Broken Meetings
1046 Words
The intercom’s static crackled like a lightning strike, snapping the fragile cocoon Ava and Dominic had built around themselves.
"Mr. Blackwell, your 9:00 a.m. board meeting is arriving early."
The voice was steady, professional—completely unaware of the scene unfolding behind the polished glass doors.
Ava froze beneath him. Her body was still slick, trembling from the storm he’d unleashed moments ago, her skirt bunched indecently at her waist. She wanted to move, to cover herself, but her legs wouldn’t obey. The aftershocks of pleasure still held her captive.
Dominic didn’t flinch. His hands remained firmly on her hips, his body still pressed into hers. A smirk curved his mouth as though even being caught mid-act was a game he had already planned to win.
His forehead brushed hers, his breath ragged. “I hope you brought a change of clothes,” he murmured, voice husky with satisfaction. “Because we’re just getting started.”
Her stomach flipped. He said it so casually, as though it were inevitable. As though her choice didn’t matter at all.
Ava shoved weakly at his chest. “Dominic—they’re here. You can’t—”
He caught her wrist and kissed the inside of it, slow, deliberate. “I can do whatever I want. I am the CEO, who dares do anything to me?"
Before she could reply, a knock rattled the office door.
Her pulse spiked. If someone walked in—
Dominic released her suddenly, stepping back with unnerving composure. In seconds he had straightened his tie, fastened his belt, smoothed his jacket. The ruthless CEO stood where her dark lover had been only moments before.
Ava scrambled upright, tugging her skirt down, yanking her blouse closed with trembling fingers. But no matter how she adjusted herself, she knew she looked undone—hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes glassy with lust.
“Sit,” Dominic ordered quietly.
The single word held the same weight as his touch. Without thinking, she sank into her chair, clutching her laptop as if it could shield her from the world.
“Enter,” Dominic called, his voice the perfect mask of professionalism.
The door opened. His secretary stepped inside, tablet in hand. Her eyes flicked briefly toward Ava—too briefly. Did she see? Did she know? Ava’s skin burned under the scrutiny.
“Sir, the board has assembled in Conference Room One. They’re expecting you.”
Dominic gave a curt nod, already striding toward the door. “Tell them I’ll be there in five.”
“Yes, Mr. Blackwell.” The secretary turned, leaving the room with a whisper of heels on tile.
Silence crashed down.
Ava pressed her hands to her face, breathing hard. Every nerve screamed at her to get up, to run, to escape before anyone else noticed.
Dominic paused at the doorway, glancing back at her. His eyes were sharp, unreadable.
“Clean yourself up,” he said softly, but there was no gentleness in it. It was a command. A promise. A warning. “We’ll finish this later.”
And then he was gone.
Ava stumbled into the private bathroom attached to the office, gripping the counter to steady herself. Her reflection stared back, damning.
Her hair was a tangle. Her lipstick smeared. A red mark—his mark—bloomed along her throat.
She looked like someone she didn’t recognize. Someone reckless. Someone ruined.
She splashed cold water on her face, biting back a sob. She should leave. She should pack her things, walk out, and never look back. She should quit. She was becoming someone she didn't know, someone she couldn't recognize, someone who was definitely not her. She should leave before she list herself completely. But her hands betrayed her, reaching for her compact mirror, dabbing powder, fixing lipstick. Pretending.
By the time she emerged, the office was silent again. The board had swallowed Dominic whole, the company resuming its daily rhythm as if nothing had happened.
But Ava knew better.
The hours dragged. She answered calls, filed reports, pretended to work, all while replaying the morning in her mind. Her every thought was of him. Of what he had done to her body... to her. And how she wanted more. Every glance from passing coworkers felt like suspicion. Every whisper of laughter felt like mockery.
Did they know? They must know. How could they not? The tell tail signs must be written all over her face like a flashcard or better still, a placard.
By lunch, she couldn’t take it anymore. She was too highly strung to remain still and continue pretending. She escaped to the rooftop garden, the only place in the building where she could breathe. The city stretched out around her in steel and glass, endless, unrelenting and suffocating.
Her phone buzzed. A message.
Conference Room Three. Now.
Her chest constricted. No name, but no need. She knew whose words these were, anyway.
She typed back with trembling fingers: "I can’t. People will notice" .
The reply came instantly.
"Now, Ava!"
Her knees weakened. The garden tilted around her. It was an order and the sound of that order caused desire to rush through her. She realized she wanted to be dominated. She wanted... Oh she wanted him.
She wanted to resist. God, she wanted to resist. But even as she told herself no, her body betrayed her, carrying her down the stairs, through the maze of corridors, until she stood outside Conference Room Three. Her feet had carried her like a willess and wanton woman to his chambers
The door creaked open before she could knock.
Dominic stood inside, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His eyes locked on her, dark and molten.
“You disobeyed me once today,” he said, voice low. “Don’t make it a habit.”
Her lips parted, a protest forming. But he didn’t give her the chance.
In two strides, he had her against the wall, his mouth devouring hers, his hand gripping her thigh possessively.
And just like that, she shattered again—her carefully built resolve collapsing under the weight of his dominance.
The dominance she had come to realize that she wanted, needed, craved. She knew she could never be happy, never be truly content with another.
- Writer
