Fighter in Lingerie (Lingerie 14)

“Correction,” he said. “The safest place in the world is by my side.”

I didn’t deny that because it was probably true. “So, where are we, exactly?”

“Two hundred feet below ground.”

“That’s a little scary…what if the elevator shuts down?”

He shrugged. “I’ll let you know when that happens.”

“Why do you have it this way?”

“All my files and data are securely stored. If someone gets on that elevator other than Ronan and me, it’s supposed to crash down to the bottom.”

That was a gruesome death. “I’m sure you’ve thought this through, but if someone really wanted to kill you, couldn’t they just wait until you went down here and then cut the wires in the elevator so you could never get out?”

He kept the same expression, so the suggestion must not have been surprising to him. “No one knows what’s at the bottom of the elevator—except Ronan. No one knows how deep it goes. My men only know what they need to know to do their jobs.”

“How do you keep them so loyal?” They behaved like dogs eager for a treat.

“They’re paid very handsomely. And it’s a relatively safe job, so they know they’ll go home to their families at the end of the day.”

“Safe?” I asked in surprise.

“I’ve been in charge for a decade now. There’ve been no issues. And everyone wants to play for the winning team, especially when I have fifty men working for me at any given time of the day. That’s a lot of support. If there were only a dozen, that would change the game.”

“So you basically have a whole army?”

He nodded. “Yes. That’s a good way to put it.”

I’d never asked him how old he was. He seemed to be my brother’s age, but judging by how grizzled he was, he might be a little older. “How old are you?”

“Seven years older than you.”

“So you know how old I am?”

“I know everything about you,” he said with a smirk. “Everything that’s public record, at least.”

“You’re thirty-two, then.”

“Yes. I’m probably old in your eyes.”

“No.” I liked older men. I always assumed I would settle down with a man around his age. My father always encouraged it, said a man needed to live more life than a woman to understand what he wanted. A man also needed to be older before he had children, because they never seemed to be ready for fatherhood. “How old is your brother?”

“Thirty.”

“You guys look so much alike.”

“I hope you don’t really find him more handsome.” He gave me a lopsided grin, telling me he was joking.

“No.” I smiled back. “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” Once the humiliation hit me like a train, my smile disappeared and I regretted my choice of words. Dumb compliments like that were constantly rolling out of my mouth lately, and I felt stupid every single time. It was obvious he was obsessed with me, but it was becoming more obvious that I was obsessed with him.

His grin disappeared, and he gave me a serious expression, without a hint of gloating. He didn’t smirk in arrogance like he usually did. He took my comment seriously but not with victory. It was difficult to tell if it meant something to him or meant nothing at all. He leaned back against the couch then tapped his thigh, quietly commanding me to move to his lap.

Normally, I would have denied an invitation like that, but he looked so handsome in that moment, his hard jawline chiseled from stone and his shoulders broad. He had muscular thighs that were comfortable to sit on, and his enormous dick was outlined in the front of his slacks, making a bulge so defined, it left very little to the imagination.

I left the comfort of the leather couch and moved to his lap, straddling his narrow hips and letting my center rest against the base of his thick shaft. I leaned forward against his chest, feeling like I was propped against a concrete building. My dress popped up over my ass because it was too short to cover my rear at an angle like this.

He pulled me closer to him until our foreheads were pressed together. He didn’t kiss me, just sat there with me. His fingertips brushed against the soft skin of my cheek and neck, feeling my strands of curled tresses. Sometimes his eyes flicked down to my lips, staring at the red shade I had painted across my mouth. A hint of cigar smoke was on his breath, but I actually liked the smell, probably because it mixed with his cologne and soap. I could still feel how hard he was underneath me, but he didn’t pull down my panties to take me in his office.

He grabbed both of my hips and squeezed them. “I’m madly, deeply, blindly obsessed with you. When our time together ends, it’s gonna be hard for me to let you go. I will because I made you a promise. But trust me, it’s gonna be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”