The Aftermath
1069 Words
The sound of footsteps faded down the hall, leaving only silence.
Ava sat frozen on the edge of the desk, her blouse gaping open, her hair mussed, her thighs still trembling from what Dominic had just done to her. The torn lace of her panties lay like evidence on the floor between them.
Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. The taste of him still lingered on her lips. The scent of s*x clung to the air, heavy and undeniable.
What had she just allowed to happen?
Her hands trembled as she reached for her blouse, fumbling with what buttons remained intact. But her fingers were clumsy, useless. She could barely look at him.
Dominic, on the other hand, was unbothered. Calm. His tie was still loose, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his dark hair mussed in a way that somehow made him look even more dangerous. He leaned casually against the glass wall, watching her with the same intensity he always did, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“You’re shaking.” His voice was low, steady, commanding.
Ava swallowed hard. “Because you—because we—” She couldn’t even form the words.
His smirk was infuriatingly confident. “Because I made you come so hard you forgot your own name.”
Her face burned. “Someone could’ve walked in.”
“They didn’t.”
“They could have.”
“They didn’t,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, as if facts bent to his will. He pushed off the glass wall and strode toward her, every step measured, deliberate. “And even if they had… what then?”
Her breath caught as he reached her. He tilted her chin up with a finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, burning, pulling her under.
“You think anyone would dare say a word to me?” His thumb brushed her bottom lip, still swollen from his kiss. “No, Ava. They would look, they would know, and they would understand one thing.”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “What?”
“That you belong to me.”
The words hit her harder than his thrusts had. She jerked her chin away, her heart pounding. “You don’t own me, Dominic.”
The corner of his mouth curved into a dangerous smile. “Don’t I?”
Anger flared in her chest, but underneath it was something worse—desire. Because a part of her wanted to belong to him. A part of her had always wanted it, from the moment his eyes first lingered too long, from the first time he bent close enough that her breath caught.
That part terrified her.
She stood abruptly, gathering her torn blouse around her and smoothing her skirt, even though the fabric was wrinkled and ruined. She needed space. Air. Distance.
“This can’t happen again,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
Dominic arched a brow. “Can’t?” He stepped closer, crowding her space until her back hit the desk again. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “Or won’t?”
She shivered despite herself.
“I have a meeting,” he said, pulling away suddenly. His voice was sharp again, all business, as if the last hour hadn’t happened. “You’ll take notes, as usual. Afterward, you’ll clean yourself up. Fix your blouse. Make yourself presentable.” His gaze lingered on the bruises already blooming along her collarbone, marks of his possession. “And tonight—”
“No.” Her voice was firm this time, though it cracked at the edges.
Dominic tilted his head, studying her, amused. “No?"
“I said this can’t happen again.” She forced herself to look him in the eye, though her insides quivered. “I won’t risk my job. My career. I worked too hard for this.”
He didn’t answer right away. He only watched her, his silence oppressive. Then he smiled—a slow, predatory curve of his lips that made her stomach twist.
“We’ll see.”
He straightened, adjusted his tie, and walked to the door. At the threshold, he glanced back once, his gaze sharp as a blade. “Nine p.m., Ava. My office.”
And then he was gone.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, but the echo of his presence lingered, heavy, suffocating.
Ava sank into her chair, her legs weak, her mind racing. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to blot out the memory of his touch, the sound of his voice, the way her body had betrayed her so completely.
She hated him. She wanted him. She feared him.
And she had no idea which of those would destroy her first.
The board meeting was a blur. Ava sat in the corner, pen poised, notepad open, but her notes were incoherent scribbles. She barely heard the voices around the table. Her eyes kept darting to Dominic, seated at the head, composed, commanding, untouched by what had happened earlier.
He never once looked at her. Not directly. But his words—sharp, decisive, confident—felt like a caress across her skin, a reminder of his control. And every time his hand shifted to adjust his cufflinks or his gaze swept the room, she felt her body respond as if he had touched her again.
By the time the meeting ended, she was trembling with exhaustion. She packed her notes quickly, avoiding his gaze, and slipped out before anyone could notice the flush in her cheeks or the faint bruises peeking from beneath her blouse.
Her apartment that night felt foreign. She dropped her bag by the door, stripped out of her ruined clothes, and stood under the shower until the water ran cold. But no matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn’t wash away the feel of him.
Her body still hummed with the memory of his mouth, his hands, his voice commanding her into submission. She pressed her forehead against the shower tile, groaning in frustration.
This had been a mistake. A dangerous, reckless mistake.
And yet… when she closed her eyes, she could still hear him: Nine p.m. My office.
Her heart thudded in her chest.
The worst part wasn’t that she dreaded the thought.
The worst part was that she wasn’t sure she could stay away.
- Writer
