Chapter Fourteen
Gabriel
The space between us might as well have been a live wire. Every time she shifted, the hem of her skirt rode an inch higher. Every time she clicked across the linoleum in those four-inch stilettos, the sound ran a current straight through me.
Eliza was fully aware, which is what made it torture.
She stood at her desk, arms braced on the wood, eyes roving over two monitors and a stack of printouts.
Her hair, loose again tonight, like a dare, slipped forward to shadow her face, but not enough to hide the small crease above her left eyebrow.
The one that deepened whenever she was about to level an argument so devastating it would linger in the air for days.
No one outmaneuvered Eliza Reeves. Not in a boardroom, not in a goddamn legal staring contest, and not in the grim sport we’d made of these after-hours encounters.
She tapped a key, then, without looking up: “You’re lurking.”
I savored the way her jaw set. “I’m working.”
“Not very hard.” She glanced, once, over her shoulder. “Is the deal going to fall apart or are you just waiting to see if I crack?”
“If you cracked,” I said, “I’d have to find a new way to amuse myself.”
She laughed, dry and throatier than usual. “You’re not funny, Valor. You’re just predictable.”
That stung more than it should. “That’s a first. You never complained before.”
“I didn’t say it was a complaint.”
She straightened, turning fully toward me.
The move brought her just inside the rectangle of light cast by the lamp.
It carved her features into something unflinching; eyes like the edge of a storm, mouth already set for the next strike.
She’d switched from the blazer to a fitted blouse earlier, and the top two buttons were uncharacteristically undone.
I couldn’t decide if it was a lapse or an invitation.
“Why are you still here, Gabriel?”
The question sounded simple, but nothing with her ever was.
I held her gaze. “The same reason you’re still here.”
She smiled, a razor-thin curve. “You think you have me figured out.”
“No. But I know you want this to work more than anyone. Even if you’d rather die than admit it.”
“You talk a lot of shit for a man whose signature is still missing from my contract.”
I pushed away from the table, closing the gap between us until the air buzzed with static. She didn’t move. Her hand stayed on the desk, palm flat, nails tapping out a Morse code of impatience.
“Eliza.”
“What.”
“You’re not going to sleep tonight, are you?”
She rolled her eyes, but her chin lifted. “That an invitation?”
I moved in. Close enough to smell her perfume, sharp, citrus, the kind of scent that punched above its weight class. “It’s an observation.”
“Congratulations, you’re observant.” She looked past my shoulder, jaw set. “And you’re blocking my view. Is there a point to this, or did you just come to flex?”
“Maybe I wanted to see what you look like when you lose.”
That got her. She laughed, low and surprised. “You really want to find out?” she asked.
I did. Badly. But it wasn’t the right move. Not yet.
I stepped back half a pace, the pressure between us breaking just enough to be infuriating. “You’re not going to lose. That’s not the issue.”
She regarded me with fresh calculation. “Then what is?”
I gave her the truth. “You terrify me.”
The words had no edge, no irony. They just were, heavy as concrete. I waited for her to mock me, but the silence went on.
She leaned in, both palms flat on the desk now, as if the furniture was the only thing keeping her upright. Her voice came out softer than I’d ever heard it. “You scare me, too.”
I didn’t know what to do with that. So I did nothing. I just stood there, letting the office’s nighttime hush wrap around us.
Outside, a siren faded, replaced by a strange, thick silence.
Her gaze dipped, lingered at my mouth, then snapped back up. “If you’re going to kiss me again,” she said, “I’d prefer you didn’t hesitate.”
I didn’t.
We crashed together, neither gentle nor exploratory.
It was a hard, hungry collision, months of mutual denial burning off in the span of a heartbeat.
I grabbed her by the hips, and she tasted like victory and the bite of gin, her tongue daring mine to keep up.
Her hands twisted into my collar, pulling me closer, then lower, until my lips trailed along the side of her throat.
She arched back, gasping, and I lost any sense of control.
She made a sound, sharp and guttural, as I scooped her onto the edge of her desk. Papers scattered, her thigh pressed hot against my hip, and she wrapped a leg around me like she was anchoring herself to the only fixed point in the building.
I caught her looking at me, eyes huge and wild, no sign of the careful, restrained woman who’d spent all day carving opponents to pieces. Just want. Raw and unfiltered.
“This is a bad idea,” I murmured, not even believing it.
“Don’t be a coward,” she said, voice like broken glass.
I traced the back of my hand down her bare knee, up the soft inside of her thigh. The hem of her skirt was already bunched high; I hooked a finger at the waistband and felt the hard quiver in her muscles.
She unbuttoned my shirt with single-minded violence, popping buttons, not bothering with precision. I retaliated by slipping her blouse open, baring her bra, which was black and cut with a stripe of crimson. A detail I committed to memory with near-religious awe.
She wanted this as badly as I did, maybe more. I didn’t dare stop to analyze it.
She grabbed my wrist as I slid my hand higher. “You keep pretending you’re in control,” she whispered, “but you’re not.”
“I know,” I said. Then I kissed her again, slower this time, tongue tracing the seam of her mouth, feeling the shiver that ran all the way down her spine.
She made a noise, almost a whimper, instantly stifled, and that undid me more than anything else. I fumbled at her underwear, pulled them aside, and she was already wet, the heat of her shocking even through my haze.
“God,” I said, barely audible.
She reached between us, freed my cock with practiced efficiency, and positioned herself with ruthless intent. She was the one who decided how this went, not me.
She locked her ankles at the small of my back and drove me into her with a single, breathtaking motion.
For a second, nothing existed except the hot, perfect crush of her body around mine. We held there, suspended, neither of us breathing.
She bit my shoulder, hard, then whispered in my ear, “Harder.”
I obliged. Drove into her again and again, desk rattling, my hand braced above her head so I didn’t move the whole thing. She clawed at my back, then grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me in to kiss her, teeth scraping, lips bruising.
It was obscene, how good she felt. I’d imagined this, of course, in the dark hours when she occupied every inch of my head, but the reality was feral. Immediate. She moved with me, hips rolling up, muscles tight and greedy, like she wanted to consume me from the inside out.
The sounds she made, gasping, broken little grunts, were like fuel. I palmed her breast, thumbed her nipple through the lace, and she arched so hard I thought she’d come right then. But she held back, biting down on her lip, eyes squeezed shut.
I wanted her to lose control. Needed it, almost as badly as I needed to keep moving inside her.
I reached down, thumbed her clit in tight, ruthless circles, never slowing the rhythm.
She broke instantly, shuddering, silent at first, then groaning into my neck as she came, pulsing hard around me.
She clenched so tight it nearly undid me, but I kept going, riding out her aftershocks until she was gasping for air, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
She looked up at me, face flushed, mascara stubbornly intact, utterly unguarded.
“Your turn,” she said, smirking through her exhaustion.
I lasted maybe three more thrusts before I followed her, coming so hard I lost track of my own voice.
She held me there, both arms around my neck, while the world spun out and then narrowed back to just the two of us.
The desk was a disaster zone, papers scattered, a pen rolling off the edge, but it didn’t matter.
For a long moment, we just clung to each other. No words. No pretense. Just two people who had finally, finally given in.
She was the first to break the silence. “Congratulations,” she murmured. “You win.”
But I could see the truth on her face; no one had won anything. We’d both just surrendered.
When I pulled back, her hands lingered at my shirt, fingers splayed against my chest. She searched my eyes, looking for a sign I’d changed my mind. Or maybe just making sure this was real.
I wanted to say something clever, something to reset the power balance. But all I managed was, “You okay?”
She thumbed tears from the corners of her eyes, then grinned. “Are you?”
I almost smiled. “You’re even scarier up close.”
She closed her eyes, breathing deep. “Don’t ruin this, Gabriel.”
“Not planning on it.”
We straightened ourselves in silence, her readjusting her skirt, me searching for missing buttons and dignity. She sat on the edge of the desk, looking uncharacteristically small for once.
The air was different now. Not lighter, not really. Just changed.
She started to say something, then stopped.
I waited.
She tried again. “Tomorrow, we don’t talk about this. Not in the office.”
I nodded. “Understood.”
She exhaled, like she’d just set down a briefcase full of bricks. “Okay.”
We stared at each other, neither quite knowing what to do. I wanted to stay, but I knew I shouldn’t. If I stayed, I’d want to do it all over again, and that was the problem.
She watched me go, chin high, posture perfect. But there was something new behind her eyes, something raw and unfinished.
I closed the door, soft so the latch didn’t echo, and walked out into the marble hallway.
We’d crossed a line, and there was no going back.
Thank fuck the office was empty and we were all alone.