Chapter 16
AURORA
I can’t believe it’s been just three weeks of living under the same roof as Axel, and I'm losing my mind.
Every morning at breakfast, I watch him across the table.
Watch his hands wrapped around his coffee cup and remember those same hands on my body.
Every afternoon, I pass him in the hallway and our fingers brush accidentally-on-purpose, and electricity shoots through me.
Every night at dinner, our eyes meet and I see the same hunger in his gaze that's eating me alive.
It's crazy…
The engagement situation continues. Leo's still drinking himself stupid, still muttering about his rights. Still watching Axel and me with suspicious, bloodshot eyes that see too much. The whole house feels like a powder keg waiting for a match.
And through it all, Axel and I dance around each other like magnets fighting their own pull.
Tonight, Dad's away on business. Left this morning for a meeting in Chicago with some politician who needs his palms greased. Won't be back until tomorrow afternoon.
Which means I'm alone in his office at eleven PM, going through the financial records he asked me to clean before he returns.
The numbers blur together on the screen.
Shell companies within shell companies, money moving through so many layers it would take the FBI months to trace.
A restaurant in Brooklyn that reports eight hundred thousand in annual revenue but pays taxes on sixty thousand.
A construction company that somehow loses two million dollars a year but never goes bankrupt.
My father's empire, reduced to spreadsheets and lies.
I'm deep in a particularly creative bit of tax evasion when the office door opens.
I don't have to look up to know who it is. I can feel him, the way the air changes when Axel's in a room.
"You're up late," he says, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounds too loud in the quiet.
"So are you." I keep my eyes on the screen, don't trust myself to look at him. "Can't sleep?"
"Haven't been sleeping well for weeks." His footsteps are quiet on the expensive carpet as he crosses to the desk. "What are you working on?"
"The usual." I gesture at the screen. "Dad wants these cleaned up before his meeting with the IRS next month."
"Need help?" He's standing beside me now, close enough that I can smell his cologne. "I've been cleaning money longer than you've been alive."
The reminder of our age difference should feel wrong. Should make this attraction seem inappropriate.
Instead, it just makes me want him more.
"Sure," I hear myself say. "Pull up a chair."
He grabs one of the leather chairs from the other side of the desk, rolls it around to sit beside me. Our shoulders brush. I pretend not to notice the way my skin heats at the contact.
"Show me what you're stuck on," he says, leaning closer to see the screen.
I point to the construction company. "This one. The losses are too consistent. It looks suspicious."
"Mm. You need to vary it more. Some years profit, some years loss. Make it look like they're actually trying to run a business instead of just moving money." His hand reaches past me to take the mouse, and his arm presses against mine. "Here. Watch."
He starts typing, explaining as he goes.
I'm trying to pay attention, trying to focus on the numbers and the explanations, but all I can think about is how close he is.
How his voice sounds lower when it's just the two of us.
How his fingers move across the keyboard with the same deft precision they use on my body.
"Are you listening?" he asks, glancing at me.
"Yes." I'm not.
"What did I just say?"
"Something about... varying profit margins?"
He smirks. "You're not listening at all."
"I'm distracted."
"By what?"
You. Always you.
"The numbers," I lie. "They all start blending together after a while."
"Take a break then." He leans back in the chair, studies me with those dark eyes that see too much. "When's the last time you ate?"
"Dinner."
"That was six hours ago."
"I'm fine."
"Aurora." His voice drops into that tone that makes my stomach flip. "When's the last time you actually took care of yourself instead of burying yourself in work?"
I don't have an answer to that.
He sighs, runs a hand through his silver hair. "You're going to burn out."
"I'm handling it."
"Are you? Because from where I'm sitting, you look exhausted. You've got dark circles under your eyes. You're not eating enough. And you're working yourself to death trying to avoid thinking about everything that's happening."
"What else am I supposed to do?" The words come out sharper than I intended. "Leo's watching us like he knows something. You told me why you want to end the engagement, but nothing's been resolved. I'm still in limbo."
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "For all of it. I know this must be hard.”
"Do you? Do you know what it's like to want something you can't have? To see you every day and not be able to—" I stop myself again, but it's too late.
His eyes darken. "To not be able to what?"
I should lie. Should change the subject. Should focus on the spreadsheets and pretend this conversation isn't happening.
Instead, I tell the truth.
"To not be able to touch you," I whisper. "To not be able to kiss you. To lie in bed at night remembering what we did in the garden and wishing we could do it again."
The air between us ignites.
"Aurora." His voice is rough, strained. "You can't say things like that."
"Why not? It's true."
"Because it makes this harder."
"This is already hard." I turn my chair to face him, our knees touching now. "It can't get any harder than lying to everyone, sneaking around, pretending I don't want you when I—" My voice breaks. "When I can't stop thinking about you."
He closes his eyes like I'm hurting him. "We can't."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because I don't care anymore." The admission spills out of me, desperate and true. "I don't care about the danger or the consequences or what happens if we get caught. I just—I need—"
"What?" His eyes open, pinning me in place. "What do you need?"
You. I need you.
"Kiss me," I breathe.
He doesn't move. "Aurora…"
"Please." The word comes out broken. "Please, Axel. I'm begging you. Just, kiss me. Touch me. Make me feel like I'm not going insane."
Something in his expression cracks. "You're begging me?"
"Yes."
"Fuck." He groans, low and rough. "You know I love it when you beg. Love hearing you say please in that desperate voice. Makes me want to give you everything."
"Then give it to me."
He's on me before I can take another breath.
His mouth crashes onto mine, hard and desperate, swallowing my gasp. His hands are in my hair, on my waist, pulling me out of my chair and into his lap. I go willingly, straddling him, pressing as close as I can get.
The kiss is fire. Consuming. Everything I've been craving for three weeks poured into this single moment.
He stands, lifting me with him like I weigh nothing. Turns and sets me on the edge of the desk, scattering papers and pens. Steps between my legs, caging me in with his arms.
His hands find the hem of my shirt, pull it over my head in one swift motion.
"So fucking beautiful," he breathes, his eyes roaming over me.
"Axel..."
His mouth moves to my neck, biting and sucking hard enough to mark. I gasp, arch into him, and his hands make quick work of my bra.
"Perfect," he murmurs, his mouth closing over my nipple. "So fucking perfect."
I'm trying to stay quiet, trying to remember that we're in my father's office and people could hear, but it's impossible. Not when his tongue is doing that, not when his hand is sliding up my thigh, pushing my skirt higher.
"You're mine," he growls against my skin. "Not Leo's. Not anyone else's. Mine."
"Yes."
"Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Fucking right you are." His hand finds my underwear, discovers how wet I am. "Christ, Aurora. You're soaked."
"Your fault."
"Good." He pushes the fabric aside, slides two fingers inside me without warning. I cry out, and his free hand covers my mouth. "Quiet, baby. Can't let anyone hear how desperate you are for me."
I nod against his hand, and he starts moving his fingers. Slow at first, then faster, curling them to hit that spot that makes me see stars.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Take it. Show me how much you need this."
I'm so close already, wound too tight from three weeks of wanting. But I don't want to finish like this.
I push at his chest, and he stops immediately, concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just... I want you inside me."
His eyes go black. "Yeah?"
"Please."
He groans at the word. Then he's working his belt, his zipper. I help, frantic, desperate. Finally, he's free, and I can see how hard he is, how much he wants this too.
He grabs my hips, pulls me to the edge of the desk. Lines himself up. And pushes inside in one hard thrust.
We both groan.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel... this is..."
"Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning to."
He starts moving, hard and fast and possessive. The desk scrapes against the floor with each thrust. Papers fall to the ground. A lamp teeters dangerously.
None of it matters.
"Mine," he's muttering with each thrust. "You're mine. Not his. Never his. Mine."
"Yes... oh God... yes..."
"Say it. Tell me who you belong to."
"You. I belong to you."
"Yes." His hand finds my clit, circles it while he fucks me. "Come for me. Let me feel it."
The orgasm builds fast, overwhelming. I'm grabbing at him, at the desk, trying to anchor myself as pleasure coils tighter and tighter.
"Axel... I'm..."
"I know. I can feel it. Come on, baby. Come on my cock."
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me so hard I see stars. I'm trying to stay quiet, biting my lip until I taste blood, but small sounds escape anyway.
Axel keeps moving, chasing his own release. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise.
"Fuck... Aurora..." He buries his face in my neck as he comes, his whole body shuddering.
We stay like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, sweat-slicked and trembling.
Slowly, carefully, he pulls out. I whimper at the loss.
"You okay?" he asks, his hands gentle now as they cup my face.
"Perfect."
"I wasn't too rough?"
"You were perfect."
He kisses me, soft this time. Tender. Different from the desperation of moments ago.
Then he helps me down from the desk, helps me find my clothes in the mess we made. We dress in silence, the reality of what we just did settling over us like a weight.
I lean back against the desk, and he steps close again, his forehead resting against mine.
"This is insane," he murmurs.
"Completely insane."
"But I don't want to stop."
"Neither do I."
He kisses me again, slower this time. Like he's memorizing the taste of me.
"What are we doing?" I whisper against his mouth.
"Something we'll probably regret."
"Will we though?"
He pulls back just enough to look at me. "No. I don't think I could ever regret this."
We stand there, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. Neither of us talking about feelings because we can't. Not yet. Not when everything is still so complicated.
But the feelings are there anyway. In every touch. Every stolen moment. Every risk we take just to be close.
"Aurora." His voice is rough. "This thing between us. It's getting harder to hide."
"Leo already suspects something."
"I know. I see the way he watches us." His jaw clenches. "We need to be more careful."
"Or we need to stop."
"Could you? Stop?"
I think about it. About going back to just stolen glances and accidental touches. About pretending this pull between us doesn't exist.
"No," I admit. "I couldn't."
"Then we're both screwed."
"Probably."
He kisses my forehead. "Go. Before I take you on this desk again."
I slip out of the office, my body still humming, my mind spinning.
Because he's right. We're addicted now. To each other, to this, to these stolen moments that could destroy everything.
And neither of us is strong enough to stop.