteps, she had a moment to be thrilled and terrified at once. She’d pushed him past anything she could control. It gave her a primal urge to bolt, but fortunately he was turning the corner, already too close. Just the smell of his aftershave, the remembrance of the heat of his skin beneath his shirt when she’d stroked him just now, without Don’s knowledge, was enough to weaken her knees.
    She was still standing by her desk, but he didn’t pause. Locking his hand around her wrist, he strode past her, yanking her into step with him. With a little hop and skip, she was with him. He might drag her by her hair if she stumbled.
    He took her to the private restroom at this end of the hall, one that had shower facilities, everything for a man who often worked long hours at the office. He pulled her in there, slammed the door behind them, twisted the locks shut.
    “Ben—” That was all she got out, because in the next blink, he’d shoved her against the wall and slammed his mouth down on hers.
    Oh. Oh. She whimpered in the back of her throat at the strength of his aroused, powerful body against her. His hands were in her hair, yanking out pins so it spilled onto her shoulders. He gripped the strands hard, fusing her mouth to his. His tongue demanded entry, and it made every part of her tight, the way he lashed it against hers, pressing it down, learning her mouth more intimately than she thought was possible.
    His hands stayed on her face, though her body writhed uncontrolled against him, her tight nipples pressed to his chest. She tried to push herself against his hard groin, but he thrust his thigh between her legs so his knee thudded against the wall, flexing muscle pressing against her mound.
    “You fucking slut,” he muttered against her lips. “Hot little cunt.”
    How he could make such awful words sound like an endearment, a caress, she didn’t know, but he did. She was shameless enough to nod, to confirm it. She was a slut, her pussy wet, all for him. Only for him. This was that moment she’d dreamed about, overwhelming, crazy, impossible to control, and she didn’t want any control. She wanted to be chained to him. Collared and belonging to him in every dark, dangerous way that horrified the civilized world.
    If it were hundreds of years ago, and he were a pasha, she’d want to be his slave girl, subject to the sting of his lash. If he was a pirate, she’d be the nobleman’s daughter he kidnapped and corrupted, night after night, turning her into a wanton, willing to do anything. Fight at his side, press