Mastered (The Enforcers 1)

Put like that, last night hadn’t been the disaster Evangeline had immediately labeled it, and peace settled over her, pushing away some of the still-vivid and all-too-fresh humiliation cloaking her, even as her friends continued to stare her down looking like they were ready to rip her hair out by the roots if she didn’t further explain the shocking revelation she’d dropped on them as though it had been a live explosive.

“He actually went down on you in his office? On his desk?” Nikki asked in a hushed whisper, evidently having reached the breaking point of her patience and deciding Evangeline was going to have to be interrogated since she still wasn’t forthcoming with all the juicy details her friends craved.

“God, you make it sound so . . . sordid,” Evangeline said with a soft groan. “I feel like I should be in church right now, or at least at confession.”

“Hon, I think one has to be Catholic to go to confession,” Lana said dryly.

“Stop distracting her!” Steph said in a near shriek, her agitation making her even more agitated. “And Vangie, I hate to break it to you, but it was sordid. In a really delicious, oh-my-God, goose-bump-inducing kind of way. I need to sign up for that kind of sordid, because nothing I’ve ever done has even come close to that kind of hedonistic delight.”

Evangeline lifted one eyebrow in surprise. She’d expected . . . She frowned, giving her head a light shake to clear the confusion. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected. Maybe condemnation? Disappointment? Judgment?

But that wasn’t at all what she saw reflected in her friends’ gazes. There was a myriad of responses, almost too many to sort through, but nowhere did she see anything that made her feel ashamed or even sorry for what she’d done. But then she hadn’t done anything. She’d just been a clueless—a completely clueless—participant, if she could actually call her response actual participation. She’d merely allowed him to happen. To take over and control every aspect of the shattering, life-altering sequence of events that had begun as simple, petty payback. There was no blaming shock, being overwhelmed, or even the fact that her senses had been so scattered that she wasn’t even cognizant of what was happening. She knew who was to blame, and it wasn’t Drake. It was her own damn fault for not having the fortitude and daring to put a stop to the entire farce. She didn’t have a brave bone in her body, and last night had only proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Worse, she’d known exactly what he was doing—what he was going to do—and she’d quivered to her bones, shaking violently with suppressed need and longing. He’d awakened a fire that had long lay dormant within her, and God help her, she’d wanted it, craved it and him—with every breath in her body. With wild desperation that still bewildered her, because the wanton woman she hadn’t even known existed had responded with complete abandon to a man she’d known for all of a few minutes. For once in her life she’d given in to spontaneity. Done something completely out of character. Grabbed onto the moment and reveled in every single second of unimaginable pleasure. Like in her most erotic fantasies she’d never shared with anyone. Not even her friends. Because they shamed her, and more than that, they frightened her, because in no way, in any of her wildest fantasies, was she in control of any aspect. She belonged to a man who cherished her, protected her, spoiled her endlessly, but in return he was demanding, ruthless even, with an edge of danger and mystery that clung to him like a second skin, one he wore with the comfort and ease of someone well acquainted with such a lifestyle.

What kind of messed-up person did that make her? She closed her eyes again, refusing to dwell on things better left in the past. If she had her way, she’d never see him again because she sure as hell would never venture into places like Impulse where even the hired help were seen in a more superior, deserving light than she was.

It might make her the biggest coward on earth, but even if she wasn’t scheduled for work that night, there was no way she would be here at seven that evening waiting to be collected like a “possession” and expected to do unimaginable things—even if the thought of those things sent her body up in flames.

She gave a small sigh, ignoring the looks of growing impatience and irritation on her friends’ faces. One taste was all she’d ever allow herself and it would have to be enough. Because Drake Donovan was not a man to be trifled with. He demanded and expected unquestioning obedience. That much was obvious in his demeanor.