The silence in the dining room was thick enough to choke on.
The only sounds were the ragged, frantic sawing of Diana's breath and the muffled, distant, and angry voice of Richard bleeding through the walls from his study down the hall.
Ryan's left hand flattened against the center of her back, pinning her spine to the mahogany.
His right hand dropped to the waistband of her tailored trousers.
"Ryan, you can't," Diana choked out, her voice a desperate, terrified whisper. She tried to wriggle her hips away from the table, but his weight anchored her perfectly in place. "He's going to hear. He's right there."
"Then you better keep quiet," Ryan murmured against her neck.
He didn't fumble with the clasp. He popped the button, unzipped the trousers, and shoved the expensive fabric down her thighs in one brutal, efficient motion.
The sheer black lace of her panties followed a second later, tangling around her knees.
