Craving Forbidden Pleasures

The office was too quiet at night. Too sterile. Ava shifted in her chair, crossing her legs at the knees, her skirt riding higher than she intended. The city stretched endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, its lights glittering like stars spilled across black velvet. Out there, the world kept moving—cars honking, lives colliding, stories unfolding. But in here, inside this glass-walled cage, time stood still. She pushed a strand of dark hair from her face and bent over the report on her laptop. Her fingers tapped at the keys, but her mind wasn’t on the numbers. It was on the sound of her own breathing. The hum of the fluorescent lights. The occasional creak of the air-conditioning. And—though she hated admitting it—the possibility of him. Dominic Blackwell. The CEO. Her boss. The man who didn’t need to command attention because it wrapped itself around him like a cloak. Even when he wasn’t in the room, his presence was. She had only been his executive assistant for a month. The ink on her degree still felt fresh; she could practically smell the varnish from her graduation stage. This was supposed to be her chance to prove herself—to build a career, to climb. But instead, she found herself falling. Not in love. That would have been safer. No, what she felt was darker, heavier, like being dragged into quicksand. Because every time she looked up at him during meetings, every time she caught his reflection in the mirrored glass walls, every time his cologne brushed past her when he moved too close—she wanted. And she suspected he knew. The sound of leather shoes on polished tile broke the silence. Ava froze, pulse spiking, before she dared to glance at the doorway. He stood there, framed in shadow, tall and broad-shouldered, his suit jacket unbuttoned as though he’d just come from some late meeting. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, as if power itself had grown tired of formality. Dominic Blackwell. Her breath caught. He leaned casually against the frame, though there was nothing casual about him. His dark eyes took her in—her legs crossed, her blouse just slightly open, the glow of the city turning her into a silhouette against the glass. She should have stood. She should have greeted him properly. But all she could do was stare. “Late night?” His voice was low, smooth, dangerous—like whiskey poured over ice. Ava startled, fumbling for composure. “Deadlines don’t wait for beauty sleep, Mr. Blackwell.” His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Call me Dominic after nine p.m.” He stepped into the office, the click of his shoes deliberate, each one echoing in her chest. “You know the rule.” Her lips parted. She remembered. Her first week on the job, he had told her that precise line when she’d stayed late, teasing her without smiling. She’d thought it was a joke back then. But now—now it didn’t feel like one. “Have you forgotten all my rules already?” he asked, voice a husky murmur. “No, sir,” she whispered before she could stop herself. The way his gaze darkened told her he’d noticed the slip—that she’d called him sir. He came closer, his cologne wrapping around her, sharp and musky, dizzying. He braced one hand on her desk, leaning in until his shadow consumed her. Ava swallowed hard, trying not to shift in her chair, trying not to let him see the heat prickling her skin. “I warned you, Ava,” he said softly, dragging one finger across the smooth surface of her desk. The fingertip moved closer and closer until it reached her knee, the faintest touch sending sparks racing through her veins. “Warned me?” Her voice cracked slightly, betraying her. He leaned down, his mouth close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath on her ear. “I don’t chase,” he murmured. “I own.” Her thighs clenched involuntarily. The words sank deep, dangerous, like hooks catching in flesh. She should have told him no. She should have leaned back, pulled away, reminded him of HR policies and career goals. But the truth was written all over her body—in her quickened breath, the way her pulse fluttered against her throat, the ache between her legs. And Dominic knew it. With a swift movement, he gripped the arms of her chair and pulled it toward him. She gasped as her knees hit his hips, her hands flying to the desk for balance. Suddenly he was there—towering, immovable, lips just inches from hers. “Tell me to stop,” he said, voice roughened with restraint. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She thought about saying it. About telling him to stop, to step back, to let her breathe. But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. She didn’t. His lips crashed into hers. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a collision, a storm breaking against glass walls. His mouth was hot, demanding, tasting of power and hunger. Her body yielded instantly, melting into his as though it had been waiting for this moment since the day she walked into his office. Ava gripped his suit jacket, pulling him closer, even as her mind screamed at her to resist. His hand slid up her thigh, bold and unrelenting, claiming territory she hadn’t given but couldn’t deny. The city outside blurred, neon lights streaking across her vision as her world narrowed to his mouth, his hands, the sharp edge of the desk digging into her back. For one wild moment, she thought about the glass walls surrounding them. Anyone walking by could see. Anyone could stop and watch. The thought should have terrified her—but instead, it thrilled her. The cage was transparent, but in his arms, it felt inescapable. Dominic kissed her harder, his teeth grazing her lower lip, making her gasp. When he finally pulled back, his eyes burned with something primal, something that made her pulse quiver with equal parts fear and desire. “You have no idea what you’ve started,” he growled. Her lips trembled, swollen and slick. “Maybe I do.” His smirk was dark, knowing, as his thumb brushed her cheek. “Then you’d better be ready, Ava. Because I don’t play games.” And she believed him. With every ragged breath, with every tremor in her body, Ava knew this was no office flirtation. It was something sharper. A game of fire and control. And once begun, it would not end.