Chapter 11

POV: Sabrina

I sat across from Violet and John at our usual lunch spot, the lively chatter of the restaurant a dull hum in my ears. My appetite was nonexistent. I absently pushed my salad around with my fork, my mind still tangled in the tension of what had happened with Oliver. The way he had claimed me in front of Alex. The way my body had betrayed me, responding to every possessive touch, every heated look.

And, of course, I should’ve known I wouldn’t get away with it unnoticed.

Violet leaned across the table, eyes sharp. “Okay, so we’re just gonna pretend like that didn’t happen?”

John smirked, popping a fry into his mouth. “Yeah, boss. That was a hell of a scene.”

I sighed, setting my fork down and forcing a neutral expression. “Nothing happened. Reginalds was just being protective about the deal. We signed exclusively with Wexel, and Alex thought he could talk his way in after the fact.” I gestured vaguely, trying to make it seem like a reasonable explanation. Like I wasn’t outright lying to their faces.

John raised an eyebrow. “Protective, huh?”

Violet scoffed, crossing her arms. “Okay, no offense, but that was not just about a damn deal. That man looked like he was two seconds away from slamming Alex through a wall. That wasn’t business—that was personal.”

I rolled my eyes. “Can we not?”

“Fine,” Violet relented, but the glint in her eyes told me she wasn’t done.

John leaned back in his seat, casually sipping his soda. “It’s just… things have been weird lately, you know?”

Something in his tone made my stomach clench.

“Weird how?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.

Violet and John exchanged a glance.

“There’s a rumor going around,” Violet said slowly, studying me carefully. “That someone is breaking company policy. Having a secret office relationship.”

The world tilted.

My fingers clenched around my fork.

I felt my heart stop—just for a second—before it picked up again, hammering so hard I thought they might hear it.

“Oh.” The word barely left my lips, thin and hollow.

John shrugged, completely oblivious to the way my entire body had gone stiff. “Not surprising, honestly. I mean, with all the hours we spend together? The tension? Bound to happen.”

Tension.

God, if only they knew.

Violet smirked, tilting her head. “You’d tell us if you knew anything about it, right?”

I forced a laugh, but it scraped against my throat like broken glass. “Of course. I mean—if I did, I’d definitely say something.”

Lie.

A blatant, obvious lie.

And they knew it.

I saw it in the way their eyes lingered on me a beat too long, in the subtle flicker of realization passing between them.

They knew.

Or at least, they suspected.

I couldn’t do this.

Not now.

I grabbed my bag, plastering on a tight smile. “I should get back. Oliver and I need to talk.”

Silence.

A tiny, frozen moment in time where my brain caught up to what I had just said.

Oliver and I.

Like we were something.

Like we weren’t about to crash and burn.

John’s brows lifted slightly. “Oliver? You’re that intimate now?”

My breath hitched.

Oh, fuck.

“Reginalds.” I corrected myself, too quickly. Too late.

Violet’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, but she didn’t say a word.

I turned on my heel and walked out, my heart pounding.

By the time I reached the street, my vision was swimming, my skin hot and cold all at once.

Because now I knew something with certainty—

If this rumor spread too far, it wouldn’t just be whispers anymore.

And if Oliver heard it too?

We were done.

I spotted Oliver through the glass walls of the meeting room before he noticed me.

His posture was rigid, his hands braced on his hips, his back to the door as he stared out over the city skyline. Tension coiled around him like a storm, dark and heavy, the air thick with something I couldn’t name—but I felt it.

And I knew.

The second I stepped inside, the second I closed the door behind me, sealing us in—

I knew.

This is it.

He turned when he heard me, his eyes locking onto mine. There was no fire in them now, no sharp edges of anger or jealousy like before. Just something hollow. Something breaking.

“You heard the rumors,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Oliver dragged a hand down his face, exhaling roughly. “Yeah.”

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat, crossing my arms as if it could hold me together. “Then you know what this means.”

His jaw flexed. “I know.” But his voice wasn’t composed like usual—it was raw, unsteady. Like this was killing him just as much as it was killing me.

And then he said it.

“This has to end, Sabrina.”

A sharp, visceral pain cut through my chest, like the words themselves were blades.

I forced out a breath. “You’re really doing this?”

He flinched.

“You’re the one who stormed in and made a scene,” I pressed, my voice shaking with anger. “The one who told me last night that I was yours. And now you’re just—” I broke off, swallowing hard.

Oliver raked a hand through his hair, looking like he wanted to punch the wall. “You think I want this?” He stepped closer, and my breath caught. “You think I don’t fucking ache for you?”

God.

I hated how much that admission shattered me.

How much I wanted to close the distance, to grab onto him and refuse to let go.

“Then why?” I whispered.

His expression twisted, his fists clenching. “Because this isn’t just some fling for me, Sabrina.” His voice cracked slightly, and that almost undid me completely. “If we get caught, you don’t just lose this job. You lose your career. You lose everything you worked for. And I can’t—” He inhaled sharply, like the words physically hurt. “I can’t be the reason that happens to you.”

Tears burned hot behind my eyes.

I clenched my jaw, willing them not to fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

“So that’s it?”

Oliver looked at me like he wanted to say something else. Like there was more he needed to say.

His hand lifted—just barely—toward me, like a reflex. Like he wanted to touch me. Hold me.

But at the last second, he curled his fingers into a fist and let it drop to his side.

And then, with a quiet, broken voice, he gave me the final blow—

“Yeah.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “That’s it.”

Something inside me shattered.

It was over.

I turned before I could break in front of him, gripping the door handle so tightly my knuckles ached. My legs were unsteady as I forced them to move, to put distance between us.

I barely made it out the door before my vision blurred.

Before my chest ached with the weight of everything I couldn’t have.

Before I realized—

This wasn’t just heartbreak.

This was devastation.

I sat at the long conference table, my fingers curled into fists beneath it, my nails digging into my palms.

Oliver stood at the front of the room, speaking in that low, controlled voice that usually commanded attention. He was leading the training, explaining strategies, breaking down techniques.

And I couldn’t hear a word of it.

Not because he wasn’t speaking clearly. Not because the information wasn’t important.

But because he was important.

Too important.

Because every time I looked at him, I felt like my chest was being carved open, piece by piece.

He was different today. The sharp, unshakable Oliver Reginalds—the one who always exuded power, who always looked like nothing could touch him—

He looked wrecked.

His jaw was locked tight, his shoulders stiff beneath his suit. But it was his eyes that betrayed him. Dark and unreadable, but not indifferent. Not cold.

No, he was just as devastated as I was.

And that realization made it worse.

I swallowed hard, gripping my pen like it could anchor me. Focus, Sabrina. But the words on the training manual blurred, his voice turned into static, and my chest felt like it was caving in.

I couldn’t do this.

If I stayed here any longer, I was going to cry, and the last thing I needed was to fall apart in the middle of a goddamn work meeting.

I forced myself to straighten, pushing back my chair carefully—controlled, because if I moved too quickly, if I made a scene, everyone would know something was wrong.

Oliver’s voice faltered. Just for a second. But I felt it.

His gaze flicked to mine, sharp, assessing.

I cleared my throat. Steady, steady, steady.

“I need to catch up on some contracts,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Violet will take notes for me.”

I didn’t wait for anyone to respond.

Didn’t wait to see the way Oliver’s expression tightened, the way his shoulders tensed further.

I just left.

I barely made it to my office before I shut the door and collapsed against it, my breath shuddering out of me. My fingers trembled as I pressed them to my temples, squeezing my eyes shut.

This was too much.

Having him. Losing him.

Having to sit in the same room and pretend like I wasn’t breaking.

I lasted two more hours at the office. Two more hours of trying to work, of trying to breathe around the ache in my ribs, before I finally gave up.

I sent a quick message to Violet, lying through my teeth—headache, leaving early, see you tomorrow—and then I walked out of the building, feeling like I was leaving a piece of myself behind.

Chapter 12

POV: Sabrina

The moment I stepped into my apartment, the silence swallowed me whole.

I tossed my keys onto the counter, my heels clicking against the hardwood as I made my way to the living room. But the second I sat down on the couch, the weight of everything crashed into me.

I curled my legs beneath me, staring at the empty space around me. The floor-to-ceiling windows. The plush sofa. The sleek kitchen.

It was all so big.

Too big.

Too fucking lonely.

I blinked up at the ceiling, my vision blurring, my throat tightening, but I refused to let the tears fall.

Because I was stupid.

Stupid for thinking I could survive this.

For thinking I could get involved in this and not get hurt.

For thinking I could handle walking away.

I reached for my phone, fingers hovering over his contact, my chest heaving. But what was I supposed to do? Call him? Tell him I missed him? That I couldn’t sleep without him?

I clenched my jaw and tossed the phone onto the couch.

I wasn’t going to break.

I couldn’t break.

But as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes, the seconds, the endless fucking hours—

I realized I already had.

The morning felt wrong.

I sat at my kitchen counter, staring at the untouched slice of toast on my plate, the steam from my coffee curling into the air. I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t anything.

Two days ago, I had breakfast in bed—naked, tangled in Oliver’s sheets, his rough hands roaming my body between lazy bites of fruit and coffee-flavored kisses.

Now?

Now the silence in my apartment felt deafening.

I forced myself to take a bite, chewing mechanically, but it tasted like nothing. My stomach twisted, rejecting the food. My body didn’t want this. It wanted him.

I pushed the plate away and got up.

The mirror in my bathroom wasn’t kind. Dark circles bruised my eyes, my skin dull, my lips chapped from a restless night of tossing and turning. I dragged my makeup bag closer, swiping on concealer to hide the evidence of my misery.

It felt pointless.

I reached for my closet, fingers brushing over the silk blouses and pencil skirts I used to love choosing, used to play with—just to tease him, just to provoke the glint in his eyes, the tension between us so thick it was intoxicating.

Now, I grabbed the first thing in front of me.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t care about anything.

The moment I stepped through the doors of the office, I felt him.

The air shifted.

I didn’t look toward the conference room. I refused to.

But my body betrayed me, my gaze flickering toward the glass walls.

Oliver saw me.

Even from across the room, even through the barrier of glass and distance, I saw everything.

The exhaustion. The sleepless night. The way his sharp, disciplined mask had cracked.

He looked just like me.

Wrecked. Broken.

My chest ached.

I tore my eyes away and walked faster, heading straight for my office, shutting the door behind me as if that could keep him out.

A few minutes later, a knock sounded.

Violet.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re not joining the training?”

“No,” I said, forcing my voice to be steady. “I have a headache. I need to catch up on some contracts.”

A lie.

Violet’s expression softened, like she knew. But she didn’t push.

“All right,” she said, nodding. “I’ll take notes for you.”

I nodded back, pretending like I cared. Like I could focus on anything but the way Oliver looked at me from across the room, like the distance between us was physically killing him.

I tried to work.

I really did.

But the words on my screen blurred together, numbers and contracts meaningless. I was suffocating in my own office, the air too thick, the walls too tight.

So I left.

I went to the kitchen, needing something—anything—to snap me out of this. Coffee. A distraction.

But the moment I walked past the meeting room, I felt it.

Him.

I turned my head, and there he was.

Oliver had been speaking, his deep voice cutting through the room with its usual command—until he saw me.

He stopped.

His mouth parted, his grip tightening on the edge of the table, his knuckles white.

His entire body tensed, like he was physically fighting the urge to move toward me.

And it fucking hurt.

I walked faster, blinking hard, shoving down the lump in my throat.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

Violet and John were already at the table when I sat down.

John raised a brow. “So, we’re just… not gonna talk about it?”

I stabbed at my salad. “Talk about what?”

Violet scoffed. “Oliver.”

I flinched.

John leaned in. “He looks awful, boss. Like, actually bad. I mean, I’ve seen him intense, I’ve seen him pissed—but this? It’s like he’s not there.”

I swallowed, keeping my expression neutral. “Maybe he’s just tired.”

Violet tilted her head, studying me. “Or maybe he’s going through the same thing you are.”

I nearly choked on my water.

“I’m fine,” I said, too quickly.

John smirked. “Sure you are.”

I focused on my food, ignoring them both, pretending like my entire world wasn’t burning down around me.

I buried myself in work when I got back. I had to. It was the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely.

But then—

The door opened.

And there he was.

Oliver.

Standing in my office.

Looking wrecked.

I gripped the edge of my desk. “Mr. Reginalds,” I said, my voice smooth, detached, like I wasn’t dying inside. “What brings you here?”

His eyes darkened.

He knew what I was doing. The distance. The mask. The professionalism that hadn’t existed between us for weeks.

But he wasn’t playing that game anymore.

His jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling like he was on the verge of something dangerous.

“We need to talk,” he said, voice low, strained.

I arched a brow. “About?”

His gaze burned into mine.

And I knew.

I felt it.

Something had changed.

Something was about to break.

And then—

Chapter 13

POV: Sabrina

The click of the lock sent a chill down my spine.

Oliver closed the shutters on the glass walls, shutting us away from the rest of the world. The air in my office shifted, charged and suffocating.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He was here to torture me.

To stand this close, to look at me like that. Like he was barely holding himself together. Like walking away yesterday had destroyed him as much as it had destroyed me.

God, I had let him in too deep.

And he had wrecked me for it.

“It wasn’t about us,” Oliver said, voice low and rough.

I frowned, rising slowly from my chair. “What?”

He took a step closer. I instinctively moved around my desk.

Oliver let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “The rumors. They weren’t about us. They were about Charles and his secretary.” His voice was a mix of anger and relief, like he was both furious at the misunderstanding and desperate for what it meant.

I froze.

The weight of his words crashed over me.

I had spent the last twenty-four hours shattered.

For nothing.

Oliver reached me in two strides, his hands gripping my arms, his touch burning through the fabric of my blouse. I sucked in a sharp breath, and before I could stop myself, I melted into him.

For a moment, just one fucking moment, I let myself feel.

His scent, the strength of his arms, the way my body recognized home in his embrace.

He cupped my face, tilting it up, and then—

His lips were on mine.

And God, the ache in my chest cracked wide open.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was relief. It was hunger. It was everything we had denied ourselves pouring out in a way words never could.

His fingers tangled in my hair, his body pressing against mine, and I needed him, needed to drown in this, needed to forget—

No.

I pushed lightly against his chest, just enough to make him look at me.

His brown eyes burned into mine, searching, desperate.

“And then what?” My voice trembled.

Oliver stilled.

I saw the moment my words hit him. The way his face twisted like I had just cut into him.

“Now we keep seeing each other until another rumor starts? Until you decide what’s best for me and walk away again?” I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “Because I can’t do that, Oliver. I can’t keep letting you wreck me.”

Pain flickered across his face, raw and unguarded.

“I—” He dragged in a breath, his voice cracking. “I did it to protect you.”

“I know that.” My voice softened, but the pain didn’t. “But it doesn’t change the fact that it hurt.” I shook my head. “And it doesn’t change the fact that we’re lying to ourselves if we think this can be different.”

Oliver clenched his jaw, like he was fighting himself.

I pressed on.

“This company has rules, and you—” My voice wavered. “You were supposed to be the cold, rational boss, right?” A bitter laugh scraped out of me. “We can’t run from this forever.”

The silence between us stretched, filled with all the things we weren’t saying.

I forced myself to move. To go to the door.

“It’s Friday,” I said quietly. “You leave tomorrow.” My fingers curled around the handle. “This would have ended anyway… right?”

I didn’t wait for an answer.

I couldn’t.

Because the truth?

I never wanted this to end.

I had been stupid to think I could survive this.

I walked out, my heart pounding, my body aching, my entire soul screaming at me to turn around.

I didn’t.

Instead, I threw one last glance over my shoulder, my voice barely above a whisper.

“See you around, Reginalds.”

It was the most painful thing I had ever said.

I should feel relieved.

The training was over.

Oliver was leaving.

Tomorrow, he’d be back at headquarters, back in his world, and I’d be here, in mine.

I should feel relieved.

But I wasn’t.

Because God, nothing about this felt like relief.

I felt hollow.

I had spent years building walls, keeping people at a safe distance, never letting anyone in too deep. I had convinced myself that love wasn’t for me, that I didn’t need it. That I could keep things casual.

Then Oliver fucking Reginalds walked into my life and shattered all of it like it was nothing.

And I hated him for it.

I hated how much I missed him already, how my skin ached for his touch. How I had spent all day pretending I was fine while my chest burned with the need to run back to him.

Because this was never just sex.

It was passion. It was fire. It was something dangerous.

I poured myself a glass of wine, taking a long sip, hoping it would numb me. It didn’t.

I took a shower, let the hot water scald my skin, but it didn’t wash him away.

Nothing would.

By the time I slipped into an oversized t-shirt and curled up on my couch, the weight in my chest had only grown heavier.

Then the doorbell rang.

I frowned, setting my glass down. It was late. Too late for visitors.

A part of me didn’t want to move. But something pulled me to the door.

And when I opened it—

I forgot how to breathe.

Oliver stood there.

His tie was gone, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his hair a mess like he had been running his hands through it over and over. But what hit me the hardest was his face—

He looked wrecked. Destroyed.

Just like me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice barely made it past my lips.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes ran over me, taking in my bare legs, my oversized shirt, my hair still damp from the shower. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“How do you even have my address?” I pressed, crossing my arms, trying to keep my heart from leaping at the sight of him.

Oliver let out a rough breath. “Sabrina, I’m your boss. It’s not that difficult.”

I scowled. “Oh, so now you’re using company resources to—”

“Sabrina.” His voice dropped, rough and raw. “I can’t do this.”

My stomach flipped. “Do what?”

He stepped forward, closing the distance, his hands gripping the doorframe like he needed to hold onto something. “Stay away from you.”

I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Being apart from you was torture,” he admitted. “Every second of today, every hour, knowing you were in that building but not mine—I was losing my fucking mind.” His voice broke slightly, his control cracking right in front of me.

I stared at him, my chest tight.

“I know I hurt you,” Oliver continued, his gaze burning into me. “I know I broke you, and I regret every goddamn second of it.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and desperation woven into every movement. “But I can’t stay away. I won’t.”

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. “Oliver…”

“I’m going to the partners,” he said, his voice fierce. “I’m going to fight for an exception. For us.”

I blinked, completely thrown. “You—what?”

“You heard me.” His jaw tightened. “I’m not giving you up. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

My mind spun. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

I had spent all day telling myself that it was over. That he had chosen his job, his control, over me.

And now he was standing in front of me, looking at me like I was the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Oliver…” I let out a shaky breath. “Even if you get the exception—you live far from me. What, we’ll see each other during meetings? During your training sessions? I don’t want something that’s just…” I trailed off, my throat closing.

“Just what?” Oliver challenged.

I forced myself to say it. “Just sex.”

His expression darkened. And then—he laughed.

A deep, disbelieving sound.

I scowled. “What the hell is funny?”

Oliver took another step closer, his voice a low growl. “You really think I’d do all this for sex?”

I hesitated.

“Let me make something very clear,” he said, his hands framing my face, his thumb brushing along my jaw. “I want you. Not just your body. You. I don’t do casual. I don’t do open. I never want to know what it feels like to see another man touch you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, possessive and unyielding. “Because I’d fucking kill him.”

I shivered.

Oh.

I didn’t get the chance to process that, because he kept going.

“You got the job, Sabrina,” Oliver said.

My brows furrowed. “What?”

“You’re being promoted. Transferred.” His fingers traced down my arms, sending shivers through me. “To my city.”

My stomach flipped. “You—”

“We won’t have to do long distance.” His gaze locked onto mine. “We’ll be in the same place. We can be together.”

It was too much.

Too fast, too intense, too him.

“I—” My head spun, my heart racing.

Oliver didn’t let me finish.

His lips crashed onto mine, and I broke.

I melted into him, my hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him, needing this.

He groaned into my mouth, his hands gripping my waist, lifting me slightly as he walked us back inside, kicking the door shut.

By the time we broke apart, we were breathless, our bodies pressed together, his forehead resting against mine.

“Are you sure about this?” I whispered.

Oliver’s eyes softened, his fingers tracing my cheek. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Something cracked in my chest.

“I never let anyone in,” he murmured. “I’m cold, I’m calculating—I am the ruthless bastard everyone says I am.” His fingers tightened slightly, like he needed me to feel his words. “But you—you make me undone with just a look.”

I inhaled sharply.

“I can’t spend another fucking minute away from you,” Oliver admitted. “And I won’t.”

And just like that—

I melted.

I threw my arms around him, kissing him like my life depended on it, letting myself fall.

Because he was already mine.

And I was his.

Chapter 14

POV: Sabrina

The moment Oliver’s lips crashed against mine, I melted—like warm butter on fresh bread, dissolving into his heat. His kiss wasn’t just desperate; it was possessive, like he needed to reclaim every inch of me. His tongue teased mine, coaxing, demanding, and I tilted my head, giving him all the access he wanted. His hands roamed my body like he was memorizing me all over again, relearning the curves, the dips, the places that made me shiver.

His fingers skimmed down my thighs, gripping tight as I gasped against his mouth. Without thinking, I jumped, wrapping my legs around his waist, locking us together. God, this—this was where I was supposed to be. Pressed against him, feeling his hard body against mine, his warmth, his need. But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

I needed him. All of him.

Oliver tore his lips from mine, just far enough to meet my gaze, his brown eyes wrecked with something deeper than lust. Something dangerous. Something I couldn’t name.

“I don’t even know where your damn bedroom is,” he rasped, breathless.

“The second door on the left,” I murmured, my voice unsteady.

His arms tightened around me. “You,” he said, his voice low, reverent, “are my undoing, Sabrina.”

Something cracked inside me at the way he said my name—like it was his. Like I was his.

He carried me down the hall, his steps quick, urgent, like he couldn’t stand another second without being inside me. When he lowered me onto my bed—the same bed I had spent last night crying in—I shivered. The contrast was too much. Last night, it had felt too big, too cold, too lonely.

Now? It was too small to contain us.

“I was broken last night,” Oliver whispered, kneeling above me, his fingers trailing over my stomach, my ribs, my hips. “I’ll make you come until I feel whole again.”

Heat flooded my body.

His lips hovered just inches from mine, his breath warm. His eyes darkened as they roamed over me, over the oversized shirt I was still wearing. His shirt.

“I thought you in that skirt was a vision,” he murmured, dragging his fingers up my bare thigh, teasing, testing. “But you in this shirt? Fuck. I need to see you wearing my clothes, only my shirts.”

His fingers dipped beneath the hem, brushing against my skin, slow, torturous. Then, in one smooth movement, he peeled the fabric up, over my head, leaving me in nothing but lace panties.

His jaw clenched. His eyes flickered with something primal, something ravenous. He swallowed hard.

Oliver trailed his fingers over the delicate fabric covering me, his touch featherlight, as if savoring the way my body trembled beneath his hands. His fingers hooked into the waistband, and when he tugged them down, he moved so achingly slow, watching the way the fabric peeled away from my skin.

The moment I was bare, his grip on my ankle tightened.

And then his lips were on me.

A sharp gasp tore from my throat as he kissed his way up my calf, my knee, my thigh—worshiping me with every touch, every breath. His mouth hovered over my core, his lips barely brushing against me before he groaned against my skin.

“I missed this,” he rasped. “I missed your taste, your scent—you.”

And then his tongue flicked over my clit, and I broke.

My back arched off the bed, my fingers threading into his hair as his mouth devoured me. His tongue worked me over, slow and deliberate at first, before the pressure built, before he started teasing me with the edge of release, only to pull back, drag it out, make me beg.

The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, sharp and hot and too much.

And then—I shattered.

A ragged moan ripped from my lips as waves of pleasure crashed through me, my entire body trembling under the force of it. But Oliver didn’t stop. He licked me through every aftershock, every quiver, every gasp, until I was nothing but a wreck beneath him.

I reached for him, desperate, pulling him up, rolling him onto his back. I needed to touch him. I needed to feel his skin beneath my hands.

I made quick work of his clothes, peeling away his shirt, his pants, his boxers, until he was as bare as me. And God, he was beautiful. Every sharp muscle, every inch of smooth, warm skin, every part of him that was mine to touch.

My fingers wrapped around his length, and his head fell back against the pillows with a deep, guttural groan.

“Fuck, Sabrina.”

His voice was raw, strained, like he was barely hanging on.

I took my time, teasing him, torturing him the way he had tortured me. My lips, my tongue, my hands—all of me was on him, working him, building him up, until his grip tightened in my hair and my name fell from his lips like a plea.

He was close.

Too close.

So I stopped.

Oliver’s eyes snapped open, wild, desperate. And before he could even speak, I straddled him, my body sinking down, taking him in, inch by inch, stretching around him until I was completely filled.

A strangled groan left his lips. His fingers dug into my hips.

And then I whispered the words I hadn’t even meant to say—words that spilled from me before I could stop them.

“I missed this.”

His hands trembled against my skin. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. His eyes locked on mine, something unreadable in them.

And then I moved.

Slow at first, savoring the way he filled me, the way every nerve in my body sparked to life with each movement. His moans rumbled from deep within his chest, raw and deep, mixing with my own soft gasps, my own cries of pleasure.

Oliver’s hands gripped my hips, guiding me, helping me, and then he snapped, thrusting up into me, meeting me stroke for stroke. His fingers found my clit, rubbing in tight, perfect circles, and the pleasure crashed over me again, sharp and blinding.

I came with a sharp cry, my body tensing, tightening, shaking as wave after wave of ecstasy wracked through me.

Oliver followed, his eyes on mine, his expression utterly wrecked as he came inside me, his body tensing, his jaw clenching, his fingers bruising into my hips as he spilled into me.

I collapsed onto his chest, my heartbeat wild, my breathing uneven.

And then, between ragged breaths, his lips brushed against my temple, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“I’m never letting you go again.”

Chapter 15

POV: Sabrina

The warmth of Oliver’s body against mine was the first thing I felt as I drifted awake. His arms were wrapped around me, holding me close, his steady breathing brushing against the back of my neck. I shifted slightly, pressing deeper into him, and a satisfied sigh escaped my lips.

I fit into him perfectly. Like I was made for this—for him.

A slow, lazy caress moved down my arm, his fingertips barely grazing my skin, sending shivers down my spine. His lips pressed to my shoulder, warm and soft, and I melted.

“Mmm,” I murmured sleepily, turning my head slightly. “I fit perfectly into you.”

Oliver’s deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my back. His arms tightened around me.

“You fit perfectly around me,” he teased, his voice husky with sleep.

A breathless laugh left me, and I nudged him with my elbow. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m honest,” he murmured, kissing the curve of my neck.

I sighed, closing my eyes again, just sinking into him, into the warmth, the safety, the pure rightness of being in his arms.

“I hated sleeping here last night without you,” I admitted, my voice softer now. “It felt too big. Too empty. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Oliver exhaled, his grip on me tightening like he was trying to memorize this moment. “You have no idea what it was like in that hotel room,” he said, his voice rough, like the memories alone were unbearable. “Everywhere I looked, I saw you. I couldn’t lie in that bed without remembering how you felt in it with me. I couldn’t look at the door without thinking about walking out that morning and leaving you.”

His lips pressed against my hair. “I even considered changing rooms just so I could sleep.”

I turned in his arms, facing him now. His brown eyes were softer than I’d ever seen them, filled with something that made my chest ache.

“But that wasn’t the reason I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “You were.”

My fingers traced his jaw, my heart breaking a little at how exhausted he looked, at the weight of everything he had been carrying alone.

“But I’m here now,” he murmured, shifting to hover over me, his body pressing me into the mattress. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

My hands slid over his back, holding him closer. “I’m glad,” I whispered.

He kissed me then—slow and deep and real.

When we finally broke apart, my stomach let out a low, protesting growl, and I groaned, burying my face in his chest.

Oliver laughed, the sound vibrating through me. “Someone’s hungry.”

I peeked up at him, grinning. “I’m making breakfast.”

I slipped out of bed, feeling his eyes on me as I grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor and pulled it over my head. The fabric was too big, the sleeves hanging off my arms, the hem brushing the tops of my thighs. It smelled like him, like the remnants of last night, and a warmth spread through my chest that I wasn’t prepared for.

When I turned, Oliver was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me with a look that sent heat pooling between my legs.

His gaze dragged over me, slow and intense, taking in the way his shirt swallowed my frame. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, and then he shook his head.

“No.” His voice was low, rough, filled with something dark and dangerous.

I raised a brow. “No?”

“You can’t wear that,” he murmured, his fingers curling in the sheets, like he was restraining himself.

I smirked. “Why not?”

Oliver reached for me, pulling me between his legs. His hands slid up my bare thighs, underneath the shirt, his touch possessive. “Because if I see you in my clothes, we’re not making it to work today,” he said, his voice thick with hunger. “You’ll be staying in this bed, underneath me, all damn day.”

A shiver ran down my spine, but I laughed, threading my fingers through his hair. “Tempting,” I admitted, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But I really do need breakfast.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I get to pick what you wear after.”

I tilted my head. “Oh? And what should I wear?”

“A celebration outfit,” he said simply.

I frowned. “A celebration outfit?”

Oliver’s eyes gleamed. “You’re getting promoted today, Sabrina.”

My breath caught.

“Wait. You were serious?”

He leaned back slightly, smirking. “I don’t lie to you. Ever.”

“But…” I shook my head, still trying to process. “You didn’t talk to the partners yet about us. How is this already decided?”

His expression softened. “Because your promotion was never dependent on us. You earned this, Sabrina. You’re the best in this company. It was already set in motion before I even walked into your office.”

My heart swelled.

“I will talk to the partners,” he promised. “I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.” His hands tightened on my hips. “But this? Your promotion? That’s already yours.”

Emotion clogged my throat, and I barely managed to whisper, “Oliver…”

His lips brushed mine. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured. “And tonight, we’re going to celebrate properly.”

A slow smile spread across my lips. “Dinner?”

He nodded. “Somewhere nice.”

I kissed him, soft and sweet, unable to stop the way my heart soared.

I didn’t know what this was, what we were. But for the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to believe that maybe—just maybe—this could be real.

This could be forever.

After one more lingering kiss, I finally pulled away and headed to the kitchen. Oliver followed, watching me with amused fascination as I worked. I made pancakes, flipping them onto a plate, and when I placed them in front of him, he took a bite and groaned.

“I love this,” he said around a mouthful, his brown eyes locked on mine.

I smirked, sipping my coffee. “The pancakes?”

His gaze softened, and he shook his head. “No. This.”

Warmth spread through my chest, unexpected and terrifying.

Could we really have this?

Could this be ours?

I swallowed hard, pushing down the overwhelming emotions, and focused on finishing breakfast.

Afterward, I picked out a sleek, elegant dress—something worthy of my promotion—and Oliver got dressed back at his hotel before we met at the office.

As I stepped out the door, my heart raced with anticipation.

For the day ahead.

For us.

For everything that was coming next.

The office was buzzing with its usual energy when I walked in, the familiar rhythm settling into my bones. I kept my steps measured, my posture relaxed—like today was just any other day. Like I hadn’t woken up tangled in Oliver’s arms, feeling safe and whole in a way that terrified me.

I hadn’t seen him since we’d left my apartment separately, but I knew he was here. I could feel him. Like a gravitational pull that was always there, keeping me in his orbit whether I wanted it or not.

Violet’s knowing smirk was the first thing I saw when I reached my desk.

“Well, well, well,” she teased, leaning on the partition between us. “You look…” She tilted her head, inspecting me. “Refreshed.”

John snickered from his desk. “Radiant, even.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the smile tugging at my lips. “I’m fine,” I said, settling into my chair.

“Oh, fine,” Violet repeated, her grin widening. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Guys, seriously.” I shook my head, trying to bite back my amusement. “It’s just a good day.”

John raised a brow. “And does this good day have anything to do with a certain boss of ours looking… well, less like a brooding villain today?”

I fought the heat rising to my cheeks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Violet and John exchanged glances, but before they could continue their interrogation, the office doors swung open.

And everything changed.

“Oh shit.”

Violet’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the tension in the air was suddenly thick. I followed her gaze, my stomach twisting when I saw who had just walked in.

Alexander Caldwell.

One of the three owners of the company. The kind of man whose presence alone could send the entire office into silent panic.

He was older, maybe in his late fifties, dressed in an impeccable suit, his silver-streaked hair giving him an air of effortless authority. He was flanked by two assistants, his sharp gaze sweeping the room before landing directly on me.

My pulse quickened.

“What is he doing here?” John whispered.

“Rumors,” Violet muttered.

I stiffened. “What?”

Violet glanced at me. “Come on, Sabrina. You know what’s been going around. Office romance. Secret relationships.”

My stomach dropped.

Chapter 16

POV: Sabrina

Violet glanced at me. “Come on, Sabrina. You know what’s been going around. Office romance. Secret relationships.”

My stomach dropped.

They thought he was here about me and Oliver.

But I knew better.

The rumors weren’t about us.

They were about Charles.

Still, my palms felt clammy as Caldwell approached. The entire office had gone eerily quiet, the weight of his presence settling over everyone.

“Schmidt,” he said, his voice smooth but firm. “I’d like a word with you.”

I barely had time to react before I felt another gaze on me.

Oliver.

I turned my head just in time to see him standing near the conference rooms, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. But then—just for a second—his lips curved into a small smirk. And when our eyes met, he gave me a slow, knowing nod.

I exhaled, steadying myself.

I knew what was happening.

Still, my heartbeat didn’t slow as I followed Caldwell into the meeting room.

The conference room felt too quiet, the air too thick.

I sat across from Caldwell, my hands resting in my lap, my fingers barely resisting the urge to fidget.

He leaned back in his chair, studying me.

“You’ve done remarkable work here, Sabrina.”

I nodded, forcing myself to stay calm. “Thank you, sir.”

“No.” He shook his head slightly. “I don’t think you understand. You’ve exceeded every expectation we had when we hired you. You’ve led this branch to its most successful year ever. You’ve closed deals that were thought impossible and set new standards. Your leadership has transformed this branch. Your strategies, your execution—your ability to close deals that others wouldn’t even attempt—it’s rare.”

My throat felt tight, emotion creeping in.

“We don’t just appreciate what you’ve done, Sabrina,” he continued. “We recognize it. And that’s why, as of today, you are officially being promoted.”

I barely heard the rest.

The words rang in my ears, loud and clear.

You are officially being promoted.

My lips parted. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

He smiled slightly. “Say yes.”

A breathless laugh escaped me. “Yes.”

It felt unreal.

A promotion.

My promotion.

I had worked for this. Fought for this. And now, it was mine.

“Good,” Caldwell said with a nod. “Now, there’s just one more thing. Who do you recommend as your replacement?”

My answer came without hesitation.

“Violet Johnson,” I said, my voice steady. “She’s been by my side through everything. She knows this branch inside and out. She’s ready.”

Caldwell raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “And for her assistant?”

“John Martin,” I said immediately. “He’s sharp, strategic, and he works well with Violet. Together, they’ll be unstoppable.”

A pause. Then—

“Consider it done.”

When I stepped out of the meeting room, my heart was still racing.

But the second I looked up—

Oliver was there.

Standing just outside the door, waiting.

Our eyes met, and the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. But I felt it.

His pride.

His approval.

His silent congratulations.

I swallowed against the sudden warmth spreading through my chest, barely holding back a real smile. Instead, I gave him the smallest, most subtle nod.

And just like that, we understood each other.

No words needed.

I was goint to my office, and turned toward Violet’s desk John was there with her waiting, my heart racing. “Violet, John,” I called.

She looked up, still cautious, still assuming the worst. “Yeah?”

I smiled. “Come with me.”

The second I reached my desk, Violet and John were on me.

“Oh my God,” Violet whisper-yelled. “WHAT HAPPENED?”

John leaned closer. “Was it about the rumors? Or—” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Why do you look happy?”

I grinned.

“Because I just got promoted.”

For a full five seconds, they didn’t react.

Then—

Violet screamed.

“WHAT?!”

John’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m not. It’s official.”

Violet practically tackled me in a hug. “SABRINA, OH MY GOD—”

But before she could get another word out, I pulled back, still buzzing with excitement. “And that’s not all.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

I smiled. “You’re taking my place.”

Silence.

Total, stunned, absolute silence.

Then—

“NO WAY.”

“Yes way.”

Violet squealed, her hands flying to her mouth. “Are you—ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

I nodded. “Completely. And John?” I turned to him, my grin widening. “You’re her assistant.”

His mouth fell open. “You—what?”

Violet grabbed his arm, shaking him. “JOHN, WE’RE MOVING UP!”

Laughter bubbled out of me as John finally processed the news, a slow, disbelieving smile spreading across his face.

“This is insane,” he muttered. Then he looked at me. “Sabrina, you seriously recommended us?”

“Of course,” I said. “You two earned this.”

Violet threw her arms around me again. “I LOVE YOU.”

John smirked. “Okay, well, I like you. But this is amazing.”

I laughed, the happiness inside me overflowing.

This—this—was the moment I had been waiting for.

All the work. All the late nights. All the sacrifices.

It had paid off.

And I couldn’t wait to celebrate.

With him.

But they didn’t let go.

I could feel their eyes on me.

They had seen things. And I knew they were about to start talking.

“So…” Violet dragged out, eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’re all happy about the promotions, but we really need to know…”

I sighed. “What?”

John snorted. “Don’t play dumb, boss.”

Violet’s smirk widened. “You know what.”

I kept my expression neutral. “I really don’t.”

John arched an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, Sabrina. You’re glowing. Like—post-orgasm glowing.”

Heat rushed to my face. “John!”

Violet gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. That’s it. You so slept with him.”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you didn’t deny it,” John pointed out, grinning.

I exhaled, shaking my head. “Look, even with the promotions, I’m still your boss—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Violet cut in, waving a hand. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t see things.” She leaned in. “So… it’s true, isn’t it? You and Mister Super Hot Reginalds?”

I hesitated.

It wasn’t like I wanted to lie to them.

Violet and John were my closest friends here. They deserved to know, especially since Oliver had been in the office all week, sending me those smirks and heated glances when no one was looking.

So finally, I sighed.

“We… had a thing when we closed the deal,” I admitted carefully. “And we’ve been… talking this week.”

Violet’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

John, however, just smirked. “Okay, important question.”

I frowned. “What?”

He tilted his head. “Did you already lick all of him?”

My mouth dropped open. “John!”

Violet howled with laughter. “OH MY GOD.”

John grinned. “Well? I mean, look at him. The man oozes sex. Is he as good as he looks?”

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. “I hate both of you.”

John cackled. “That’s not a no.”

Violet wiped at her eyes. “This is my favorite day.”

I shook my head, muttering under my breath. “I should fire both of you.”

John shrugged. “Too late. You promoted us.”

I exhaled, still flustered. “And just so we’re clear—I wasn’t promoted because of him.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Of course you weren’t. You work your ass off. This promotion was overdue.”

John nodded in agreement. “Come on, Sabrina. We work with you. We know.”

Violet grinned. “But seriously… Spill, Schmidt. Is he the reason you’ve been walking around like you own the world? Because this week you two were glowing, then yesterday, you both looked miserable, like you were struggling with the whole office romance politics. And now? You’re glowing again.”

I groaned. “God, that’s why I promoted you.”

She smirked. “I know.”

Before I could say more, movement caught my eye.

I looked up—

And my breath hitched.

Across the office, Oliver stood by Caldwell, speaking in a low voice.

Then—both of them started walking toward the meeting room.

My breath caught.

This was really happening.

I saw the way Caldwell listened, his expression unreadable.

But Oliver’s?

Determined.

And then—

He glanced at me.

It was brief. Subtle.

But I knew.

I knew what this was about.

My stomach twisted.

“He’s…” My voice trailed off as I kept my eyes on them. “He’s talking to Caldwell.”

John frowned. “About what?”

I swallowed hard. “About us.”

Violet’s jaw dropped. “Wait. You’re telling me Oliver is actually—officially—talking to one of the owners about your relationship?”

I nodded slowly.

Violet stared at me. “Holy shit. That’s serious.”

John let out a low whistle. “Man’s ready to fight for you.”

My pulse thrummed in my throat.

Was he?

Was this really happening?

I knew Oliver wasn’t a man who made reckless decisions. He was methodical, calculating. If he was doing this, it meant he had already thought everything through.

And he wanted me anyway.

My heart clenched.

“He mentioned we’d be living in the same city now,” I murmured. “With my promotion.”

Violet blinked. “Excuse me?”

John smirked. “Oh, he’s all in.”

I exhaled shakily, my eyes still locked on Oliver.

Caldwell said something, nodding slightly, and Oliver’s expression didn’t change.

And then—

Oliver turned toward me.

His eyes locked on mine.

My stomach plummeted.

He didn’t break eye contact as he walked to the conference room door—then opened it.

And then—

“Sabrina,” he called, his voice firm. “Come in.”

I froze.

He had called me Schmidt all week. Always keeping things professional in front of others.

But now?

Now, his voice was different.

I couldn’t read him.

I felt Violet and John watching me, waiting, but I couldn’t look away from him.

With a deep breath, I stood—

And walked straight into the meeting room.

Not knowing what to expect.

Chapter 17

POV: Sabrina

I stepped into the conference room, my pulse thrumming in my throat.

Oliver and Caldwell were already seated, both watching me as I entered.

I swallowed hard.

I knew why I was here.

Oliver had gone to Caldwell to talk about us. About what we were doing.

What I didn’t know was how this was going to end.

Caldwell leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, face unreadable. Oliver, on the other hand, looked calm. Too calm. Like a man who had already decided his next move.

I hesitated by the door for a beat before finally making my way to the seat across from them.

Caldwell was the first to speak. “Relax, Schmidt. No one’s getting fired.”

I blinked. “I—what?”

Oliver’s lips twitched slightly, and I shot him a quick glance, but he gave nothing away.

Caldwell exhaled, shaking his head. “Oliver here tells me you two have… something going on.”

I felt my stomach twist. “I—”

“I told him the truth,” Oliver cut in smoothly. “That I’m serious about you. And that I know the company’s stance on workplace relationships.”

My breath caught.

Serious.

Oliver is serious about me.

Caldwell nodded, watching me carefully. “I assume you know about the policy.”

I swallowed. “Of course. No relationships between employees.”

At that, Caldwell snorted. “That’s what it says on paper, yeah. But do you know why we implemented it?”

I frowned. “Because… workplace relationships complicate things?”

Caldwell huffed out a laugh. “That’s the excuse we give people. The real reason?” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Charles.”

I froze.

Charles.

The man who had been all over the office gossip these past few weeks.

Caldwell’s eyes darkened slightly. “He was screwing his secretary. His married ass was screwing his secretary for months.”

I inhaled sharply.

Oliver didn’t react—like he already knew this.

Caldwell leaned forward. “The policy wasn’t meant to punish everyone. It was meant to stop him. We needed to make it clear that this shit wasn’t acceptable, especially in a company that values loyalty and integrity. But the bastard didn’t care. So, we fired them both.”

I blinked. “So… the rule—”

“Was never about stopping actual relationships,” Caldwell finished. “It was about stopping him.”

My lips parted, my brain scrambling to process this.

Oliver’s voice was even when he spoke. “Which means our situation is different.”

Caldwell nodded. “Yeah. Look, I don’t give a damn if two employees date—as long as it doesn’t affect their performance, and as long as it’s not some sleazy affair behind a spouse’s back.” He eyed me. “And considering you just got promoted, you don’t even report to Oliver anymore. So, I see no conflict here.”

A breath I didn’t realize I was holding rushed out of me.

Holy shit.

This… this was okay.

I glanced at Oliver, feeling something heavy lift off my chest.

And that’s when I saw it—

The subtle curve of his lips.

The satisfaction in his eyes.

He had known this would be the outcome. He had already made sure we would be fine.

And the weight of that—of him fighting for us—hit me hard.

Caldwell stood, clapping his hands. “So. You two do whatever you want. Just don’t let it screw with your work. Got it?”

I nodded quickly. “Yes, of course.”

Oliver simply said, “Understood.”

Caldwell gave us a look, then sighed. “Good. Now get out of my conference room.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

As soon as we stepped out, the tension in my chest melted into pure, unfiltered relief.

Oliver was beside me, walking in sync with me through the office.

And just as we reached the hallway, his hand brushed against mine—fleeting, subtle, but deliberate.

And my heart soared.

“So?”

Violet and John were waiting.

The second I got back to my desk, they practically pounced.

I exhaled. “Caldwell is okay with it. As long as we keep things professional.”

Violet gasped. “So you guys are free?”

John grinned. “Oh, this is huge.”

I shook my head, laughing under my breath. “It’s not a big deal.”

Violet smirked. “Yeah, sure. You and your hot, brooding, ridiculously sexy boss-lover are free to screw each other’s brains out, and it’s not a big deal?”

I groaned. “You have to stop calling him that.”

John snorted. “I absolutely will not.”

I rolled my eyes, but my phone buzzed, and I glanced at it—

Oliver: Be ready at 7.

My pulse skipped.

I looked up just in time to see Oliver through the glass of the meeting room, finishing up his last session of training.

He glanced at me.

And smirked.

Heat curled through me.

Violet caught the exchange and grinned. “Oh, you’re so not coming out with us tonight, are you?”

I bit my lip. “I, uh… already have plans.”

John groaned. “Ugh. Fine. Go have your hot boss sex.”

Violet laughed. “We’ll celebrate without you.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Enjoy yourselves.”

By the time the office emptied, it was just me and Oliver.

I grabbed my bag, ready to leave, when he approached, looking impossibly composed.

“I made a reservation,” he said smoothly. “Somewhere nice.”

My heart fluttered.

“To celebrate?” I asked softly.

His gaze darkened. “Both things, your promotions and to finally be able to be with you without bullshit standing in our way.”

I swallowed hard.

Holy hell.

I let out a breath and nodded. “Then let’s go.”

Without another word, he led me out of the office, straight to his car.

And as the city lights flickered around us, I knew—

Tonight wasn’t just a celebration.

Tonight was ours.

Oliver had reserved a table in the best restaurant in the city. Dim lighting, soft jazz humming in the background, the kind of place where every detail screamed elegance and exclusivity.

And of course, he fit in perfectly.

He looked devastating in his black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show off those forearms, the top button undone like he owned the place. The confidence, the dominance—it was just Oliver. Effortless.

The way he pulled my chair out for me before sitting down across from me, the way his eyes roamed over me as I crossed my legs, the way his lips curved into a knowing smirk…

Yeah. This dinner was going to be dangerous.

Our drinks arrived first—wine for me, whiskey for him. I took a slow sip, watching him watch me, his gaze lingering over my lips as I licked the drop that escaped onto my tongue.

His fingers traced the rim of his glass. “That dress,” he murmured, low and rough, “is a fucking problem.”

Heat licked up my spine.

I feigned innocence, tilting my head. “A problem?”

His brown eyes darkened as he leaned in just slightly. “A very big problem. You cross those legs one more time, Sabrina, and I’m going to make you regret it.”

My breath hitched, and of course, I crossed them again, just to test him.

The muscle in his jaw ticked. “You really like to play with fire, don’t you?”

I swallowed back my grin, shifting slightly in my seat as the waiter arrived with our food. I needed the distraction, needed a moment to gather myself because the way Oliver looked at me made my entire body hum.

We ate, we laughed, we talked about everything—work, our crazy coworkers, our plans. But the tension never faded. It was there, woven between every glance, every smirk, every time his fingers brushed mine over the table.

And then, in a moment of boldness, I asked, “So… what exactly are we?”

Oliver arched a brow, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “What do you mean?”

I shifted, feeling slightly ridiculous for even asking, but I needed to hear it. “I mean… what’s the label here? Do we have one?”

He watched me for a long second, his expression unreadable—before a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“Sabrina.” He leaned in, resting his forearms on the table, closing the space between us. “I don’t want to kiss, be with, or fuck anyone else. And I will kill any man who touches you.” His voice dropped lower, sending a shiver through me. “So, yes, we have a relationship.”

Heat curled deep in my stomach.

I reached for my wine, mostly just to give my hands something to do. “That’s… possessive.”

Oliver smirked. “That’s honest.”

I tried to roll my eyes, but my lips were already betraying me, curving into a smile.

He studied me for a beat, then his gaze flicked down—slow, lazy—before settling back on my face.

“You really want to talk about labels?” he murmured, tilting his head.

I swallowed. “I just wanted to be clear.”

“Oh, we’re clear.” His voice was smooth, confident, but his eyes—his eyes were dangerous. “You’re mine, Sabrina.” He reached across the table, brushing his knuckles along the inside of my wrist, slow and deliberate. “And I’m yours.”

A shudder rolled through me, my skin burning under his touch.

And then, with a satisfied smirk, he leaned back, picking up his drink like he hadn’t just set my entire body on fire.

I exhaled, barely suppressing the need to squeeze my thighs together.

This man.

This night.

This was going to be the death of me.

Chapter 18

POV: Sabrina

Oliver had been playing with fire all night.

And he knew it.

The teasing, the way his fingers brushed against mine, the way his eyes darkened every time I shifted in my seat. He was enjoying this. Enjoying watching me squirm under his gaze, knowing damn well what he was doing to me.

But two could play this game.

As the waiter cleared our plates, I leaned forward slightly, resting my chin in my hand, my fingers lightly tracing the stem of my wine glass. “So…” I mused, tilting my head. “You said I’m yours.”

Oliver’s jaw ticked. “That’s right.”

“And you’re mine?”

A slow smirk. “No doubt about it.”

I let my lips curve as I slid my foot forward under the table, the tip of my shoe barely grazing against the inside of his calf. “Interesting.”

Oliver went still.

His fingers, which had been tracing lazy circles on the table, stopped. His breath, steady and controlled, hitched just slightly.

And when his eyes lifted to meet mine—

Heat. Pure, dark, unfiltered heat.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling like I had just stepped into dangerous territory.

Slowly, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His voice was low, rough. “Careful, Sabrina.”

I arched a brow, feigning innocence. “Careful of what?”

Oliver exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was no amusement in his eyes. Only tension. Sharp. Unrelenting. “You know exactly what.”

I shrugged, pretending to take a sip of my wine. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The silence stretched between us. Thick. Suffocating.

Then—

Oliver reached under the table.

And his hand—large, warm—wrapped around my ankle.

My breath caught, my entire body tensing as his fingers slid up, slow and deliberate, tracing over my calf. My skin burned where he touched, the sensation electric, sending a pulse of heat straight through me.

I should’ve stopped him.

I didn’t.

His grip tightened, just enough to make my breath hitch. “You’re playing with something you don’t understand, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dark with warning.

I swallowed hard. “Am I?”

Oliver’s smirk was slow, dangerous. “Oh, you definitely are.”

And then—

His hand slid higher.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my fingers gripping the tablecloth as he traced slow, teasing patterns along my inner thigh. My dress rode up slightly, the material useless against the heat of his touch.

My pulse pounded, my skin tingling with anticipation, with the sheer thrill of knowing we were in public, knowing exactly what he could do to me if I let him.

Oliver leaned in, his lips barely an inch from my ear.

“I could make you come right here,” he murmured, voice thick with promise. “And no one would know.”

A shudder rolled through me, my nails digging into my thigh as my breath came faster.

“Would you like that?” he continued, his fingers brushing dangerously close to where I ached for him. “To sit there, pretending nothing is happening while I—”

“Check, please.”

The words shot out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Oliver chuckled, low and satisfied, but he didn’t move his hand. He traced one last slow, agonizing stroke along my thigh before finally pulling away.

I exhaled shakily, barely managing to regain some semblance of control as the waiter approached.

Oliver paid effortlessly, throwing his card down without breaking eye contact.

And then—

The second we stepped outside, the night air cool against my flushed skin, his hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling me toward his car.

“Where are we going?” I breathed.

His jaw was tight, his grip firm as he opened the door for me. “Your place.”

My stomach flipped. “To—?”

Oliver’s gaze burned into mine, dark and unwavering.

“To finish celebrating.”

My pulse thundered as I slid into the car, heart pounding as he walked around to the driver’s side.

Oh, I was in trouble.

And I wanted every second of it.

The moment I slid into his car, I knew I was in trouble.

The air was thick, crackling with the tension that had been building all night, every teasing touch, every heated glance, every promise left hanging between us like a live wire.

Oliver didn’t speak as he started the engine, but his grip on the steering wheel was tight, his other hand immediately finding my knee. A casual touch—if anything about him could ever be casual. But I wasn’t fooled. The heat from his palm seared through my skin, sending a pulse of anticipation straight to my core.

And then—

Slowly, deliberately—his fingers began to move.

Up.

My breath hitched.

Higher.

A shiver ran down my spine.

Still, his gaze remained on the road, unwavering, focused, as if he wasn’t currently sliding his hand up my thigh with devastating patience.

“You’re the one who started the game,” he murmured, voice deep, teasing. “Why didn’t you want to finish it at the restaurant?”

His fingers traced higher, brushing against the hem of my dress, and my breath turned shallow, my thighs instinctively parting, giving him more access.

“Because you were wrong…” The words barely escaped my lips.

Oliver’s brow arched, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he stole a glance at me. “Wrong?” His voice held a dangerous edge. “I never am.”

God, he wasn’t.

I swallowed hard, trying to hold onto some shred of sanity, but it was impossible when his hand kept moving, when his fingers were so close—so fucking close—to where I needed him.

I had to answer. I had to say something before I lost the ability to form words completely.

“You said you could make me come and no one would know,” I managed, my voice a breathy whisper, my heart pounding so hard it echoed in my ears. “But I—I wouldn’t have been able to contain myself. It would’ve been all over my face, and I would’ve moaned for sure.”

Oliver hummed, fingers ghosting along the edge of my panties. “You care what others would think?”

“If it’s me moaning and coming in the middle of a restaurant?” My voice barely made a sound. “Then yes.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, low and full of dark amusement. “Me too,” he admitted. “Because if I didn’t care…”

And then—

His fingers hooked into the lace of my panties, pulling them aside.

My breath stuttered, a shiver racking through me as he traced a single finger along my soaked slit.

“I would’ve gotten on my knees and sucked you off right there,” he murmured, his voice pure sin.

A strangled whimper escaped my lips.

Then his fingers brushed my clit, slow, precise—

A moan tore from my throat before I could stop it.

His smirk deepened. “Already so wet for me…”

His touch turned deliberate, circling, pressing, teasing, and my body reacted instantly. My legs spread wider, my hips arching into his touch, desperate for more.

One hand on the wheel, the other bringing me to the edge—

The perfect, calculated control of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

Knew exactly how to ruin me.

And then—

He pushed a finger inside.

I shattered.

The pressure, the tension, the unbearable heat coiling in my stomach—it all snapped in an instant. My orgasm crashed over me, raw and consuming, my body tightening, convulsing as pleasure tore through me.

And Oliver—

He watched me the entire time.

His eyes locked on mine, dark and burning, taking in every gasp, every moan, every desperate, uncontrollable reaction.

By the time I finally came down, trembling, breathless, he slowly withdrew his fingers, his movements excruciatingly deliberate.

And then—

He brought them to his lips.

And licked them clean.

My entire body clenched.

“Fuck,” I whispered, my voice barely there.

Oliver smirked. “I prefer that look on your face just for myself.”

I was still trying to catch my breath when he shifted in his seat, his voice low and rough with promise.

“I can’t wait to taste this properly,” he murmured, the words sinking deep, making my entire body pulse with anticipation. “The celebrations are just beginning.”

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. “You’re my undoing.”

Oliver’s smirk deepened.

“And you,” he said, voice dark with satisfaction, “are completely mine.”

And with that—he pressed his foot on the gas.

Straight to my apartment.

Straight to the next part of the night.

Chapter 19

POV: Sabrina

The moment I stepped into my apartment, Oliver was on me.

The door slammed shut with a solid kick of his foot, locking us away from the rest of the world. His hands—strong, desperate—roamed over my body from behind, like he was mapping every curve, every inch of exposed skin. His mouth found the crook of my neck, lips hot and insistent, sending a wave of shivers cascading down my spine.

I gasped as I felt him, hard and ready, pressing against my ass. His fingers curled around the hem of my dress, tugging the fabric higher, bunching it around my hips.

“This is why you chose this dress, isn’t it?” My voice was deep, rough, laced with amusement and pure hunger.

One of his hands slid between my thighs, fingers brushing over my panties, the other gripping my throat, tilting my head back so he could claim my lips.

I was already melting. Already his.

“I chose this because you look like heaven in it,” he murmured against my mouth.

His free hand covered my breast, kneading, teasing, igniting something wild inside me.

And then—

Oliver lost control.

He scooped me up effortlessly, making me gasp as he carried me through the apartment. “At least I already know the way to your bedroom.”

“Oliver—” I tried to protest, but the warmth of being in his arms, the solid strength of him against me, had me pressing closer instead.

The moment my back hit the bed, he was covering me, his body caging me in, his mouth crashing onto mine with a hunger that left me breathless.

I needed to feel him.

My hands worked fast, unbuttoning his shirt, my fingers dragging over the hard planes of his chest as I pushed it off his shoulders. His muscles tensed under my touch, heat radiating from his skin.

I reached for his belt, desperate to strip him bare, but he grabbed my wrists, stopping me.

“No, darling,” he murmured, voice thick with authority. “You first.”

A shiver ran through me.

His hands moved to my back, fingers skillfully dragging down the zipper of my dress—the exact way he had that first night. Slow. Methodical. Like unwrapping a present.

He kissed each newly exposed inch of skin as he pushed the fabric down my body. I arched, writhing beneath his touch, desperate for more.

I sat up just enough to slide the dress off completely, my fingers trembling as I reached behind me to unclasp my bra.

Oliver watched.

His eyes dark, consuming, tracking my every move as I stripped down for him.

And when I slid my soaked panties down my thighs, he moved fast—gripping my ankles, spreading my legs wide, hunger burning in his gaze.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice raw, his breath shaky. “Look at you.”

Then—

He dove in.

His mouth was on me, hot and relentless.

He licked, tasting, devouring me like I was his last meal. His tongue flicked against my clit, sending shocks of pleasure through me. His lips sealed around it, sucking, teasing, making my hips jerk against him.

Then he kissed me there—slow, deep, an open-mouthed kiss that had me gasping, moaning, writhing.

And then—

A light scrape of teeth. A wicked, featherlight bite that sent me spiraling closer to the edge.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—

My body moved on instinct, chasing, arching, needing.

Oliver held me down, fingers digging into my hips, keeping me at his mercy.

And then—

Pleasure crashed over me.

My back arched off the bed, my hands gripping the sheets, my moan breaking into something helpless as I shattered beneath his tongue.

I was still trembling, still trying to catch my breath when I moved.

I wanted to give him the same pleasure.

Oliver sat back against the bed, watching me as I shifted onto my knees, between his legs.

Slowly, I wrapped my hand around his thick length, feeling him throb under my touch.

His jaw clenched. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

I leaned in, dragging my tongue along his length, savoring the way his breath hitched, the way his entire body tensed.

Then I took him into my mouth.

Deep. Slow.

Savoring every inch of him.

“Fuck, Sabrina,” he groaned, his head tipping back, his hands tangling in my hair, guiding me as I moved.

I hollowed my cheeks, took him deeper, loving the way his hips jerked, how his grip on my hair tightened.

I wanted to ruin him.

Wanted him desperate.

I kept going, sucking, teasing, until his breath turned ragged, until his body was on the verge of breaking.

Then—

His hand tightened in my hair, pulling me off him with a desperate growl.

“I need you,” he rasped. “Now. On all fours for me.”

I swallowed hard, heat flooding through me.

I turned, slowly positioning myself on my hands and knees, arching my back just enough to give him the perfect view.

Then, glancing over my shoulder, I smirked.

“As you wish, sir.”

Oliver groaned, his hands gripping my hips so hard I knew I’d feel it tomorrow.

“You have no fucking idea what calling me ‘sir’ does to me,” he muttered.

Then he was there—pressing against my entrance, pushing in slowly, stretching me, filling me completely.

I gasped, my hands gripping the sheets as he sank deeper, his thick length pushing me to the edge of pleasure and madness.

His movements were slow at first, dragging out every inch, letting me feel every bit of him.

Then—

He picked up speed.

The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, with our ragged breaths, with my gasps and his groans.

Every thrust sent sparks of pleasure rippling through me, building, intensifying, sending me higher, higher.

His fingers slid to my clit, circling, teasing—

I shattered.

A cry tore from my lips as my body clenched around him, pulsing, trembling, pleasure crashing over me in sharp, electric waves.

And Oliver—

With a groan, a sharp thrust, he followed.

He collapsed against me, breathing hard, his lips pressing against my shoulder, my neck, murmuring something that made my heart clench.

“We’re just getting started.”

I smiled, breathless, completely undone.

God help me.

I didn’t want this celebration to end.

Chapter 20

POV: Sabrina

A week later, I stood in the lobby of my new office, heart pounding in my chest.

Everything was different now.

New city. New position. New office.

And Oliver.

I adjusted the strap of my purse, inhaling deeply to calm my nerves. I’d worked my ass off for this promotion, but that didn’t stop the weight of expectation from pressing down on me. This was a new playing field, and I had to prove I deserved to be here.

I wasn’t just stepping into a new role. I was stepping into Oliver’s world.

And he was already here. He left early of his apartment and left me to prepare myself for my first day.

He’d arrived before me, of course. I spotted him immediately—standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows of his glass-walled office, dressed in his usual crisp white shirt and navy slacks, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal those strong forearms.

His presence was impossible to ignore.

Neither was the way he looked at me.

His gaze was pure heat—dark, hungry, unwavering.

He didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

He just watched.

And my entire body reacted.

A shiver ran down my spine as my mind flashed back to our last night. The way he’d whispered filthy things against my skin, the way he’d pinned my wrists, the way he’d ruined me until I was trembling in his arms—

I clenched my thighs and forced myself to focus.

I hadn’t even made it to my office yet, and he already had me undone.

Professionalism, Sabrina.

I tore my gaze away and took another steadying breath as footsteps approached.

“Sabrina.”

I turned to find Caldwell grinning at me, dressed in a sleek charcoal suit, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back.

“Good morning,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Welcome to headquarters,” he said warmly. “Come on, let me show you to your new office.”

I glanced back toward Oliver’s office, half-expecting him to join us.

He didn’t.

He just stood there, watching.

Something about the way he looked at me made my pulse spike—like he was reminding me that he owned me, even from across the room.

Caldwell led me down the hall, chatting about the company’s expansion and how excited they were to have me on board.

I nodded, responding where appropriate, but I was hyper-aware of Oliver’s gaze following my every move.

When we reached my office, Caldwell pushed open the glass door, motioning for me to step inside.

It was beautiful—sleek, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. A massive desk sat in the center, a plush chair behind it, and a sitting area off to the side.

“This is your space,” Caldwell said. “Feel free to make it your own.”

“Thank you,” I said, running my fingers over the polished wood of the desk.

“Before I leave you to settle in, I’d like to introduce you to two very important people.”

I turned as two men stepped inside.

Caldwell gestured toward the older of the two—Otto Kringle, a distinguished-looking man with silver hair and a sharp gaze. “Sabrina, this is Otto Kringle, one of the founding partners.”

Otto gave me a nod. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard great things about you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kringle. I’m excited to be here.”

“And this,” Caldwell continued, gesturing to the taller man beside him, “is Theodore Grayson, our other founding partner.”

Theodore, a striking man in his early fifties with dark hair just beginning to gray at the temples, shook my hand. “We expect great things from you, Sabrina.”

I smiled, keeping my posture confident. “I’ll do my best to exceed those expectations.”

Caldwell chuckled. “I have no doubt you will.”

As they exchanged a few more pleasantries, my gaze flickered past them—back to Oliver.

He still hadn’t said a word to me.

He stood at the edge of the room now, hands in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes locked onto mine.

There was something in his gaze.

Possessiveness. Hunger.

Something dangerously close to pride.

It sent a thrill through me.

I bit my lip, trying to ignore the way my skin heated under his stare.

“I’ll leave you to get settled,” Caldwell said, snapping my attention back to him. “We’ll touch base later.”

As the men exited, I exhaled, finally taking a moment to breathe.

But the second the door closed, Oliver was moving.

He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping right in front of me, so close I could feel the warmth radiating off him.

His eyes dropped to my lips.

Then lower.

Taking in the fitted black dress I’d chosen for my first day, the subtle heels, the way the fabric clung to my curves.

He reached out, fingers brushing my waist before gripping my hips firmly.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I swallowed hard. “What question?”

He smirked, tilting his head.

“The hotel.”

Oh.

I knew exactly what he was talking about.

Before I moved, he’d offered—no, insisted—that I stay at his place while I found an apartment.

I’d refused.

I wasn’t about to let myself fall into the dangerous comfort of being in his space every night. I needed to stand on my own two feet, to at least try to keep some boundaries.

But Oliver had just smirked, leaned close, and whispered, It won’t make a difference. We’ll end up in the same bed anyway.

And now, here he was, teasing me again.

He brushed his lips against my ear. “Admit it, Sabrina,” he murmured. “You like fucking in hotels.”

A shiver shot through me.

I shoved at his chest—half-heartedly. “Oliver, we’re at work.”

His grip on my hips tightened.

“You think that stops me from imagining what’s under this dress?”

I sucked in a breath.

His thumb brushed over my hip bone, tracing slow, torturous circles.

“And you,” he continued, voice low, dangerous, “should be focused on your first day.”

I met his gaze, pulse hammering.

“I am.”

He smirked. “Liar.”

I glared at him. “You’re not exactly helping.”

“Would you like me to stop?”

I wanted to say yes.

I really did.

But his fingers skimmed my waist, his scent wrapped around me, and all I could think about was how easy it would be to let him back me against the desk and—

I stepped back, breaking the spell. “I need to get to work.”

Oliver’s smirk deepened, but he let me go.

“For now,” he murmured.

Then he turned and walked out, leaving me breathless, flustered—

And completely aware that this office was about to become our newest battleground.

God help me.

I didn’t stand a chance.