Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
CONSTANCE
I’m busy working, making sure I’ve checked each document twice before signing off that everything is in order. My eyes drift up to the computer, just as my stomach growls. The sandwich I packed this morning is calling to me. Just gotta do a few more things and then I can take my lunch.
I’m just attaching the document to the correct folder when my phone buzzes. I pick it up already knowing who it is as the light flashes to Morgan Creed's personal line.
I pick it up, his deep voice coming through the line. “Constance. My office. Now.”
“Yes, sir,” I answer, just as coldly as he ordered me. Guess lunch is going to wait.
Stepping inside his office, I see him at his desk, paper in hand, his attention fully on what he’s reading. Sunlight cuts across his desk in clean lines, illuminating a neat stack of folders at the corner that definitely weren’t there this morning.
I clear my throat, letting him know I’m here, just in case he didn’t notice.
“Close the door,” he says without looking up at me. The door clicks shut with a finality that makes my spine straighten.
“I need help clearing up some of this paperwork.” He gestures his hands toward the folders, finally lifting his eyes to me. “It’s nothing too complicated.”
He picks up a piece of paper and slides it across the desk to me.
“I need you to read and sign this first.”
Picking it up, I see it’s an NDA.
My pulse ticks faster, but I keep my face neutral as I step closer. “This is…?”
“A formality,” he says, voice professional, almost annoyed that he’s even having to say it.
“You’ve had access to sensitive information.
Company policy requires discretion. This document, once signed, forbids you from discussing any company information with anyone else.
It also covers any conversations and interactions between the two of us.
It should have been done already. An error on my part. ”
He goes on to explain it to me as if I’ve no clue what an NDA is. Morgan Creed doesn’t hesitate in explaining it clinically—no drama, no threats. Making sure he emphasizes that if I don’t comply with it, I’ll be immediately terminated.
I skim the top line, then sign. But it doesn’t slip my attention that it covers interactions between the two of us.
The pen barely hesitates.
His brow lifts a fraction. “You didn’t read it.”
“I don’t need to,” I reply, handing it back.
That gets his attention. He leans back in his chair, hands planted palm-down on his desk.
He just sits there, studying me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
Amusement, maybe. Or irritation. “Most people take their time when silence is being purchased.” Yep, most definitely irritated.
“I wasn’t planning to speak,” I say smugly. Why would I do anything that would jeopardize my job? I guess when you’re as wealthy as he is, that’s not something you think about.
He tightens his jaw, his index finger tapping on the page of the paper.
“Loyalty. I value that more than anything. Are you loyal?”
I don’t answer. I just turn to go toward the door. I’m not going to convince him of anything. Either he sees me as that, or he doesn’t.
“Constance,” he calls, stopping me before I can move but a step or two.
My hand pauses on the handle.
“This NDA has nothing to do with what’s happening between us,” he says, voice lower now. “You know that, don’t you?”
I know he’s not talking about keeping the company’s secrets. He’s talking about this weird thing that’s between the two of us, festering like a sore.
When I turn and face him again, he’s already standing. The space between us shrinks as he moves around the desk.
“If you want to go,” he says quietly, eyes locked on mine, “go now.”
My fingers tighten on the handle. I should. Every logical part of me screams that I should.
I don’t move. It’s not fear. I don’t want to go.
His gaze darkens at the choice.
This time there’s no hesitation when he leans in. No pause to ask. His mouth finds mine, testing at first, then deeper, the kind of kiss that isn’t stolen but claimed.
I should stop it. The thought cuts sharp and bright through my mind, a last flare of reason. But it fades the second his lips part mine, the second his breath mixes with mine, and I feel the weight of his intent settle in.
His hand comes to my waist, firm and warm, fingers spreading like he’s anchoring himself there—or anchoring me.
The touch is grounding and possessive all at once, pulling me just close enough that there’s no mistaking what he wants.
My body answers immediately, traitorous and eager.
Heat rushes through me, low and fast, dissolving every careful boundary I built and swore I’d keep.
I melt into the kiss before I decide to.
My hands curl into his shirt, my pulse loud in my ears, every nerve alive with the awareness of him, his mouth, his grip, the promise humming between us.
This isn’t reckless. It’s inevitable. And the way he kisses me, slow and purposeful, tells me he knows it too.
Then he eases back, just enough to break contact from my lips. His mouth lingers at the corner of mine, a brush of breath, a quiet denial that makes my chest ache. His hand tightens once at my waist before sliding higher, guiding me closer instead of letting me go.
He dips his head, lips grazing my jaw, my temple, until his mouth finds the shell of my ear. His breath is warm and intimate—close enough that I feel the words before I hear them.
“Still pretending this is a mistake?” he murmurs near my ear.
I don’t answer. I can’t.
“Listen carefully,” he says, voice low. “If you want this to stop at any point, you say umbrella. I don’t care what’s happening — I stop. Immediately.”
My breath catches.
“Do you understand?”
I nod before I can think better of it.
His gaze searches mine one last time, giving me space to pull away.
I don’t.
In one fluid motion, Morgan spins and sets me onto the desk, papers scattering like forgotten confetti onto the floor. His fingers trail up my thigh, bunching my skirt higher, as he pushes his hand between my legs. I'm soaked already, my panties clinging damply to my folds.
“So eager,” he murmurs against my neck, his voice a low rumble.
“Your body's honest, even if your mind pretends otherwise.” He hooks his fingers into the thin fabric of my underwear, shoving it aside roughly. My breath hitches as he sinks two fingers into my pussy, inch by inch, stretching me. “You’re so wet for me, Ms. Hale.”
I gasp, my hands gripping the desk's edge, nails digging into wood as my walls clench around him.
“Look at you,” he growls, pulling back as he finger-fucks me harder, deeper. “Spread open on my desk like a desperate slut, dripping for your boss. You think you're loyal? You're just a hole waiting to be filled, aren't you? Pathetic, how you fight this and still get this wet.”
His words slice through me, degrading and possessive, each one punctuated by the thrust of his fingers into my core. I gasp again, my body arching involuntarily, pussy flooding with more arousal that eases his thrusts.
The shame burns hot in my chest, mingling with the pleasure coiling tight in my core. He's right. My body is reacting to him. My hips move in sync with the rhythm of his fingers, despite the voice in my head screaming to stop.
Panic crashes on me like water dousing out a fire.
This isn't just foreplay; it's surrender, and I can't let it consume me.
With a surge of will, I twist away, breaking the kiss and shoving at his chest. He slides his fingers out of me, slick and glistening, but he doesn't fight me.
Instead, he steps back, adjusting himself with calm precision, his expression infuriatingly composed.
“Get back to work,” he says quietly, sucking his fingers into his mouth, eyes locked on mine.
I straighten my skirt and move away from him, rushing to the door, my legs trembling with every step, the ache between my thighs a sobering reminder of what I just let happen.
Just as I grasp the doorknob, I hear his deep timbre voice. “Ms. Hale, remember you chose this.”
I open the door and step out of the office.
I let out a deep breath as the door closes behind me with a soft click.
Sitting down at my desk, two truths settle in my gut: I'll never betray his secrets, not willingly.
And in signing that paper, I've bound myself to far more than silence. I’ve bound myself to him, to this dangerous pull, to the version of myself I'm only beginning to fear.
I tell myself I didn’t have a choice, that it all happened too fast.
But the truth presses in whether I want it to or not.
I stayed, he gave me a safeword and I didn’t utter it…the thought never even crossed my mind.
Whatever this becomes, whatever line I just crossed, it wasn’t dragged out of me. I walked into it with my eyes open.