11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Natalie
I ’m not supposed to be here.
The room feels like him—cold, unwelcoming, and ready to eject anyone who doesn’t belong. I inhale deeply, gripping the tray in my hands, willing them to stay steady.
Anthony told me to place it in his office, and I couldn’t say no.
I’d already gone through the effort of making breakfast, only for it to be ignored.
I didn’t want lunch to meet the same fate, but now that I’m here, the atmosphere of his office is oppressive. The four walls seem to edge closer with every second, suffocating me as if they’re ready to devour me whole.
I let out a slow, shaky breath and step forward, carefully placing the tray on Ethan’s desk. I linger for a moment, unsure why. The silence stretches, heavy and still, as I take a hesitant step back to assess the setup, ensuring everything is in order.
The cold air prickles my skin, but it’s not just the room. It’s the weight of being here, in his space. I know what that feels like from being in his room—in his house.
“Center placement,” I mutter as I tick off an invisible list. “Caviar carbonara with wagyu beef sauce. It smells delicious.” I grin as the smell whiffs past my nostrils. “It’s the perfect lunch.”
Tucking my hands into the pockets of my apron, I turn around… only to stop dead in my tracks. I didn’t notice his presence when he arrived, but it’s Ethan Cross standing at the door, watching me with his arms across his chest.
The dim light from the hallway illuminates his figure— somewhat— enough for me to make out his silhouette, but I can tell he’s looking straight at me.
With those eyes.
The same eyes that have, on more than one occasion, made me stutter and stumble. Not today, though. Not today.
“I brought your lunch,” I say, biting my tongue so I don’t add, “because you never eat with Anthony in the dining area.”
He remains at the door, saying nothing.
I wonder if I should move forward and if he’ll make room for me to leave, but I’m not about to chance a face-to-face with Ethan, so I remain in my position.
“It’s pasta,” I add with a clear voice as I dig my fingers deeper into my pockets. “And beef sauce. Mr. Cross suggested the menu, but if you don’t like it, I can make something else.”
He doesn’t say anything.
Alright, this is getting weird .
I can feel him, even with the distance between us. I can smell him—the faint scent of sandalwood never left me from day one, but there’s something new. Musk.
“Mr. Cross, I—”
“What is your intention?” He cuts me off and takes a step in.
I frown, my eyebrows almost meeting from either end because I don’t understand what he means. “My intentions?”
He nods and takes another step. Then another.
Until I can see him clearer. He’s wearing slacks and a shirt that’s buttoned halfway. The other half of his chest is exposed, showing off muscled and chiseled skin.
His hair is tousled like he ran his fingers through it. When he tilts his head, the light hits just right, and I can see a reddish mark underneath his eyes.
Another mark?
What is he, an underground fighter?
A fighting ring with little rules and lots of people wanting revenge would explain the injuries.
“Yes,” he repeats in an icy tone, cutting through the air filled with tension. His eyes seem to look into me like he can see my hidden thoughts. I shake my head, forcing them in the right direction. “Your intentions. You’re in my office. I can only assume you came here to get something.”
He’s mere inches away now, his height casting a shadow over me, and my heart is pounding so loudly that his words come muffled and distant.
The intensity of his gaze locks me in place, and it feels like there’s no air left in the room. Instinctively, I go up on my toes, trying to meet him on equal ground, but the moment I realize what I’m doing, I step back .
“What is it you’re looking for, Natalie Monroe?” His voice is sharp, slicing through the tension like a blade, and the use of my full name only deepens the chill running through my veins.
His eyes are void of warmth, piercing through me as though he’s trying to see my every thought. “Who sent you? What do you want? How did you work your way around Anthony?”
My throat goes dry. What the hell is he talking about?
Who sent me? Anthony? He’s sent me on errands, sure. What am I looking for? What could I possibly be looking for in a dimly lit room?
The questions circle in my head like a dizzying carousel.
“I—I—” My voice falters as my brain struggles to catch up. My head shakes, searching for an answer that doesn’t exist. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ethan’s lips curl into a cruel, calculated smile, one that turns my blood cold. “But you do,” he counters, his tone laced with quiet menace. “You thought you’d slip through unnoticed, didn’t you? With your exaggerated smiles and your efforts to win over my men.”
I take another step back, but he follows, his presence looming over me. “You shouldn’t have come in here,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, colder. “Because I know who you are, Natalie Monroe. And I know exactly what you’re trying to do.”
The accusation in his tone steals the air from my lungs, and I stumble backward, hitting the desk. My first thought is the food, and I turn around and reach out to steady the tray.
I never touch it because Ethan grabs my wrist, forcing me to look at him.
“Tell me who sent you,” he presses.
“Anthony,” I yelp when his finger digs into my wrist. “Anthony told me to bring your lunch here. I don’t know what else you’re talking about. ”
Ethan frowns for a moment, his confusion mirroring mine, but he quickly recovers and goes for my chin instead, tilting it as he stares down at me. “Who sent you, and what do they want?”
Oh.
My eyes widen as it dawns on me. He thinks I’m a spy. That I’m here for some grand scheme.
Well… that’s insulting. I scoff lightly as I flash him a look of annoyance, throwing him off. If I were here to steal, I would’ve done it a long time ago.
“Why risk getting caught with prolonged interaction?” His voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
“I’m not a spy,” I snap, the frustration boiling over as I push his hand away.
My pulse pounds in my ears, but I refuse to let him intimidate me. “I don’t know why you think that, but your spy radar must be malfunctioning if you’re accusing me. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
I try to step to the side, eager to put space between us, but before I can take even a single step, he catches my wrist. His grip is firm and unrelenting, and before I can react, he grabs my other hand, pinning them both behind me. My back presses against the edge of the desk as his hold traps me in place.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, twisting against his hold, but it’s no use. His strength easily overpowers my efforts, leaving me locked in place.
“Don’t lie to me,” Ethan growls, his voice low and dangerously close to my ear.
His breath brushes against my skin, and a shiver races down my spine despite the heat rushing through my body. “I can see right through you, Natalie. You think you’re clever? That I wouldn’t notice? Your generous gestures, your availability… everything points to the truth.”
Huh. I’m tempted to laugh, except I can see that he believes his truth.
I glare up at him, refusing to back down even though my heart is hammering in my chest. “You’re insane,” I spit back, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and something I can’t quite place. “You don’t even know me.”
“Oh, I know enough,” he counters, his face only inches from mine.
The intensity in his eyes is searing, almost burning through me. Not in the way I’d expect if I were being interrogated, though. I’m angry—yes—but I can feel his breath on my face, and I can smell him.
There’s no distance between us, and the thought of breaking free from his grip and touching him… repeating that night burns through me.
In essence, lust.
I want Ethan. I want those eyes that look at me accusingly to have the same intensity when my hands are running down his body. I want him staring deep into my soul when my thighs are wrapped around his waist, and he’s fucking me.
I know I shouldn’t want them.
I try to turn my head, but his hold keeps me firmly in place. “Let me go, Ethan,” I demand, my voice firmer this time, though I can hear the slight tremble in it.
“Not until you tell me the truth,” he says darkly, his gaze never wavering.
His proximity is overwhelming, a mix of danger and everything inexplicably magnetic, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to make him believe me .
“Here’s the truth,” I say when a stab of an idea occurs to me. “You have to come closer, though. I can only whisper it.”
He looks like he’s going to believe me one second and then bares his teeth the next. “You’re messing with me. You won’t be pulling any of those tricks when I’m done with you.”
My brain is working overtime, filling me with a list of all the things Ethan Cross could possibly do to me—and get away with. He’s a billionaire. He could make me disappear, ruin my career, or worse, and I’m just… a person.
I give up.
“Fine!” I yell, my voice echoing off the walls. “You want the truth? Here it is. I’m nobody! I’m a desperate nobody who couldn’t believe her luck when she got a contract with Mr. Cross!”
His eyes narrow, but I’m too far gone to care.
“I was even happier when I got a second call back. Do you know why?” I glare at him, my voice shaking now, the emotions pouring out unchecked. “Because I’ve worked hard for it! I’ve spent years proving myself, so yeah, maybe I am around Anthony a lot, but do you know why? Because I put in more effort than anyone else! I gave everything. More than he asked for. That’s why.”
I pause, breathing heavily as my words hang in the air. His expression doesn’t change, and it only fuels my anger.
“And you—you think that makes me a spy?” I scoff, throwing the accusation right back at him. “Then you might as well suspect everyone in this country! Because working hard isn’t a crime!”
My chest heaves as I stare him down, daring him to say something, anything, that’ll make me regret opening my mouth.
But I’m done holding it all in. If this is how it ends, so be it.
Maybe I was screaming too loud—I couldn’t tell over the sound of my heart pounding—but he let me go. I don’t expect it as I try to break free, so I stumble. I’m faced with a reenactment of the kitchen scene, but this time, Ethan catches me.
He holds me in his arms, and I lean against his body, needing a pillar for a moment. The pillar turns out to be warm and firm, making me reluctant to let go.
I lift my head to look at him and find myself staring into eyes that now hold curiosity and depth beyond anything I’ve ever seen him express.
It lasts a moment, and then he kisses me.
God.
It knocks me off my feet. Figuratively and literally.
I go weak in the knees when his teeth nip my bottom lip before swallowing me whole, and my brain swims when his tongue thrusts into my mouth, reaching places I have never had another lover touch.
My hands find a hold around his neck, but I’m unable to keep them there as his hands ravage every inch of my body. My apron is the first to leave.
The hem of my shirt—the waistband of my jeans, the hook of my bra that comes off easily… Ethan touches me until I’m begging.
With the back of my knees pressed against the desk and my concern for the food going out the window, I cling to Ethan, wanting and holding on at the same time. My hands run down his shirt, finding the buttons and undoing the rest.
His shirt opens, and I touch his chest, sighing at the firm muscles that bunch under my palm. He exhales as I drag my fingers down, intentionally scraping across his nipples to see how he reacts.
With this knowledge, I dip my head and bring my tongue to the tip. The briefest of touches and his fingers sink into my arms, pulling me closer and pushing me away at the same time .
I wrap my arms around his waist, running my tongue over and over, repeatedly licking his nipples until his groans echo off the walls and his hips are tilting wildly. I can feel it—the evidence of his arousal, his length pressed against his pants’ crotch, brushing against my work pants.
Ethan reaches behind him and pushes everything to the floor—the crash of books and clatter of plates. I gasp, remembering the food.
“I—”
He presses his hand to my mouth. “I’ll deal with it later.”
I’m hoisted on the desk, and he nudges my legs apart, stepping into the space between my thighs. The heat radiating from him, the barely concealed restraint, melts into my skin, and it burns.
It always did, but this is different. Almost unbearable.
Ethan cradles my face, and his fingers dig into my hair as he closes the space between our faces once more, drawing me into a long, dirty kiss with his tongue. My tongue slips into his mouth, and his hands ride lower, gripping my waist possessively.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t feel like I’m anyone’s but his. His overpowering sense of self blocks out everything except his presence, and I gladly surrender to it.
He pulls on my shirt, dragging it like a tortuous whisper across my skin and over my head. It hits the floor, and my bra—already undone—follows. The cold air in the office hits my skin, but his mouth quickly replaces it on my nipple.
I moan, threading my fingers through his hair and arching my back. I want more. I need… more. I tilt my hips, grinding hard against his body, pressing every part of me into him.
He bites my nipple, and I gasp, tugging on his hair as he kisses the pain away, mingling it with pleasure. Pain and pleasure—I never knew both could feel so good… so de liciously decadent.
“Natalie,” Ethan whispers my name against my skin, and I reach between our bodies for his slacks, pulling on the zipper. My hand slides into his briefs, palming and stroking until he’s biting back swear words under his breath.
He lifts his head again, and I can see his eyes—darkened with lust. “How?” he asks harshly.
I don’t get to answer the question before he brushes his lips to mine, tugging on my bottom lip and kissing me hard. One hand ravages through my hair, and the other squeezes my throat, and I go boneless.
Christ .
I didn’t know this was something to need.
I can still breathe, but it also feels heady.
Like I’m drowning pleasantly.
I whimper as his hand on my hair moves to my lower back, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. His lips devour mine, and the roughness of the kiss sends a jolt down my spine.
“Ethan,” I whisper breathlessly when he pulls back for just a second, his forehead resting against mine. His dark, hungry gaze pierces me, and his fingers flex against my neck, still keeping me under his control.
“I shouldn’t want you like this,” he growls lowly, his voice rough, almost tortured. “But you drive me insane.”
Before I can respond, his lips claim mine again, silencing any coherent thought. The kiss deepens, and my world narrows to the sensation of him—his firm hold, the taste of his mouth, the way his hand slides lower, exploring the curve of my waist.
I’m lost in it, in him.
In the heat, the intensity, the way he takes without hesitation but still leaves me yearning for more. My head tilts back, giving him more access as his lips trail down my jawline to the sensitive spot on my neck .
A gasp escapes me when his teeth graze my skin, sending a shiver down my entire body. His grip tightens momentarily, just enough to remind me of his control, and it leaves me breathless—not from fear, but from the intoxicating feeling of surrendering to him.
“Ethan,” I manage again, barely audible, unsure if I’m asking him to stop or to keep going.
“I want you,” he murmurs, but it’s almost as if he’s angry at himself. “I can’t stop.”
I don’t want him to stop, and I urge him on by touching him again, my hand wrapped firmly below. He throws his head back and drags his hand across his face,
He doesn’t stop me.
I get down from the desk, intending to go on my knees, but he spins me around, guiding my stomach to the cold, polished wood. My pants come off, and so do my panties—with painstaking slowness—and he kisses me on my thighs as he spreads them apart. I shiver and reach for the other end of the desk, gripping it for support.
“I didn’t think,” Ethan exhales. “I don’t have any protection, but god, I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
I push him all the way with a calculated arch, and it earns me a slap across my ass. The pain radiates through my body, making me yelp, but it’s quickly replaced by a numbing feeling that makes me whimper.
Between my thighs, I feel a throbbing sensation, and it grows, cascades, when Ethan’s thumb rubs my clit, until I let out a quivery cry—trembling and squirming. He pins me in position, grabbing my hands and holding them behind my chest.
“Ask.” His voice sounds ragged, and I’m too far gone to summon words. “Ask if you want me to go slow.”
His finger slips into me—down where I’m drenched, and then he pulls out… before he thrusts in .
Hell.
Fuck .
I bite down on my lip hard enough to draw blood as he stretches me. It hurts—it does—but the burn is temporary and exquisite. When he moves again, I’m jolted forward, pressed down, and pushed on.
He reaches down and presses kisses to my back while driving into me with fast, deep strokes that reach places I didn’t know existed. Every inch of my body screams, folds, unfolds, and shudders. I take it—lost in the smoldering desire that wounds tight, pushing me close to the edge.
I cry out, breaking my hands free when his thumb dips low again, circling my clit until I’m heaving with uncontrollable pleasure, my body shaking violently as the tension finally snaps.
A guttural cry escapes my lips as waves of ecstasy crash over me, each pulse leaving me trembling and undone beneath him.
His grip on my hips tightens, anchoring me as he drives deeper, his movements relentless and fueled by his own need. The sounds of skin meeting skin fill the room, raw and primal, as he chases his release.
“Ethan,” I gasp, my voice shaky, barely able to form coherent words.
He leans down, his chest pressing against my back, and I feel his breath hot against my ear. “I’ve got you,” he rasps, his voice thick with desire and control.
With a few more powerful thrusts, his body tenses, and I feel him shudder, groaning deeply as he finds his release. His grip softens, his body collapsing against mine as he struggles to catch his breath.
The room is silent except for the sound of our heavy breathing, the weight of what just happened settling over us. His hands trail gently over my back, soothing the places where his grip had been firm, and I close my eyes, feeling utterly spent and raw .
“Are you okay?” he finally murmurs, his voice softer now, filled with a tenderness that catches me off guard.
I nod, unable to speak yet, my body still trembling from the intensity of it all. He presses a kiss to my shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself sink into the warmth of his touch, even as my mind spins with the implications of what we just did.
Then he moves away, leaving me to crumble down to the floor. I’m back to reality as I know it—the cold, unfriendly office and the man who owns it.
What have I done?
I had sex with Ethan Cross.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as I stagger to my feet, searching around for my clothes. I see the broken dishes in the corner, but I can’t bring myself to care about them yet.
Shrugging my pants, I stuff my panties in my pocket and reach for my shirt and my apron. Trying to maintain some sanity, I turn to him. His expression resembles regret, and it sparks embarrassment in me.
What must he think?
He accused me of being a spy, kissed me, and then we ended up here, tangled in something I can’t even begin to unpack.
“Natalie—” Ethan starts, but I’m already shaking my head, cutting him off before he can finish.
“It’s fine,” I say, forcing a tight smile onto my face. “Really. It doesn’t mean anything.” The words taste bitter, but I push them out anyway. “I’m just glad we’ve cleared things up. You know now that I’m not a spy.”
Does he?
The thought crashes over me like a wave, cold and unrelenting. For all I know, he might be even more convinced now. Sleeping with him might look like the ultimate distraction tactic, an elaborate ploy to throw suspicion off myself.
The more I think about it, the more plausible it sounds. The hurried way I gave in. The vulnerability I showed. Bent over his desk as if I’d do anything to escape the weight of his accusations.
I swallow hard and glance at him, his regret more visible now. God , I wish the floor would open and save me this moment.
“I’ll come back for the…” I swallow again, pointing to the mess. “That.”
I’m out of his office in seconds, slamming the door behind me. I place a hand on my chest, exhaling heavily.
“What have you done, Natalie Monroe?” I wail.