CH 1-10

Summary

🌶️🌶️🌶️She just called him Sir on propose in front of all their colleagues. “Same place. Twenty minutes.” A shiver bolted through me, but he wasn’t done. “And I will make you call me ‘Sir’ again.” A pause. His lips just barely grazing my skin. “But on your knees.” My pulse plunged. His words sent a violent shiver through me. One night. That’s all it was supposed to be. But when Oliver Reginalds, my arrogant, maddeningly irresistible boss, walks back into my office like he owns the place, I know I’m in trouble. We’re forbidden. Off-limits. Yet, every time he looks at me like that, every time he murmurs my name in that deep, commanding voice… resisting him feels impossible. And when secrets, jealousy, and corporate power plays threaten to tear us apart, I have to ask myself— Is he worth the risk? Or will falling for him cost me everything?

Chapter 1

POV: Sabrina

The email had been short, almost dismissive.

Dinner with Mr. Reginalds and the client. 8 PM. Hotel Langston. Don’t be late.

No “congratulations,” no “good luck.” Just another reminder that I worked for a company that valued numbers over people.

And yet, my name being attached to a deal this big meant I was doing something right. This wasn’t just any contract—it was the deal that could secure the company’s stability for the next five years. Winning it would cement my position as a powerhouse in sales. Losing it… wasn’t an option.

Still, none of that explained why my pulse had been hammering against my ribs since I read the email. And it had nothing to do with the client.

Oliver Reginalds.

The man was a legend at headquarters. Cold. Ruthless. A perfectionist to the point of obsession. People either feared him or wanted to impress him. Some, like me, fell into a more dangerous category—I was both intimidated and intrigued.

I’d only seen him in meetings before, a distant figure at the head of the table, always in control. His voice, deep and commanding, could silence a room in seconds. And now, I would be sitting across from him, working side by side to close the most important deal of my career.

I stepped in front of my mirror, smoothing my hands over the sleek black dress I’d chosen for tonight. Professional but sharp. A dress that said I meant business but wouldn’t blend into the background. The fitted fabric hugged my curves just enough to be flattering, stopping mid-thigh, perfectly paired with my black stilettos. My dark hair fell in soft waves past my shoulders, and my blue eyes, lined with a touch of kohl, looked back at me with determination.

I would own this night.

The restaurant was as lavish as expected—dim lighting, polished mahogany, the quiet hum of wealth. And then I saw him.

Oliver Reginalds.

Sitting at the bar, whiskey in hand, dark blond hair slightly tousled, the tailored charcoal suit fitting his powerful frame like a second skin. He looked up as I approached, and our eyes locked.

I felt it. That spark, that awareness that sizzled through my veins.

He didn’t smile. Oliver Reginalds wasn’t the kind of man who smiled. But his gaze traveled over me, slow and assessing, before settling back on my eyes.

“You’re early,” he noted, his voice as smooth as the whiskey in his glass.

“So are you,” I countered.

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering me for the first time. “I like preparation.”

“So do I.”

A flicker of something passed through his brown eyes. Approval? Interest? It was gone too fast to be sure.

“Good,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Then don’t disappoint me.”

And just like that, the game had begun.

Oliver’s gaze didn’t waver, his brown eyes steady and unreadable. He exuded control, the kind of man who expected nothing less than perfection.

“This client isn’t just another deal, Schmidt,” he said, setting his glass down with a deliberate motion. “It’s the future of the company. If we don’t win this, our competitors will. There’s no second chance.”

I tilted my head, barely suppressing a smirk. “I’m aware.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Are you?”

A flicker of irritation flared in my chest. He thought I’d walked into this blind? That I hadn’t spent the past two weeks dissecting every piece of information available on our client? I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice just enough that only he could hear me over the quiet hum of the restaurant.

“Franklin Wexler, CEO of Wexler Developments,” I murmured. “Old money, but he likes to act like he built his empire from scratch. Divorced three times, currently engaged to a woman twenty years younger. Loves exclusivity, hates restrictions. Collects expensive wine but prefers whiskey. Has a soft spot for people who treat him like a genius but can see through blatant flattery. And…” I let a small smile play at my lips. “He enjoys doing business over a long, boozy dinner.”

Oliver’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his posture. A fraction of a second where his body stilled, as if I’d surprised him.

Then he leaned back in his chair, his gaze running over me once again, slower this time.

“Interesting,” he said, voice unreadable.

I arched a brow. “What is?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were just good at numbers or if you actually understood people.” He studied me like I was an equation he hadn’t quite solved yet. “Turns out, it’s both.”

That should have felt like a win. Instead, it sent heat curling low in my stomach.

“Try to keep up, Reginalds,” I murmured just as a host approached our table.

“Mr. Reginalds, Ms. Schmidt,” the man said with a polished smile. “Mr. Wexler has arrived.”

I smoothed my hands over my dress and stood, my pulse steady despite the anticipation coiling inside me.

Oliver rose as well, his presence commanding, his suit sharp, his body solid and imposing next to mine. He didn’t say another word, but as we stepped toward the approaching client, I felt him beside me—too close, too intense.

And I felt the way my body reacted to him.

Wexler was exactly what I expected—expensive watch, the scent of cigars lingering on his suit, a booming voice that carried across the restaurant. He shook Oliver’s hand with firm confidence, then turned to me, his sharp blue eyes appraising.

“And you must be the Schmidt I’ve heard about,” he said, taking my hand in a firm grip. “Breaking records, are you?”

I smiled, the kind of smile that invited trust but didn’t beg for approval. “I like to keep things interesting.”

He laughed, and just like that, I knew I had him.

Oliver led the conversation at first, his approach direct, methodical, every word calculated. It was impressive, the way he commanded a room with nothing but his tone. But Wexler wasn’t responding the way Oliver wanted.

His answers were clipped, his attention drifting. He liked power, but he didn’t like being dictated to.

So I shifted the approach.

Leaned in a little closer. Let my tone soften, more conversational. Asked about his latest real estate venture, played into his love for exclusivity. Oliver shot me a glance, but he didn’t interrupt.

And then, just as I predicted, Wexler ordered drinks.

Whiskey for him, scotch for Oliver, a dirty martini for me.

Then another round.

Then champagne.

The conversation flowed, business interwoven with personal anecdotes, laughter blending with the rich scent of alcohol. My skin felt warm, my pulse a steady thrum.

And then, beneath the table, I felt it.

A brush of fabric. The slightest pressure against my thigh.

Oliver.

I didn’t move, didn’t look at him, but awareness flooded my body, my breath hitching. It could have been an accident.

But I knew better.

When I finally dared to glance at him, his brown eyes met mine, dark and steady.

And I knew this night was far from over.

Chapter 2

POV: Sabrina

The alcohol had done its job.

Wexler, now thoroughly relaxed, leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, swirling the last of his whiskey in his glass. His posture had shifted from sharp businessman to indulgent dealmaker, his gaze flicking lazily between me and Oliver.

“You two make a damn good team,” he mused, tapping a finger against the rim of his glass. “Sharp. Different styles, but somehow it works.”

I felt Oliver’s gaze on me, heavy, unreadable. My skin burned where his thigh had brushed against mine earlier, my body still humming with the aftershock of that brief contact.

“I don’t work with just anyone,” Oliver said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his drink.

His voice was casual, but something about the way he said it made my breath catch.

I shouldn’t have looked at him. But I did.

And the second our eyes locked, the rest of the room faded into background noise.

The way he held my gaze—like he was daring me to break first, to pretend I didn’t feel the same magnetic pull tightening between us—was unbearable.

I forced myself to exhale, turning my attention back to Wexler, who seemed thoroughly amused by our dynamic.

He set his glass down with a smirk. “Tell you what,” he said, voice slightly slurred from the whiskey. “I like you both. You play the game well. This deal? I’ll think it over.”

I leaned in slightly, giving him the smallest tilt of my head. “And what would make you say yes, Mr. Wexler?”

His grin widened. “Another drink.”

Oliver didn’t hesitate. He gestured to the waiter, ordering another round without taking his eyes off Wexler.

The alcohol flowed.

Laughter mixed with negotiations, numbers blending with anecdotes. Wexler liked to talk, and I let him, steering the conversation just enough to keep it in our favor.

And through it all, Oliver watched me.

Not just in passing glances, but full, undivided attention. The kind that burned through fabric, that made my skin too hot, my pulse too unsteady.

By the time Wexler’s words began slurring together, his head nodding slightly between sips, I knew we had him.

And Oliver knew it too.

He leaned toward me, just enough that his lips were dangerously close to my ear.

“You handled him well,” he murmured, his voice like smoke and heat.

I turned my head slightly, my breath catching at the proximity. His scent—woodsy, expensive, unmistakably him—wrapped around me.

“I always do,” I whispered back.

His gaze dropped to my lips for half a second. My stomach tightened.

The moment Wexler’s head dipped forward slightly, his snore breaking through the low hum of the restaurant, Oliver and I exchanged a look.

It was now or never.

I reached into my bag, pulling out the pre-prepared agreement—nothing official, just a simple document outlining the terms we had discussed. Something he could sign now, in his whiskey-induced satisfaction, before he had the chance to second-guess in the sober light of morning.

Oliver slid it across the table smoothly. “Just a signature,” he said, voice low, persuasive. “A formality.”

Wexler blinked blearily at the page, then at me. His lips curled into a lopsided grin. “You two really don’t give up, huh?”

I smiled back. “Good business is about timing.”

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head as he reached for the pen Oliver had already placed in front of him.

A quick, scrawled signature.

Done.

The deal was ours.

And then Wexler let out a loud snore.

I blinked.

Oliver exhaled a quiet laugh. “Impressive.”

I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “Whiskey does wonders.”

I exhaled slowly, my pulse still racing, but for an entirely different reason now. I felt Oliver’s presence next to me, his quiet intensity seeping into my skin.

“Well done,” he murmured.

I turned to him, expecting the usual detached professionalism. Instead, I found his brown eyes locked onto mine with something else. Something deeper.

Then, almost as if it pained him to admit it, he added, “I don’t compliment people.”

I swallowed.

The words settled in my chest, heavier than they should have been.

A man like Oliver Reginalds didn’t praise unless it was earned. And even then, it was rare.

I tilted my head slightly, my voice softer now. “You were too commanding.”

Oliver’s brow lifted slightly. “Excuse me?”

“Too much power. Too much control.” I tapped my nails lightly against the table. “Wexler needed to feel like he was the one running the game. He needed someone to reflect that power back at him, not take it away.”

Oliver studied me, silent for a beat. Then—

A slow, deliberate smirk.

“So,” he said, his voice quieter, richer, dripping with amusement, “am I commanding, Sabrina?”

My breath caught.

His gaze didn’t waver, his meaning unmistakable. He wasn’t just asking about tonight. He was teasing, provoking, testing.

Power. Control.

Heat curled low in my stomach, spreading, tightening.

I couldn’t answer. Not with words. Not with the way my body reacted to him.

For a second, the world stilled. The tension between us thickened, crackling like a live wire. The memory of his thigh against mine, the way his eyes had lingered, the heat in his voice—

It was too much.

He stood, pulling out his wallet, tossing enough bills on the table to cover everything. “Let’s get him a car,” he said, all business again. “And then—”

He hesitated. Just a beat. Just enough for me to know exactly what was running through his mind.

And for the first time all night, I let myself acknowledge the fire in my own veins.

“And then?” I prompted.

Oliver’s jaw tightened. His brown eyes darkened.

“Come with me,” he said, holding out a hand.

It wasn’t a question.

And I didn’t hesitate.

The moment I slipped my hand into his, the air changed.

Oliver’s grip was firm, warm—possessive in a way that sent a slow pulse of heat through my entire body. He didn’t look at me, didn’t need to. The second we stepped away from the table, his presence wrapped around me like something heavy, unshakable.

Every step through the dimly lit restaurant was slow, deliberate, the weight of what we were about to do pressing into every second.

I was hyper-aware of everything.

The quiet click of my heels against the marble floor.

The way Oliver’s thumb brushed against the inside of my wrist, almost absentmindedly.

The way his body hovered just a little too close to mine, his heat bleeding into my skin.

I should have said something.

I should have broken the silence, cracked a joke, done anything to cut through the unbearable tension.

But I couldn’t.

Not when the anticipation was already coiling in my stomach, tight and sharp, making every breath feel shallow.

We reached the elevator, and Oliver pressed the button without a word.

I swallowed hard, staring at the closed doors, pretending like my entire body wasn’t on fire from just being near him.

Then I felt it—his fingertips skimming along the curve of my hip, so light I could have imagined it.

I turned my head slightly, barely daring to breathe. “Oliver—”

The elevator chimed.

The doors slid open.

And then we were alone.

The second the doors shut, everything snapped.

Oliver moved first.

His hands were on me before I could think, gripping my waist, pulling me back against him so hard I gasped.

Chapter 3

POV: Sabrina

Then his mouth was on mine, urgent, demanding—all of the restraint unraveling in a single, consuming kiss.

I barely had time to react before my back hit the mirrored wall, his body pressing into me, caging me in.

Heat exploded through my veins.

I moaned into his mouth, my hands flying to his shoulders, then his hair, gripping, pulling, needing more.

Oliver groaned, deep and low, one hand sliding up my thigh, pushing my dress higher, fingers pressing into my skin like he wanted to mark me.

“Sabrina,” he rasped against my lips, his voice thick with need. “You have no idea—”

The elevator stopped.

A chime. The doors slid open.

I jolted, breathless, dizzy, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Oliver didn’t move.

His forehead rested against mine, his breathing ragged, his hands still gripping my waist like he was barely restraining himself.

The hallway was empty. Silent.

I swallowed hard, my entire body thrumming with frustration, with want.

Oliver exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against my hips. Then, without a word, he grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall.

The second the door clicked shut behind us, it was over.

Oliver spun me around so fast I barely had time to react before his mouth crashed into mine again.

This time, there was no restraint.

No hesitation.

Just pure, unfiltered need.

His hands were everywhere—tangling in my hair, sliding down my back, gripping my thighs as he lifted me effortlessly, pressing me against the door.

I gasped, wrapping my legs around him, feeling the solid heat of his body between mine, the sheer power in the way he held me like I weighed nothing.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his lips trailing down my jaw, his breath hot against my skin.

I shivered, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “I do.”

He groaned, his teeth grazing my neck, sending sparks straight to my core. “Say it again.”

I tilted my head back, completely at his mercy. “I want this.”

Oliver cursed under his breath, then carried me to the bed.

And after that, there was no turning back.

The moment Oliver laid me down on the bed, his body hovering over mine, my mind was nothing but static—pure, electric sensation.

His hands burned a path across my skin, fingers gripping, exploring, claiming. His weight between my legs, the sharp scent of his cologne, the way his breath came just a little too fast—it was all making me dizzy with need.

And finally, finally, I could really look at him.

That monument of a man.

I’d imagined him, wondered about him—his body, his presence—but nothing had prepared me for this. The sharp angles of his jaw, the intensity in those brown eyes that held me captive. The way his shirt stretched across his sculpted chest, the sheer strength in his arms, the raw power in the way he moved.

His gaze raked over me, hot and possessive, his pupils blown wide with lust.

I reached for his tie, my fingers shaky, and pulled it loose. He let me, watching me carefully, like he was memorizing every single move.

Then he made quick work of his buttons, but instead of finishing, he yanked his shirt over his head in one swift motion.

And God, he was carved like a fucking masterpiece.

My breath hitched as I took in every ridge, every defined muscle, the way his skin stretched over his strength like he was built to destroy.

His smirk was pure arrogance. “Like what you see?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

His focus shifted back to me, and his hands were on me again—firm, demanding, sliding over my thighs, gripping, teasing. Then, with a single movement, he rolled me onto my stomach, my chest pressing into the soft sheets, my ass raised for him.

A low groan rumbled in his chest.

He took his time, his fingers trailing down the zipper of my dress, slowly peeling it open, his lips following the path, warm breath ghosting over my skin.

“You’re too good at this,” I whispered, my voice breathless.

He chuckled against my back, his lips grazing my spine. “I’ve thought about this too many times, Schmidt.”

His words sent a violent shiver through me.

I lifted my hips, helping him slide the dress down, and when it pooled at my knees, his lips trailed lower, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to my ass.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

Then, just as effortlessly, he rolled me onto my back again, his body caging mine. He ran his knuckles down my side, his eyes dark and hungry.

“Fuck,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I imagined you, but this? This is even better.”

His mouth was on me then, pressing hot, lingering kisses down my stomach, his hands sliding under my bra before unclasping it with a single flick.

Then his lips were on my nipple, teasing, flicking, his tongue dragging over the sensitive skin until I gasped.

I barely had time to react before his fingers pressed between my legs, tracing the thin lace of my panties, sending jolts of pleasure up my spine.

I let out a breathless whimper.

He chuckled darkly. “Already so responsive…”

I was barely holding on, gripping his shoulders, my body arching into him, but he didn’t let up. He was relentless, fingers teasing, lips marking a path over my body.

Then, in one slow movement, he hooked his fingers under the lace and slid my panties down.

He tossed them over his shoulder with a smirk. “This, I was kind of expecting.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering as he gripped my thighs, spreading them apart, his gaze locked on mine.

His voice dropped, deep and commanding. “Now, you’re going to be a good girl and come for me.”

A violent shiver rolled through me.

I gave orders every day at work. I was used to control.

But his orders?

I wanted to obey.

His mouth was on me before I could even process the thought.

I gasped, my back arching off the bed as his tongue flicked over my clit, slow, torturous strokes that had me trembling.

His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open, keeping me still as he worked me up with deliberate precision.

I moaned, my hands tangling in his dark blond hair, tugging, my body desperate for more.

Then, his fingers slid inside me—one, then another—stretching me, curling deep.

My breath hitched. “Oliver—”

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing the inside of my thigh before he sucked hard on my clit.

I shattered.

A sharp cry tore from my throat as the orgasm slammed through me, my body convulsing under his mouth, pleasure crashing over me in dizzying waves.

I barely had time to catch my breath before he was on top of me again, his lips ghosting over mine, his eyes dark with hunger.

I could taste myself on his tongue when he kissed me—deep, possessive, stealing what little sanity I had left.

My hands roamed over his shoulders, his chest, his abs, then lower.

I reached for his belt, unbuckling it with slow precision.

He exhaled sharply, his gaze burning into me as I shoved his pants down.

I rolled him onto his back, straddling him, and when I finally saw his length, my stomach clenched.

He was big.

A flicker of hesitation crossed my mind, but I ignored it, wrapping my fingers around him, stroking slowly, savoring the way his jaw clenched, the way his hips jerked involuntarily.

“Fuck, Sabrina…” His voice was strained, his fingers tangling in my hair as I lowered myself, my lips brushing over his tip before taking him into my mouth.

His groan was raw, almost primal.

I moved slowly at first, then faster, hollowing my cheeks, taking him as deep as I could. He was too much to fit, but I pushed my limits, loving the way his grip tightened in my hair, the way his breath turned ragged.

His control was slipping.

I smiled around him, taking him deeper, feeling the power shift.

His breathing turned harsh, his muscles tensed beneath me, and then—

“Enough.”

He yanked me up, his hands gripping my hips, flipping me onto my back again.

His body covered mine, his eyes wild. “I need to feel you. Now.”

His length pressed against my entrance, teasing, stretching me inch by inch until he was fully inside me.

I gasped, my nails digging into his back as he held himself still for a moment, his breathing uneven.

“You’re as tight as I imagined, Schmidt.” His voice was rough, strained, and then he started moving.

Slow, deep thrusts that sent fire curling through my veins.

I moved with him, meeting his rhythm, chasing my pleasure, gripping his shoulders as he pushed me higher and higher—

Then he pulled out.

“On all fours,” he ordered, voice dark.

I obeyed. Instantly.

A sharp inhale, and then he was inside me again, deeper, harder, the angle making me cry out.

One of his hands gripped my throat, the other slid between my legs.

“Now,” he growled in my ear. “Come again for me.”

His fingers stroked, his thrusts deepened, and just like that, I shattered again, my body tightening around him, taking him with me.

He groaned, burying himself deep, his release hitting hard, his body shaking against mine.

I wasn’t a virgin.

But this—this kind of sex? This kind of need?

I’d never experienced anything like it.

And as we collapsed into a tangled mess of limbs, only one thought crossed my mind.

I was already addicted.

Chapter 4

POV: Sabrina

The first thing I noticed was warmth. The kind that made me sink deeper into the sheets, into the muscled chest beneath me. My leg was thrown over him, my arm draped across his torso, and his hand rested possessively on my waist. Protective. Claiming. I barely opened my eyes, just breathing him in. His scent—woodsy, clean, expensive—still clung to my skin, mixed with the remnants of last night’s sweat and sex.

God. Last night.

A slow, satisfied ache pulsed deep inside me, a physical reminder of everything we had done. I sighed, stretching just slightly, reveling in the soreness, in the way my body still tingled from him. My fingers lightly traced the ridges of his abs, and I felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

For a split second, I let myself believe this moment was real. That I wasn’t in some cold hotel room. That this wasn’t Oliver Reginalds. That I wasn’t wrapped around a man who was never meant to be mine.

But then I opened my eyes.

And I was alone.

The warmth was just the ghost of him, fading fast. The spot beside me was empty, the sheets smoothed over. No sign of him.

I sat up too quickly, the weight of the night before crashing down on me. My head was hazy, my body still thrumming from him, and my mind was racing to catch up. I scanned the room. No suit jacket draped over a chair. No leather wallet on the nightstand.

No Oliver.

He wasn’t here.

And it wasn’t just that he left. He was gone.

I pushed the sheets off, standing up as if that would somehow change things. My dress from last night was crumpled on the floor. My heels were near the door. But every trace of him had been wiped clean.

My stomach twisted. Maybe he was just grabbing coffee? Maybe he had an early morning call?

But then my gaze landed on my phone. I checked and found an unread email. I picked it up, still feeling the weight of last night on my skin, and read the words staring back at me.

Company Policy Update: Workplace Relationships Prohibited

My breath caught.

It felt like a slap. A message disguised as professionalism.

I swallowed hard, reading the details. Effective immediately, all employees were strictly forbidden from engaging in any personal or romantic relationships within the company. The consequences? Severe. Termination-level severe.

My chest tightened.

He did this.

This was his way of making sure I understood—last night was a mistake.

I squeezed my phone, my jaw clenching as I took a slow, steady breath. What the hell had I expected? That Oliver Reginalds, the man who never let anyone close, would suddenly change for me? That he would wake up and—what? Ask me to stay?

Stupid, Sabrina.

I stared at the email again, and something in me hardened. Fine. I could play this game too.

I yanked my dress on, ignoring the way my body protested, the way my skin still burned from his touch. He had already paid for the room, for everything, so there was nothing left for me to do but walk away.

And I did.

I walked out of that hotel like last night had never happened.

Like Oliver Reginalds had never touched me.

Like he had never made me come undone over and over again, only to vanish before sunrise.

The office was already buzzing by the time I arrived, but I barely noticed. I had changed into a crisp white blouse and a high-waisted black skirt, heels clicking against the polished floors as I made my way inside.

John was the first to spot me, his sharp eyes scanning my face. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the woman of the hour.” He smirked. “So, was the client a nightmare or did you work your magic?”

I forced a small smile, walking toward my desk. “We got him.”

Violet clapped her hands together. “Yes! I knew it. That’s why you’re the best, boss lady.” Then, lowering her voice, “And? How was the view?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Because if I had to sit across from Oliver Reginalds for an entire dinner, I don’t think I’d be able to focus on work.”

John sighed dramatically. “Ugh. Facts. The man is sinful in a suit. If only he weren’t such a heartless robot.”

I laughed lightly, but my chest felt tight.

If only they knew.

If only they knew what it felt like to have him whisper my last name like a demand. To feel his hands gripping my hips, his mouth on my skin, his body pressed against mine, inside mine.

But they never would.

Because it didn’t matter.

I set my bag down, taking a deep breath. “Actually, speaking of work—” I grabbed my phone and pulled up the company email, “—new policy just came in.” I scrolled to the section and read it aloud. “Effective immediately, workplace relationships are strictly prohibited.”

John groaned. “Ugh, they’re no fun.”

Violet pouted. “So no scandalous office affairs?”

I smiled. “Not unless you want to be fired.”

They both made exaggerated gasping sounds, and I shook my head, pretending to be as amused as they were. But deep down, I knew the truth.

This wasn’t just a policy change.

This was Oliver Reginalds making damn sure I knew exactly where I stood

One month.

It had been one month since that night. Since Oliver Reginalds disappeared before sunrise and left nothing behind but an email banning office relationships. Since I convinced myself that it was just sex and nothing more.

I had spent the past month drowning myself in work, closing deals, keeping my team on track, and making sure no one—especially not me—thought about him.

And it had been working.

Until today.

An email notification popped up on my screen, and I clicked it absentmindedly, skimming the first few lines. Then my heart stopped.

Upcoming Training Program

The leadership team has scheduled a week-long, in-person training for your department, to be led by Senior Director Oliver Reginalds.

My pulse roared in my ears.

No.

No, this wasn’t happening.

I read it again. And again. And yet the words didn’t change. Oliver. Here. For an entire week.

I forced myself to breathe. This was fine. It was just work. I had spent the last month proving I could act normal, that I had moved on, that nothing—nothing—had changed.

I could do this.

Right?

The day of the training, I made sure everything was perfect. The conference room was set up, the materials were organized, and my team was prepped. I told myself this was just another day, another meeting. That I hadn’t spent the entire morning fighting off the memory of his hands on my skin, his voice in my ear, his body over mine.

But my body knew the truth.

It had been on edge since I woke up, restless, anxious, needy.

John was the first to notice. “Boss lady, you okay?” he asked, leaning against my desk with his usual smirk. “You look a little… tense.”

Violet sipped her coffee. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve seen you blink in the last five minutes.”

I forced a breath and smiled. “I’m fine. Just want everything to go smoothly.”

John stretched his arms behind his head. “I still can’t believe he’s leading this thing. Our very own terrifying, broody corporate overlord.”

Violet giggled. “The sexy, terrifying, broody corporate overlord.”

John sighed dramatically. “Yes, yes, he’s hot. But have you ever seen him smile? I feel like his face might crack.”

I forced a laugh. “Let’s just focus on the training, okay?”

John narrowed his eyes. “Why do I feel like you’re extra stressed about this?”

Before I could respond, the doors to the conference room swung open.

And there he was.

Oliver Reginalds.

Tall, commanding, utterly composed in his dark tailored suit. His brown eyes scanned the room, and for a second—one second—they locked onto mine.

Everything inside me clenched.

Because I knew that look.

It was the same look he gave me the night he spread my legs and told me to be a good girl for him. The look that made my entire body burn.

I forced myself to breathe.

To act normal.

He strode in like he owned the room, nodding politely at the team. “Good morning.”

A collective shiver ran through the group. Even John, who liked to pretend he was immune, shifted uncomfortably.

I straightened, clearing my throat. “Mr. Reginalds, welcome. We’re ready to begin whenever you are.”

His lips twitched—almost a smirk. “Good.”

Then he walked past me, his arm barely brushing against mine. But the contact sent a jolt through me so strong, I nearly stepped back.

I hated my body for reacting.

Hated that I still felt him everywhere.

But worst of all?

I hated the way his fingers lingered just slightly longer than they needed to.

Like he remembered too.

Chapter 5

POV: Sabrina

For the next hour, Oliver spoke about leadership strategies, team dynamics, efficiency models—whatever corporate bullshit the company wanted us to absorb.

But I barely heard a word.

Because every time I tried to focus, he would glance at me. Subtle. Controlled. But intentional.

Like he was testing me.

Like he was daring me to crack.

And my body? My traitorous body reacted every time.

The worst part was that he knew.

Because every now and then, when no one else was looking, his lips would curve ever so slightly—that arrogant, teasing, devastating almost-smirk.

And I wanted to slap him.

Or kiss him.

Or both.

By the time the first break rolled around, I was ready to scream.

Violet stretched. “Whew. He’s intense.”

John groaned. “I feel like I just sat through an interrogation. Why does he talk like he’s about to fire us all?”

Violet snorted. “I don’t know, but honestly, I’d still let him ruin me.”

I choked on my water.

John pointed at me. “See? Even Sabrina is scandalized.”

I wiped my mouth, composing myself. “Can we focus, please?”

John sighed. “Fine, fine. But honestly, boss, you’ve been weirdly quiet. I expected you to go toe-to-toe with him.”

Violet nodded. “Yeah, you usually don’t let any man tell you what to do.” She smirked. “But I guess Oliver Reginalds is the exception.”

I forced a calm smile. “I take my job seriously. That’s all.”

John narrowed his eyes, but before he could press further, Oliver’s voice cut through the room.

“Let’s resume.”

I turned.

And my breath caught.

Because he was watching me.

Not the team. Me.

Like he had been waiting.

And I knew, in that moment, that this week was going to destroy me.

The tension was unbearable.

It stretched between us like a live wire, crackling, dangerous, ready to snap at any moment.

For the rest of the training, I could barely think. Oliver’s presence was all over me—his glances, the way he watched me when he thought no one else was looking. Every time I moved, I felt his eyes tracing me, every time I spoke, his focus sharpened, like he was feeling my words rather than hearing them.

And I hated how much it affected me.

Hated how my skin prickled under his gaze, how my body remembered the way he had touched me.

The way he had owned me.

By the time the session ended, I needed air.

“Finally,” John groaned, stretching. “I thought that would never end.”

Violet smirked, nudging me. “I don’t know, I think Sabrina was enjoying it.”

I shot her a look. “Excuse me?”

John grinned. “Oh, come on, boss. You think we didn’t see that?”

I grabbed my things, forcing a casual shrug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Violet scoffed. “Oh, please. The glances? The tension? If that wasn’t unresolved something, I’ll quit my job right now.”

I rolled my eyes, heading toward the door. “You’re both ridiculous.”

John and Violet exchanged a knowing look, but they let it drop.

We stepped out into the hall, and just as I was about to make my escape, a deep, commanding voice cut through the air.

“Schmidt.”

I froze.

John and Violet turned slowly, like they had just witnessed a murder.

Oliver stood near the doorway, arms crossed, his brown eyes locked onto mine with an unreadable expression.

“I need a word,” he said.

Silence.

Then John hissed under his breath. “Ohhh, you’re so screwed.”

Violet bit back a laugh. “Or about to be.”

I shot them both a glare before turning back to Oliver, schooling my face into perfect neutrality. “Of course.”

I followed him back into the conference room, ignoring the heat coiling in my stomach. This is just work. Nothing more.

But as soon as the door clicked shut behind me, I knew I was lying to myself.

Because we were alone.

Because the air between us was charged, thick with something dark and dangerous.

And because Oliver Reginalds was looking at me like he was starving.

I straightened my shoulders, keeping my voice cool. “Thank you for the training today. It was very insightful.”

He said nothing.

Just watched me.

I swallowed, gripping my notebook. “If that was all—”

“No.” His voice was low, sharp. Unsteady. “That’s not why I called you back.”

Something flickered in his gaze—frustration, hunger, something else I couldn’t name.

Then he exhaled sharply. “What happened last time… it can’t happen again.”

A cold, sharp blade twisted in my chest.

I forced out a laugh. “I know. You made that very clear when you sent that email.”

His brows pulled together. “What?”

I folded my arms, feigning indifference. “The company-wide email? Forbidding workplace relationships? That was pretty obvious.”

For a second, he just stared at me.

Then, slowly, he stepped closer. “You think I sent that email?”

I blinked. “Didn’t you?”

His jaw tightened. “No, Sabrina.” His voice dropped, and there was something dangerous in it. “I didn’t send it.”

I opened my mouth—then closed it.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away for a moment before exhaling. “I saw the email.” He looked back at me, eyes burning. “And then I left.”

His words hit me like a slap.

I wasn’t prepared for that.

I had spent an entire month convincing myself that he’d walked away because he didn’t want this. That he’d thrown up that company-wide rule as a way of cutting me off.

But that wasn’t what happened at all.

I swallowed hard. “You—”

“I left to protect your job,” he said, voice tight.

My breath caught.

And then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he stepped even closer. Close enough that I could feel his heat, smell his cologne—the exact same one that had been all over me that night.

“I thought…” His voice was barely a murmur now, low and rough, meant only for me. “I thought I could see you and not want to fuck you right here in this meeting room.”

His eyes dropped to my lips.

His breath brushed my cheek.

My entire body lit up.

“But it’s stronger than me,” he whispered.

A slow, wicked smile curved my lips. Two could play this game.

I tilted my head, deliberately running my fingers along the hem of my skirt. “So what you’re saying, Mr. Reginalds…” I met his eyes, my voice dripping with provocation. “Is that you have no self-control?”

His jaw flexed.

Then—suddenly—he moved.

Fast.

One hand braced on the wall beside my head, the other ghosting down my arm, his touch barely there, but enough to make my breath stutter.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Because if I moved—if he moved—we would cross a line neither of us could undo.

His gaze darkened. “You’re playing with fire, Schmidt.”

I smiled. “Good thing I never get burned.”

His lips parted—almost a groan. His hand twitched like he wanted to grab me. Pull me in. Destroy me.

Then—just as quickly—he took a sharp step back.

I sucked in a breath.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a card, and flipped it between his fingers. Slowly, deliberately, he turned it over, showing me the back.

A hotel room number.

He held it out, his eyes locked onto mine. “Meet me there in 20.”

Silence.

Thick. Charged.

Then, before I could even think of responding, he turned and walked out, leaving me standing there, heart pounding, legs weak, skin burning.

I stared at the card in my hands.

20 minutes.

I knew this was dangerous. I knew this was reckless.

But as I stood there, pulse racing, heat curling in my stomach, there was only one thing I could think.

I wasn’t going to be late.

Chapter 6

POV: Sabrina

I wasn’t going to be late.

But I also wasn’t ready.

The anticipation coiled in my stomach, thick and intoxicating, making my fingers tremble as I hailed a cab. I couldn’t think—didn’t want to think—because if I let my brain catch up with my body, I might stop myself.

And I didn’t want to stop.

I needed to see him.

The ride to the hotel felt both too fast and too slow. My heart was pounding by the time I stepped into the lobby, my heels clicking against the polished marble floors.

I exhaled, steeling myself as I headed for the elevators.

Then I stepped inside—and my breath caught.

It was the same elevator.

The one where we had completely lost ourselves. The one where his hands had been all over me, where his mouth had stolen my breath, where I had let him consume me.

The memory crashed over me like a wave—his scent, his heat, the way his fingers had tangled in my hair as he pressed me against the wall—

I swallowed hard, gripping the railing as the elevator doors slid shut.

Focus, Sabrina.

The numbers ticked higher. My pulse thundered louder.

And then, finally, I reached his floor.

I stepped out, my heels sinking into the plush carpet, my heartbeat hammering with every step toward his door.

This is a mistake.

But it was a mistake I was going to make anyway.

I raised my hand and knocked.

The door swung open almost instantly, like he’d been waiting right there, just as eager, just as desperate.

And God, he was a sight to behold.

No tie. The first few buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the firm cut of his chest, the skin I had kissed. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms—strong, veined, the same ones that had pinned me down as he ruined me.

His brown eyes dragged over me, slow and scorching.

“You’re early.” His voice was deep, rough.

A smirk tugged at my lips. “You’ve said that before.”

He let out a short breath, like he wasn’t expecting that. But then his expression shifted—something darker, something hungrier.

A challenge.

“So you do listen to me.”

I stepped forward, tilting my head. “Not always.”

His jaw flexed. “I’ve noticed.”

The air between us crackled.

The tension was unbearable, thick with everything unsaid, everything we weren’t supposed to do.

And then—

He moved.

Fast.

His hands found my waist, his fingers gripping me tight as he pulled me into him.

I barely had time to gasp before his mouth crashed into mine.

Hard. Desperate.

I melted instantly, my body pressing into his, my hands fisting into his shirt. He walked me backward, into the room, kicking the door shut behind us.

I barely noticed.

All I could feel was him.

His lips, his tongue, the way he kissed me like he needed this, like he was claiming me all over again.

My back hit the wall. His hands roamed—my hips, my waist, up my sides—leaving fire in their wake.

And then, just as suddenly, I pushed him back.

He stopped, breathing hard.

His eyes burned into mine as I dragged my fingers along his open collar, teasing, taunting. “You said this wouldn’t happen again.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

And then—his hands tightened on me, his grip possessive, his body pressing me harder against the wall.

“It will happen,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above mine.

My breath stuttered.

His fingers brushed over my skin, slow and deliberate. “But no one will know.”

The weight of his words settled between us.

This is what it would be.

A secret. A fire that only existed in the dark.

Forbidden. Hidden.

I should have pulled away. I should have walked out.

But instead, I smirked.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

His restraint snapped.

And he devoured me.

Oliver’s lips crashed onto mine, hard, demanding, as if he had been starving for me since the moment he last walked away. My back hit the door, his body pressing into me, caging me in, his hands gripping my waist like he had no intention of ever letting go. His tongue teased mine, sweeping, tasting, devouring, and I melted into him, tilting my head to give him more access, more control.

His fingers dug into my ass, squeezing possessively before his lips left mine, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down my jaw, my neck, the exposed curve of my collarbone. His breath was hot, teasing, his body radiating the kind of restrained power that made my stomach clench in anticipation. Then, his brown eyes flicked up to mine as he sank to his knees in front of me.

My pulse stopped.

A fucking boss, on his knees.

Oliver’s large hands skimmed up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher, his touch like fire licking at my skin. He gripped the hem, looking up at me through thick lashes, his voice low and rough.

“Did you choose this skirt just to provoke me?”

I smirked down at him, biting my lip. “Not intentionally…” I murmured, voice sultry, teasing. “But I love that it’s working.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes, and before I could react, he shoved the fabric higher, exposing my thighs, my lace panties. I barely had time to gasp before he hooked a finger into the lace and pulled it aside. No patience. No hesitation.

And then his mouth was on me.

A strangled sound tore from my lips as I arched, my back slamming into the door, my fingers tangling in his hair. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe over my clit before his lips closed around it, sucking hard. Heat ignited in my core, pleasure spiking so suddenly I almost lost my balance.

His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open, forcing me to take it. I lifted one leg over his shoulder, trying to steady myself, but nothing mattered except his mouth, his tongue—his relentless, intoxicating rhythm that had me gasping, moaning his name without shame.

He was merciless. A wicked, skilled man who knew exactly how to unravel me.

I came, my body shaking, legs trembling, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. His tongue flicked, teased, dragged out my pleasure, his fingers slipping inside me, curling just right. I moaned, raw and desperate, as another wave built, a second orgasm crashing into me before I could even recover from the first.

My body sagged against the door, boneless, panting.

But Oliver was far from finished.

He rose to his feet in one smooth motion, his eyes dark with hunger, his jaw sharp with restraint. And then, without a word, he grabbed me—one strong arm hooking under my thighs, the other bracing my back—as he threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

A startled gasp left me. “Oliver—”

He ignored me, striding toward the bed with ease before tossing me onto the mattress.

I barely had time to catch my breath before he was stripping—his shirt unbuttoned just enough before he tore it over his head, revealing that sculpted, chiseled perfection beneath. His pants followed, and my eyes devoured him, tracing the hard ridges of muscle, the sharp lines of his hips, the thick, heavy length standing hard and ready for me.

I didn’t even realize I was licking my lips until I saw his smirk.

“Now that’s a fucking sight,” he murmured, his voice pure sin.

My body burned as I scrambled to peel off my own clothes, my hands desperate, frantic. I needed him. Needed to feel him, to drown in the way he made me forget everything but this moment.

Oliver moved behind me, his heat pressing against my back, his hands parting my thighs as he positioned himself at my entrance. His thick tip slid through my wetness, teasing, torturing. Then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he sank inside me.

A moan tore from my throat as my body stretched, took him, welcomed him.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he growled into my ear, his breath hot against my neck. “Missed how fucking tight you are.”

Pleasure rippled through me, sharp and all-consuming. His strong hands gripped my hips, commanding, holding me in place as he thrust deeper, setting a pace that was just as torturous as it was toe-curling.

His control was slipping—I could feel it in the way his muscles tensed, the way his breath hitched when I clenched around him.

I gasped as he suddenly moved, shifting behind me, spreading my legs wider—one on either side of his thighs—his chest pressed against my back, his arm wrapping around me to keep me pinned to him.

And then his hand was on my clit.

“I want to hear it, Schmidt,” he rasped. “Want to hear you come for me.”

The pressure, the pace, the way he owned my body—it was too much. I shattered around him, my orgasm dragging him with me, his deep groan vibrating against my skin as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling into me.

We collapsed together, tangled, breathless.

But he didn’t pull away.

Instead, his arms tightened around me, his chest firm against my back, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

He gave each other pleasure more times that I can count.

And just before exhaustion finally claimed me, he was laying on my back spooning me, I swore I felt him press the faintest, most dangerous kiss to my shoulder.

Because it wasn’t just sex anymore.

It was so much more.

Chapter 7

POV: Sabrina

I woke up to warmth. A solid, firm chest beneath my cheek. The steady rise and fall of slow, controlled breaths. The weight of an arm draped over my waist, holding me in place as if he had no intention of letting me go.

Oliver.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I let myself linger in the haze of the morning, in the rare, dangerous intimacy of waking up tangled in him.

I could hear the faint hum of the city outside, the early morning light filtering through the hotel curtains, but all I could feel was him. His scent—rich, masculine, something that had permanently embedded itself into my skin. His body—warm, strong, bare beneath the sheets, his leg half-wrapped around mine, like even in his sleep, he owned me.

I barely had a second to enjoy it before his voice rumbled against my ear.

“You’re awake.”

It wasn’t a question.

I swallowed, my pulse kicking up. “And you’re still here.”

I meant it as a tease, but Oliver didn’t move. His grip tightened slightly on my waist, his thumb brushing against my bare skin in slow, lazy strokes.

“Did you expect me to disappear again?” His voice was lower in the morning, rougher, like gravel and sin.

I huffed out a quiet laugh, lifting my head just enough to glance up at him. “You do have a habit of it.”

His brown eyes were dark, unreadable, but his lips quirked just slightly. “Not this time.”

Before I could react to the meaning behind that, his hand shifted, his fingers tracing down my spine, over the curve of my hip, and I shivered as he pulled me closer. His morning-hard length pressed against my thigh, sending a pulse of heat straight between my legs.

I bit my lip, arching slightly into him. “Again?”

His smirk was pure wickedness. “I wouldn’t say no.”

I laughed, pushing against his chest, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he rolled us effortlessly, pinning me beneath him, his hips slotting between my thighs.

“Stay,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my jaw. “I ordered breakfast.”

I sighed, feigning exasperation even as heat pooled low in my stomach. “I have to go to work.”

“Your boss won’t mind.”

I scoffed, narrowing my eyes up at him. “Oh really? Because from what I’ve heard, he’s an asshole.”

Oliver smirked. “Charming, actually.”

“Cold.”

“Efficient.”

“Unapproachable.”

“Selective.” His voice dropped, his fingers slipping under the sheets, running over my bare thigh. “And currently very preoccupied with you.”

A shiver ran through me, and I nearly gave in. But then a sharp knock sounded at the door, and Oliver exhaled a quiet curse before rolling off me.

“Saved by the bell,” I teased, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around me as he got up, his bare, muscular frame nothing short of unfair.

He shot me a knowing glance before grabbing a pair of sweats and going to the door. I watched, biting my lip, as he returned with a tray of food—fresh fruit, eggs, croissants, and steaming coffee.

I sighed dramatically. “Bribing me with food? Low, Reginalds.”

He set the tray down on the bed, sitting beside me. “Did it work?”

I picked up a piece of fruit, popping it into my mouth with a smirk. “Unfortunately, yes.”

We ate together in the quiet morning light, the tension still humming between us, the teasing unspoken but felt. It was easy, too easy, and that alone sent a warning through my chest.

When we finished, I stood, stretching. “Alright, I really do have to go.”

Oliver leaned back against the headboard, watching me with that unreadable gaze. “I’ll see you soon, Schmidt.”

Something in his voice sent a thrill down my spine, but I didn’t let myself react. I just smirked and grabbed my dress from the floor, making my way to the bathroom to get dressed.

By the time I arrived at my apartment and changed, my body was still buzzing with leftover anticipation. I chose a crisp white blouse, buttoned just enough to be respectable but not completely innocent. A tailored black skirt hugged my hips, professional, but with a slit that could be dangerous.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly what I was doing.

And when I walked into the office, I felt his gaze before I even saw him.

Oliver stood near the conference room, speaking with another department head, but his attention flicked to me the second I stepped inside.

Heat.

It burned, seared, left a trail over my skin like a physical touch.

I ignored him.

Or at least, I tried to. I walked with purpose to my desk, my heels clicking against the floor, my expression neutral, my head high. But I knew he was watching. I could feel the weight of it, the way it made my pulse race, my thighs clench.

This was going to be fun.

I sat down, adjusting my chair, pretending not to notice the way he still hadn’t looked away.

John, who sat nearby, whistled low under his breath. “Okay, boss. Who put the fire under your ass? You’re glowing this morning.”

Violet smirked, tapping her pen against her desk. “Let me guess. New skincare routine? Or something… better?”

I rolled my eyes, opening my laptop. “Drop it.”

John grinned. “She’s deflecting. That means it’s definitely the second option.”

I gave him a pointed look, but before I could argue, my screen pinged with a new email. My stomach tightened as I clicked it open.

From: Oliver Reginalds

Subject: Meeting in 10.

Short. Commanding. No explanation.

I exhaled slowly, schooling my face before standing. “I have a meeting.”

John and Violet shared a look but said nothing.

As I made my way to the conference room, I straightened my skirt, adjusting the buttons of my blouse. When I walked in, Oliver was already there, waiting.

He leaned against the table, arms crossed, eyes dark as they flicked over me.

“That blouse, Schmidt.” His voice was low, amused. “Careful. Wouldn’t want to be accused of distracting your colleagues.”

I tilted my head, stepping closer, my heart hammering. “Distracting?”

His gaze flickered with something dangerous. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

I smirked, feeling bold, reckless. “Well, I did learn from the best.”

Oliver let out a quiet, rumbling chuckle. “You’re going to be a problem today, aren’t you?”

I just smiled sweetly. “Wouldn’t want you getting bored, sir.”

His jaw ticked.

I turned on my heel, taking a seat at the table, pretending like I wasn’t enjoying this. Pretending like I couldn’t feel the way his stare was burning into me, the way he was already thinking of ways to get back at me for this later.

And God, I couldn’t wait.

The training was in full swing, and I should have been more focused on the content.

I tried to be.

But my attention kept drifting—not to the slides on the screen or the discussion happening around me, but to him.

Oliver stood at the front of the room, leading the session with that same effortless authority he carried everywhere. He spoke with precision, his voice commanding, his posture strong and composed. Every word he said carried weight, like he was sculpting the future of the company with nothing but his presence.

It was impossible not to admire him. Not just for the way he looked—though that was always a problem—but for the sheer power he exuded. The way he commanded the room, demanded attention, held control without ever having to raise his voice.

He was imposing. Sharp and brilliant. A man who knew exactly how powerful he was.

And yet, his eyes kept finding mine.

Subtle glances. Fleeting, but charged.

No one else would notice, but I felt them. Every time his gaze locked with mine, I felt it like a touch, like a quiet reminder that no matter how much space was between us in this room, we were tangled up in something neither of us could escape.

At lunch, as people started closing their notebooks and stretching from the long morning session, Oliver’s voice cut through the noise.

“Schmidt.”

I lifted my head, my pulse kicking up at the way he said my name.

“Come eat with us.”

For a second, I hesitated.

Us.

I glanced past him, realizing who he meant—the other executives. The people who ran this company. The ones who could decide my entire future with a single conversation.

I swallowed, carefully schooling my face.

“Are you sure?”

Oliver arched a brow, amused. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

My heart flipped, but I forced a calm nod. “Alright.”

As we walked to the executive dining room, I felt the shift immediately. The difference between eating with my team and being invited into the world of the people who made the rules.

And Oliver—he made sure I felt it.

He pulled out a chair for me before taking the seat directly across from me, positioning me between two high-level directors.

It wasn’t lost on me.

I wasn’t just invited.

I was placed.

The lunch itself was a game of silent tension.

The conversation flowed easily, but beneath it, something else crackled between me and Oliver.

His leg brushed mine under the table. Once, twice.

At first, I thought it was an accident.

Until it wasn’t.

His foot traced the side of my calf, subtle but deliberate. A calculated touch.

I nearly choked on my drink.

I sent him a sharp look, but Oliver just smirked, taking a slow sip of his water like he wasn’t doing anything at all.

Bastard.

Still, I couldn’t deny how it made me feel.

The fact that no one else in this room knew. That while they talked about business and numbers, Oliver was teasing me in ways they’d never see.

His eyes flicked to mine, and for a moment, everything else faded.

I clenched my thighs together, forcing myself to focus. To play it cool.

But Oliver?

Oliver was winning.

By the time we returned to the office, I felt like I had just walked across fire.

We stopped outside the conference room, and before I could escape back to my desk, he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.

“They’re considering you for a promotion.”

I froze.

Slowly, I turned to face him, my pulse slamming against my ribs.

“What?”

His lips curled slightly. “You heard me.”

Excitement. Shock. A million emotions swirled inside me.

“But I—”

“You’ve earned it.” His voice was firm. Certain. Like he knew, without a doubt, that I deserved this.

The way he said it made something tight coil inside me.

Because as much as this thing between us was complicated, this—him believing in me, him placing me in that room—was real.

He didn’t just want me.

He respected me.

And that?

That was dangerous.

Before I could respond, Violet and John appeared at my side, their faces alight with curiosity.

“So,” John drawled. “Lunch with the big dogs, huh?”

Violet smirked. “Must’ve been fun, sitting with the actual bosses.”

I rolled my eyes, keeping my voice even. “They just wanted to thank me for getting that big client.”

John let out a low whistle. “Right. And that’s why Oliver Reginalds was looking at you like you were his favorite meal the entire time?”

Heat flushed my skin, but I forced a calm shrug. “You’re imagining things.”

Violet’s knowing gaze burned into me.

“Sure, Schmidt.”

I just smirked, walking ahead toward my desk, my heart still pounding.

Because I knew.

I knew this was only the beginning.

And whatever was happening between Oliver and me?

It was about to get so much more dangerous.

Chapter 8

POV: Sabrina

The afternoon session was in full swing, and I should have been more focused on the team’s exercise.

I tried to be.

But Oliver was watching me.

He was always watching me.

He sat back in his chair, one ankle resting over his knee, his hand against his chin in a pose of relaxed authority. But I knew better.

I knew those brown eyes weren’t idly scanning the room.

They were on me.

And that? That was too tempting not to play with.

I waited for the right moment—when the team was engaged, when all attention was off me—and then I moved.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

My fingers traced the top button of my blouse, and I slipped it open.

Just one. Just enough.

Enough to reveal a little more of my collarbone, enough to let the curve of my cleavage peek through.

Enough to test him.

Then, just for good measure, I dragged my fingers over my skin—over my collarbone, down the delicate slope where fabric met flesh—like I was completely unaware of what I was doing.

But I wasn’t.

I was very, very aware.

And so was Oliver.

I felt the shift instantly.

The subtle tension in his frame, the way his fingers twitched against his chin. The sharp, fleeting way his eyes flicked down, only to snap back up again.

His jaw clenched.

Oh, he hated this.

Loved it, but hated it.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking, keeping my expression perfectly neutral as I listened to my colleagues speak.

Oliver, on the other hand, was not as composed.

He tried to be.

Tried to stay in control.

But I saw the way he shifted in his seat, the way his shoulders squared like he was forcing himself to keep still.

And that heat in his gaze?

It burned.

For a moment, it was just us.

Him, caught in my trap.

Me, enjoying every second of it.

Then, someone asked him a question.

And the trance snapped.

Oliver blinked, exhaling sharply through his nose as he tore his eyes from me, shifting forward to answer.

I could feel his restraint. The tension he was swallowing down just to focus on work.

God, I loved this game.

And because I wasn’t done, I let my voice slip into something smooth, something playful as I leaned forward just slightly and said—

“Sir, would you like to add anything?”

It was so subtle. So professional.

But Oliver felt it.

I knew he did.

His nostrils flared just slightly. His fingers flexed against the arm of his chair.

Oh, he liked that.

And I loved knowing it.

The exercise ended soon after, and as people filtered out of the room, I took my time gathering my things, pretending I wasn’t completely aware that Oliver was still standing there.

Still waiting.

Then, as the door shut behind the last employee, his hand caught my arm.

Not hard. Not enough to hurt.

But enough to stop me.

Enough to make my breath hitch.

He leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear, and in that low, lethal voice, he murmured—

“Same place. Twenty minutes.”

A shiver bolted through me, but he wasn’t done.

“And I will make you call me ’Sir’ again.” A pause. His lips just barely grazing my skin. “But on your knees.”

My pulse plunged.

I exhaled, slow and steady, refusing to let him see just how much those words wrecked me.

But he knew.

God, he knew.

And as he stepped away, leaving me standing there—hot, restless, completely on edge—I realized something.

This game?

I had won this round.

But Oliver?

Oliver was about to ruin me.

I should be used to this by now.

The way my pulse pounds like a war drum when I step into this hotel.

The way my hands tremble with anticipation when I press the button for his floor.

The way my body knows before my mind does—that I’m about to be devoured.

But tonight?

Tonight, it’s worse.

Because I know what’s waiting for me behind that door.

Him.

And the promise he left me with.

By the time I reach his door, I barely have control over my breath, barely have the composure to lift my hand and knock.

I don’t have to.

The door swings open before I can touch it.

And there he is.

Oliver.

Standing in the dim light, already rid of his tie, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the sharp line of his collarbone.

His sleeves are rolled up, his stance relaxed.

But his eyes?

His eyes ruin me.

They take me in slowly, dark and unreadable, flicking from my lips to my neck to the buttons of my blouse.

“I didn´t even need to knock,” I said tilting my head.

And then, with a smirk so devastating it nearly takes me to my knees right there, he says—

“You’re always early when you are hungry?”

I lift my chin, stepping inside, refusing to let him win this round.

“You already said that I was hungry yesterday.”

Oliver hums, shutting the door behind me, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Did I?”

“Yes.” I slide closer, feeling the heat rolling off him. “Right before you fucked me against this very door.”

His smirk flickers.

I see the moment that control of his weakens—just a fraction, just enough.

“Mm.” His fingers flex at his sides. “That was a good night.”

I let my fingertips ghost over his chest, feeling the tension ripple through him. “It was.”

He exhales, a slow, measured thing, like he’s holding himself back.

“I ordered food,” he says suddenly, low and rough.

“Food?”

“Yes. So you could get your energy back.” His hands find my waist, sliding up, teasing the buttons of my blouse. “Before I fuck you again.”

My stomach tightens, heat pours between my thighs.

But I don’t give in yet.

Instead, I tip my head up, lips just barely brushing his jaw as I whisper—

“Then let’s work up an appetite first.”

And then I kiss him.

Hard.

Deep.

Oliver growls against my mouth, his hands tightening, pulling me closer until there isn’t an inch of space between us.

I don’t wait—I take.

I push his shirt off his shoulders, dragging my nails down his arms just to feel the way his muscles flex beneath my touch.

His belt is next.

Then his pants, shoving them down with a little too much desperation.

And then my turn.

I toe off my heels, watching the way his eyes burn as I slowly, slowly unbutton my blouse.

Then my skirt.

Then the delicate lace underneath.

I let it all drop to the floor, standing before him in nothing but my own confidence.

Oliver swallows hard.

I can see it—the way his control is slipping.

But I want it gone.

So I do the one thing I know will wreck him.

I sink to my knees.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

I look up at him, tilting my head slightly, my voice smooth, full of teasing submission.

“Like this, Sir?”

Oliver breaks.

His jaw clenches, his fingers threading through my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back further.

“Jesus Christ, Schmidt,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Oh, but I do.

And I’m about to prove it.

I stay on my knees, my palms skimming up his thighs, feeling the tight coil of muscle beneath my fingertips.

Oliver watches me, his brown eyes dark, his jaw tight, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to grab me.

Good.

I want him wrecked.

I want him undone.

Slowly, so slowly, I let my fingers trail to his length, wrapping around his thick, heavy cock, feeling the heat of him pulse against my palm.

“Schmidt,” he rasps, his voice already hoarse.

I glance up, feigning innocence.

“Yes, Sir?”

His jaw tightens.

I smirk.

And then I lean in, brushing my lips over the swollen tip, savoring the way his entire body tenses.

The control he clings to so desperately?

It shatters when I take him into my mouth.

Oliver groans—deep, guttural, wrecked—his hands sinking into my hair. But he doesn’t push, doesn’t dictate a rhythm.

He just feels.

And I give it to him.

I take him deep, my tongue flicking, swirling, teasing—dragging him closer to the edge one slow stroke at a time.

His breathing is uneven now, coming in gasps. His thighs tighten beneath my hands. His fingers tremble in my hair.

I can feel it—the moment he loses it.

“Enough.”

His voice is raw.

A second later, his hands slide under my arms, pulling me up, lifting me effortlessly onto my feet before walking me backward toward the bed.

My back hits the mattress, and Oliver is there, pressing me into the sheets, covering me with his body.

His lips are at my ear, his breath hot, possessive.

“You are mine, Schmidt.”

A shiver rolls through me, but before I can respond, his mouth claims me.

And then he moves lower.

His lips brush my throat. My collarbone.

My breasts.

His hands part my thighs, and then—

I gasp.

Because his mouth is on me.

Hot, wet, devouring.

Sucking, teasing, licking, torturing me with slow, precise movements, like he has all the time in the world to make me fall apart.

I do.

I clutch at the sheets, my back arching as his tongue flicks, as his lips close around my clit, as his teeth scrape just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through my entire body.

“Oliver—”

I break.

Pleasure crashes over me in waves, wrecking me, drowning me, leaving me gasping and trembling beneath him.

But Oliver doesn’t give me a second to recover.

Because the moment I start to breathe again—

He fills me.

“Fuck—” I choke out, my body stretching around his thickness, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He moves slowly, torturously, owning me with every precise thrust.

His arms cage me in, his lips hover inches from mine, his brown eyes locked on me, watching me, taking in every flicker of pleasure that flashes across my face.

I’ve never felt so consumed.

I reach for him, my nails raking down his back, pulling him closer, needing more.

He groans against my mouth. His hips snap harder. His control slips.

“Oliver—” I gasp.

“Say my name when you come,” he growls.

And I do.

I shatter around him, moaning into his mouth as he thrusts deeper, harder—until he follows, his body going rigid, his face buried in my neck as he groans my name like a prayer.

We collapse together, tangled in the sheets, bodies slick with sweat, breaths uneven.

The knock at the door barely registers.

Oliver sighs, pressing a lazy kiss to my shoulder before slipping from the bed to retrieve the food he ordered earlier.

I watch him move, still naked, still mine in this moment.

And when he returns, we eat in bed—naked, unbothered, wrapped in the kind of intimacy that usually takes months to build.

But for us?

It’s natural.

It’s inevitable.

And the second the food is gone, Oliver pins me back against the pillows, smirking down at me as he murmurs—

“Now that we’ve refueled—let’s see how many times I can make you scream tonight, Schmidt.”

And then he ruins me all over again.

Chapter 9

POV: Sabrina

I woke up wrapped in him.

Oliver’s arm was draped over my waist, his body warm and solid against my back, his breath tickling the back of my neck. For a moment, I just let myself sink into it—the rare, quiet intimacy of waking up tangled in someone like this. In him.

His fingers moved lazily over my bare stomach, a slow, absentminded caress, and when I shifted slightly, he hummed in contentment.

“You’re not leaving this bed yet,” he murmured against my shoulder, pressing a kiss there.

I smiled, stretching my body against his, feeling the heat between us even in the slow, sweet way he held me. This was dangerous. It was too comfortable. Too natural.

“I have to,” I whispered, even as I turned toward him, my fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw.

“No, you don’t,” he countered, lazy but firm, tilting my chin up with his fingers so he could capture my lips. It was slow, deep, like he was savoring the taste of me, like he already missed me.

But eventually, we had to break apart.

We ate breakfast in bed—something I’d never done with a man before. It felt intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex. Just us, half-naked, sharing coffee and small touches, knowing neither of us wanted to leave.

But I had to.

And I go to my apartment to take a shower and change, but when I changed into a my smallest skirt with a slit that ran just a little too high? I chose it on purpose.

Oliver stood at the front of the room, his presence filling every inch of it.

He didn’t just teach—he commanded. His voice was smooth, rich, edged with a firm authority that left no room for hesitation. Every single person in that room hung onto his words, taking notes, nodding in agreement.

Everyone except me.

I wasn’t thinking about his expertise, or the numbers he was explaining on the screen.

I was thinking about last night.

The way he’d looked at me when I got on my knees.

The way his voice had dropped when he said You are mine.

The way he’d undone me over and over again, until I was nothing but a trembling, breathless mess beneath him.

And I knew—I knew—he was thinking about it too.

He was too composed. Too controlled.

So I decided to push him.

I shifted in my seat, letting my fingers trail absently over my thigh before slowly, deliberately, crossing my legs.

The slit of my skirt parted, this one smaller, shorter, showing more than usual, slipping open just enough to reveal the smooth line of my thigh.

I didn’t need to look up to know he noticed.

I felt it.

The weight of his gaze. The sharp pause in his words. The slow, deliberate exhale that no one else would have even registered—except me.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

A moment later, my phone buzzed in my lap.

Oliver: Fix this skirt, or I will.

My pulse kicked up.

I let my fingers drift to the fabric, pretending to adjust it—only to shift it just a little higher before smoothing it down again.

And then I looked up, locking eyes with him.

His jaw clenched. His fingers tapped once against the desk.

To anyone else, he looked the same—cold, unreadable, indifferent.

But I knew better.

I saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled slightly, like he was resisting the urge to grip something—me.

The next half hour was a slow, unbearable dance of awareness.

His gaze flicked to me every few minutes. Every time I shifted, every time I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, every time I dragged my pen lazily over my notepad—he was watching.

And God, I loved it.

I let my hand trail absentmindedly down my neck, my fingertips brushing over my collarbone, tracing a slow, delicate line. His grip on the desk tightened.

A small thrill ran through me.

But then, just as I was about to push him a little more—

“Schimdt?”

I snapped my head up.

Everyone was looking at me.

Shit.

One of the employees had asked a question, and I hadn’t been listening.

Oliver’s lips twitched. His eyes gleamed with pure amusement.

Bastard.

I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

The employee rephrased their question, and I forced myself to focus, ignoring the way Oliver was still looking at me, still smirking, like he knew exactly what he’d done to me.

But I wasn’t done.

Oh no.

I smirked right back, leaning forward slightly as I spoke, knowing exactly how my blouse dipped just enough to give him a glimpse of the lace underneath.

His nostrils flared.

His amusement vanished.

And in that moment, I knew—I’d won this round.

For now.

I was just about to step into the break room when I heard them.

Violet and John, whispering near the doorway, voices hushed but not nearly enough.

“Oh my God,” Violet hissed. “Schmidt’s ex is here. Boss, you are in trouble.”

They weren’t just talking to me.

They were talking loud enough for everyone to hear.

Including Oliver.

My stomach dropped.

Before I could even react, before I could turn and demand what the hell they meant, I saw him.

Alex Hart.

Dressed in a navy suit, his dark hair styled with effortless perfection, his green eyes gleaming with that signature, self-assured smirk—the one he always wore when he thought he could charm his way into anything.

The sight of him ignited an immediate and visceral reaction inside me.

Annoyance. Resentment. A cold wave of unease slithering down my spine.

And yet, I forced my expression into something polite, composed, detached.

“Alex,” I greeted coolly, keeping my voice even. “What are you doing here?”

“Sabrina,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking over me in a way that made my stomach churn—not in the way Oliver looked at me, like he wanted to devour me.

No.

Alex’s gaze was assessing, calculating.

It made my skin crawl.

“You look stunning, as always.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Cut the charm,” I said flatly. “If you’re here for the big deal, you’re too late. We already closed it.”

His smirk faltered. Barely. But I saw it.

It was just a flicker, a microsecond of frustration before he recovered, slipping effortlessly back into his smooth, salesman grin.

“I was hoping we could talk about partnership opportunities on this deal,” he said, slipping closer. “Maybe work something out so I could sell it too. Over dinner?”

And then—he touched me.

His fingers brushed my elbow, light, casual—like he thought he still had access to me.

Like he thought he could use our past to gain something.

I stiffened, my entire body locking up.

And before I could pull away, before I could shut this down—

I felt it.

A presence behind me.

A warmth against my back.

And then—a hand.

Firm. Possessive. Resting low on my spine.

Oliver.

“That won’t be happening.”

His voice was lethal. Cold. Sharpened like a blade, slicing through the air with deadly precision.

The shift in energy was instantaneous.

Alex’s eyes snapped to Oliver, his casual confidence flickering for just a second. He might not have known exactly who Oliver was, but he knew enough to recognize a threat when he saw one.

His gaze flicked down to the hand on my back, pressing lower, firmer.

“And you are?” Alex asked, attempting to keep his voice light.

“The one who decides who gets a seat at the table,” Oliver answered smoothly.

His tone was bored. Effortless. But I felt the tension radiating off him, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly against me, like he was barely holding himself back.

Alex’s jaw tensed. “I don’t think that’s your decision to make.”

Oliver’s lips curved, but there was no amusement in it. Only warning.

“Oh, it is.”

And then—he leaned in.

Not toward Alex.

Toward me.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear, his breath warm, voice so low and lethal that only I could hear it—

“And if he doesn’t walk away in the next ten seconds, I’m going to make sure he regrets it.”

A shiver ripped through me.

My pulse skyrocketed.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to meet Oliver’s gaze.

His eyes were dark. Dangerous.

And God help me—it thrilled me.

It shouldn’t.

I shouldn’t feel this sharp, electric heat curling in my stomach at the way he was claiming me in front of everyone.

But I did.

I straightened, pulling myself together, and turned back to Alex.

“The deal was exclusive,” I said evenly. “Only our company is selling. No exceptions. I think we’re done here.”

Alex hesitated. His lips parted, like he wanted to argue, like he thought he could push—but one last glance at Oliver shut that idea down real fast.

With a stiff nod, he turned on his heel and walked out.

I exhaled, trying to shake the intense, vibrating energy still coiling between Oliver and me.

I turned to him, ready to say something, to call him out on what just happened, but—

“Reginalds—”

“My office. Now.”

His voice was a command. Not a request.

I lifted a brow, folding my arms.

“This is my filial. You have no office here.”

I tilted my head, letting my lips curve into a smirk. “My office.”

His jaw ticked.

His nostrils flared.

And the way his eyes darkened—

I knew exactly where this was going.

And I wasn’t about to back down.

Chapter 10

POV: Sabrina

The door of my office had barely clicked shut before I spun on him.

“What the hell was that?”

Oliver was still tense, still coiled like a predator ready to strike. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw locked tight, and those dark eyes—burning, wild—set on me like a target.

“You know exactly what that was,” he said.

My pulse spiked, my hands curling into fists at my sides. No.

No fucking way.

“You were the one who wanted to stop this,” I snapped, stepping closer, fire licking through my veins. “You were the one who said we couldn’t do this because of company policy. Because it would put my job at risk. And now—” I threw my hand toward the door, toward the very public display he had just put on. “Now you decide to stake your claim? In front of everyone? You gave them a goddamn show, Oliver!”

His nostrils flared.

“The fuck I didn’t,” he growled.

I let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, so now you’re denying it?”

“No.” His voice was low, lethal. “I’m telling you that if I hadn’t stepped in, I would’ve put my fist through his fucking face instead.”

I sucked in a sharp breath.

“You had no right—”

He took a step forward.

“The fuck I didn’t.”

His presence was suffocating, overwhelming, his body heat crashing into mine as he backed me up—slow, deliberate, until my spine pressed against the edge of my desk.

My hands gripped the wood, my breathing shallow.

Oliver braced his arms on either side of me, caging me in.

“I said last night that you were mine, Sabrina,” he said, voice like gravel. “That hasn’t changed.”

My heart was a goddamn riot in my chest.

“You don’t get to just—”

“You think I could stand there and watch that asshole look at you like that?” His voice dipped lower, rougher, the words dragging over my skin. “Like he had a fucking chance?”

A shiver licked up my spine.

“That’s not your decision to make,” I shot back, but the words came out thinner than I wanted.

His fingers curled against the desk, his knuckles white.

“You really want to do this?” His head tilted, his lips so close to mine. “You really want to pretend you don’t fucking feel this?”

I swallowed hard, my breath shaky.

“I am not yours to claim like that, Oliver.”

His entire body tensed.

For a moment, I thought he might step back.

For a moment, I thought he might actually listen.

But then—

He leaned in.

His breath—hot, uneven—brushed my lips.

“You can say that all you want,” he murmured, “but we both know it’s a fucking lie.”

The air between us ignited.

Thick. Charged.

The kind of tension that could only end in two ways.

A fight.

Or something much, much more dangerous.

And right now?

I had no fucking idea which one it would be.

Oliver’s body was still too close, his heat pressing into mine, his hands gripping the desk at my sides like he owned the space around me. Like he owned me. His scent—woodsy, clean, something sharp underneath—wrapped around me, making my head swim.

My breath was unsteady, my chest rising and falling in time with his. Damn him. Damn the way he could shatter my control with nothing but a look, with the force of his possessiveness, his need.

“You’re not mine to claim?” His voice was rough, edged with disbelief, with anger. “You know that’s not true,”

His eyes were dark, dangerous, drilling into me, demanding that I say it back. That I admit the truth—the one that sat like a living thing between us, clawing its way to the surface.

I refused.

I swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists at my sides. “You don’t get to do that, Oliver. You don’t get to act like you own me in front of everyone and then—”

Then what?

Pretend like this doesn’t exist between us?

He exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching. “You think I had a fucking choice?” His voice dropped lower, like he felt what I wasn’t saying. Like he knew what was coming next.

I opened my mouth—

Then his phone rang.

A sharp, violent sound that slashed through the tension like a blade.

I flinched.

Oliver cursed under his breath, ripping the phone out of his pocket. His entire expression shifted the moment he saw the caller ID. His anger didn’t disappear—it just changed, hardening into something unreadable. Something I didn’t like.

I recognized that look.

The one that meant the outside world was pulling him back. That he had to step away, again. That we were about to get interrupted before we could fucking finish this.

His fingers tightened around the phone, his knuckles flexing as he hesitated for a fraction of a second before finally answering.

“Reginalds.”

His voice was clipped, cold. The kind of professional mask he wore so effortlessly, like armor. Like he could switch off the fire burning between us and compartmentalize it.

I hated it.

I hated that he could do it so easily when my entire body was still buzzing, my pulse still hammering against my skin.

He turned slightly away, already consumed by whatever was happening on the other end of that call. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed at his side. He was annoyed. Irritated. But the heat in his eyes was already dimming, being replaced by something else.

And I refused to stand here, caught in limbo, waiting for him to decide whether or not he was going to finish what he started.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered under his breath before stepping further away, his voice lowering as he spoke into the phone.

I let out a breath, steadying myself.

“No, it’s not,” I said, more to myself than to him.

Because we both fucking knew it.

I pushed off the desk, straightening my skirt, smoothing out the fabric like I could erase the way my body remembered his.

“I’m going to lunch,” I announced, louder than necessary. His shoulders stiffened slightly at the sound of my voice, but he didn’t turn around. Didn’t so much as glance at me.

I gritted my teeth.

“You should cool your head so we can actually talk when I get back.”

This time, he did look at me.

Over his shoulder, his brown eyes locked onto mine, still heated, still hungry. But he didn’t stop me. Didn’t say a word.

So I turned on my heel and walked out.

And the second the door clicked shut behind me—

I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.