The Pull of Chains
1048 Words
The night pressed heavy against the windows of Blackwell Tower, the glass shimmering with the reflection of the city below. Ava sat at her desk long after the others had gone, the silence wrapping her like a shroud. She told herself she was catching up on reports. She told herself she was waiting for traffic to thin before heading home.
But the truth was simpler, darker.
She was waiting for him.
Her phone lay facedown beside her laptop, but she could feel it, as if the screen pulsed with an invisible heartbeat. Every second she resisted checking it was torture. Every second she imagined the message that might appear, summoning her, claiming her.
When it finally buzzed, her body jolted as though struck by lightning.
My office. Ten minutes.
Her breath caught. It wasn’t a question. It never was.
Her rational mind screamed at her to leave, to grab her bag, to run home and never look back. But her body—her treacherous, hungry body—was already standing, smoothing her skirt, fixing her hair in the dark reflection of the window.
She hated herself for it. Hated the way her heels clicked with purpose down the empty hall, hated how anticipation coiled hot and wet in her belly.
The CEO’s office loomed like a cathedral, vast and intimidating. The door was ajar. She stepped inside.
Dominic was waiting, jacket discarded, tie loose, his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. He stood by the window, city lights painting his silhouette in molten gold.
“You’re late,” he said without turning.
“I—” Her throat tightened. “It’s been eight minutes.”
He faced her then, and the weight of his gaze nearly knocked her back. “When I say ten, Ava, I mean five.”
Her chest tightened. It wasn’t just about time—it was about obedience. He wanted her pliant, bending, his.
She should have turned around. Should have walked out. But instead, she closed the door.
He moved toward her with predatory calm, every step deliberate. She could feel the heat radiating from him before he even touched her.
“You tried to resist me this week,” he said, his voice a dangerous purr. “Ignored my messages. Hid from me. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
Ava swallowed hard. “I needed space.”
“Space?” His hand slid along her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip. “Sweetheart, there is no space. Not anymore. You belong to me the moment you walked into this building in that skirt and gave me those eyes.”
Her breath hitched. She wanted to argue, to deny it, but his hand tilted her chin, and the protest dissolved into a shiver.
Dominic leaned close, his lips grazing her ear. “You crave this. Crave me. Admit it.”
Her knees trembled. “I…”
“Yes.” His voice darkened, a growl in her chest. “Say it.”
She closed her eyes. Shame and desire tangled inside her until she didn’t know where one ended and the other began. “I crave you.”
The satisfaction in his smile was devastating. He claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss, one hand gripping her waist, the other fisting in her hair to hold her exactly where he wanted her.
Minutes blurred. Clothes loosened, buttons slipped, restraint shattered.
Dominic pulled her onto the sleek leather couch, pinning her beneath him. His dominance radiated from every movement—the way he held her wrists above her head, the way he slowed down just to watch her writhe, the way he demanded everything she was too afraid to give.
“You keep pretending this is a mistake,” he murmured, pressing her thighs apart with his knee. “But your body doesn’t lie, Ava. Every time I touch you, it begs for more.”
She bit her lip, desperate to keep control, but her hips betrayed her, lifting into his
“See?” His smirk was pure wickedness. “Even when you try to fight me, you’re already mine.”
His hand slid beneath her blouse, palms searing against her bare skin, until he found the lace that bound her breasts. He tore it aside, mouth closing around one aching peak, and Ava cried out, arching against him.
She should have felt ashamed. She should have pulled away. But the only truth she knew in that moment was the fire he lit inside her.
The city glittered outside the glass, oblivious to the storm within. Ava’s cries were muffled against Dominic’s shoulder as he drove her higher, faster, until she shattered in his hands, every nerve burning.
When she came down, gasping, trembling, he wasn’t finished. He flipped her easily, pressing her palms against the cool leather of the couch back, his body crowding hers.
“You’ll learn, Ava,” he whispered against her neck, his breath hot and merciless. “You’ll learn that resistance only makes me take you harder.”
And then he proved it. Ruthless, relentless, each thrust a claim, each kiss a punishment, until her body gave out again, surrendering to the force of his will.
Later, when it was over, Ava slumped boneless on the couch, her skin flushed, her hair damp with sweat. Dominic sat beside her, composed once more, sipping from a crystal glass of whiskey as though nothing had happened.
He studied her with that unnerving intensity, and Ava shifted, tugging her skirt down self-consciously.
“What are we doing, Dominic?” she asked softly, her voice raw. “This… this can’t last. People will notice. I’ll lose everything.”
He leaned back, swirling the amber liquid. “You’ll lose nothing. You’re mine. That’s all that matters.”
“But my life—my choices—”
His eyes cut to hers, sharp as a blade. “Your life is with me now.”
Her heart thudded painfully. A part of her wanted to scream, to fight, to tear herself free of the chains he wrapped around her. But another part—the darker, hungrier part—thrilled at his words.
Because deep down, she knew he was right.
Dominic Blackwell had already claimed her.
And she wasn’t sure she wanted to be saved.
- Writer
