Chapter 14
Tessa
My hands were still shaking as I scrubbed at the same goddamn spot on the counter for the third time. The sting of his words— Get back to cleaning—burned hotter than the kiss itself. Who the hell did he think he was, ordering me around like one of his men?
I should have slapped him. I should have told him to go to hell. Instead, I’d just stood there, lips swollen, heart pounding, like some pathetic idiot who didn’t know whether to scream at him or drag him back.
The worst part? I liked it. Every brutal second of it.
And that infuriated me most of all.
Because how could I want a man who kissed like he owned me, then tossed me aside like I was just another piece of furniture cluttering up his perfect world?
My lips still tingled from the rough press of his, my skin hot where his hands had been under my shirt.
I hated that my body remembered him when my pride begged me to forget.
I slammed the rag down on the counter and dragged in a sharp breath, trying to exorcise the ghost of him clinging to me. This wasn’t attraction—it was manipulation. A claim. A warning.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
The slam of a car door outside cut through my spiraling thoughts. I stiffened, heart lurching when heavy footsteps echoed up the front walk. Of course it was him.
Felix filled the doorway like nothing had happened, his expression unreadable, that same cool control wrapped around him like armor. He didn’t look at me—thank God—but instead jerked his chin toward the street.
“Dumpster’s here,” he said flatly. “I had one ordered for you.”
For six days I'd been asking—no, begging—for that dumpster.
Mountains of broken furniture, water-damaged boxes, and God-knows-what lurked in every corner of this place.
I couldn't even see the floors in some rooms. How was I supposed to transform this disaster into something habitable when I had nowhere to put the wreckage?
And yet, here he was, standing in the doorway, calm as ever, like he'd solved some monumental problem by simply showing up. My pulse quickened, and it wasn’t entirely from relief.
I wanted to glare at him, tell him how impossible it was to act like this was nothing, how every muscle in my body still ached from the memory of his kiss.
But instead, I just blinked at him, rag clutched in sweaty hands, trying to focus on the dumpster outside instead of the tension curling like smoke between us.
He stepped toward me, slow and deliberate, the shadow of him swallowing the cluttered room. One of his large hands shot out, gripping my chin with an iron certainty that left no room for argument.
“You do know what happens if you run,” he said, voice low, edged with ice and something darker. “Going outside is a privilege, not a right.”
My jaw stiffened under his grip, and I wanted to shove him away, to tell him he had no right to speak to me like that. Every rational part of me screamed in protest.
And yet my chest was betraying me, fluttering as if his words had set it on fire. The memory of his hands, the weight of his body, the possessive press of his lips. The feelings all came back, unwanted and undeniable.
“Funny,” I said, tipping my chin up despite his grip, “I thought privileges came with perks, not threats.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, just enough to make my pulse spike. It wasn’t a smile, not really, just that impossible blend of amusement and danger that made my blood hum.
Then, without another word, he released my chin and walked to his bedroom. His steps echoed through the cluttered room as he left, leaving me standing there, furious, flustered, and impossibly aware of the emptiness he’d left behind.
The dumpster.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
He had left me with the monumental task of hauling half the house into that metal coffin by myself.
I was a pretty small girl and had no idea how I was going to get some of the trash inside.
My shoulders ached just thinking about lifting the jagged remnants of furniture that were stacked higher than I was tall.
I wanted to scream at him, to march into his room and shout until he came back, but instead, I gritted my teeth and dragged the first cardboard box toward the dumpster, muttering under my breath. “Unbelievable… he kisses like that and leaves me to die under a pile of crap. Real charming, Felix.”
I hoisted the first cardboard box, its bottom threatening to give way under the weight of broken dishes and torn fabric. It slid across my hands, forcing me to adjust my grip, and I nearly stumbled back. Sweat ran down my temples, sticking my hair to my forehead.
The next box was even heavier, filled with bent metal and shattered wood. I groaned as I lifted it, muscles trembling, and cursed under my breath. No matter how I angled it, it just wouldn’t fit neatly into the dumpster. I tried shifting it, grunting with effort, but it was stuck.
A shadow fell over me, and before I could even look up, a pair of strong hands pressed against the sides of the box. With a single shove, the heavy load slid smoothly into the dumpster.
I froze, heat rushing to my cheeks. Felix was right behind me, his presence close and commanding, and just like that, the impossible weight of the box had vanished.
He had changed into something suitable for cleaning, wearing dark jeans and a fitted shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the kind of practical clothes that somehow still made him look dangerous and effortlessly in control.
Even with his hands now smudged with grime from helping me, he looked untouchable, like a predator in a warehouse instead of a man who’d just kissed me like he owned me.
“Struggling already?” he said, voice low and sarcastic, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I thought you were tougher than this.”
I scowled, shifting the box on my arms. “Glad you’re here to supervise, Felix. I don't think I could do this without your expert guidance.”
I turned back to the next load, battered wooden chairs that looked like they had survived a war. My small frame groaned under its weight as I tried to lift one, shifting and tugging to get it over the dumpster’s edge. Splinters dug into my palms, and I bit back a curse.
“Need a hand, or are you planning to wrestle it in alone?” Felix’s voice cut through the air, calm but edged with amusement. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks again, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled.
“I’m perfectly capable!” I shot back, gritting my teeth as I heaved. The chair teetered dangerously, and for a moment, I thought it was going to topple on me.
Before I could lose my balance, his hands settled lightly on the sides of the chair. With a smooth, practiced shove, it slid easily over the dumpster’s edge.
I froze, heart hammering. Felix was close, impossibly close, his presence pressing in around me.
“Careful,” he said, voice low, almost teasing, “don’t want you to hurt yourself before I get a chance to scold you properly.”
Heat flooded to my cheeks. Scold me? What does he mean by that?
I tilted my chin up at him, trying to hide how flustered I felt. “Oh, I see,” I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re the disciplinary type. Should I be taking notes, or just thanking you for the warning?”
A slow smirk curved his lips. “Definitely the disciplinary type,” he said, voice low and edged with something dark, dangerous, and far too enticing. “But you might find my methods… intense.”
I froze for a fraction of a second, heat rushing to my cheeks again. Then I forced a glare at him. “Intense, huh? Great. Just what I needed while I’m buried in furniture and splinters. Really reassuring, Felix.”
I grunted as I tried to lift another chair, sweat dripping into my eyes. It barely budged, and my small frame was straining under the weight.
Before I could argue or protest, strong hands wrapped around the sides of the chair. “Let me,” Felix said, his voice low and calm, and with a smooth, effortless motion, he lifted it with me, sliding it easily over the edge of the dumpster.
I froze, my cheeks flaming. He was too close, his breath brushing my hair, muscles pressing against mine, and yet I couldn’t deny how much easier the work had become with him here.
“Whatever,” I muttered, tossing my hands up. “You can stay.”
I didn’t say what I really meant. There is no way in hell I can do this without you.
He smirked faintly but didn’t reply. Instead, we moved in a rhythm, lifting and sliding boxes and broken furniture into the dumpster in silence. My muscles ached less with him here, but that didn’t make the occasional brush of his arm against mine any less distracting.
Each time he shifted or reached for another piece, the subtle contact sent sparks up my spine, and I had to bite back a groan or a sharp retort. My pride screamed at me to act normal, but my body was betraying me with every accidental touch.
I tried to focus on the heavy lifting, determined to drown out the chaotic swirl of thoughts about Felix and the way his presence ignited something deep inside me.
I could feel the tension still hanging in the air, thick and palpable, every brush of our skin igniting fires I wasn’t ready to admit to myself.
Hours passed in a blur of sweat, grunts, and scraping wood. Slowly, painstakingly, the last of the boxes and broken furniture landed in the dumpster. I sank to the ground, hands on my knees, chest heaving as my muscles protested every movement.
Felix leaned against the side of the dumpster, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and assessing, taking in every inch of me. “Done,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “Good. You’ve got endurance, I’ll give you that.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Endurance? That’s all you have to say?” I muttered, crossing my arms.
He stepped closer, making me straighten instinctively, and his shadow fell over me. “I said it,” he said, tone flat but edged with something darker. “Impressive. Don’t mistake it for leniency. Keep it up, and maybe you’ll earn my approval.”
I crossed my arms, cheeks burning. “I don’t need your approval,” I said, voice sharp, trying to mask how much his presence had me on edge.
He leaned closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. “You should want it,” he said, his voice laced with a warning that made my pulse spike.
I clenched my jaw, glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Are you trying to scare me or flirt with me?”
Felix’s smirk deepened, eyes dark and unreadable. “Both,” he said, his voice just soft enough to make my stomach twist. “And also to remind you who’s in charge.”
Heat and fury warred inside me, and I had to take a shaky breath to stop myself from snapping back, or melting entirely under the weight of his presence.
I took a step back, trying to catch my breath and ignore the lingering heat of his presence. “Fine, Mr. In Charge,” I muttered, brushing dust and sweat from my arms. “You’ve made your point. Can we wrap this up before I start tossing things at you instead of into the dumpster?”
He stepped closer, just close enough to make my heart pound. “Careful,” he said. “Remember your place here. And don’t talk to me like that. I don’t take kindly to defiance—even from someone I find compelling.”
I swallowed hard, heart still racing from the heat of his proximity and the weight of his words. My pride screamed at me to glare, to snap back, to assert myself, but my body betrayed me with every shiver and rapid pulse.
Felix’s dark gaze lingered for a moment longer, unreadable, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. Then, without another word, he walked inside, leaving me standing in the dust and sweat, muscles aching, and mind spinning.
I exhaled shakily, muscles aching and pride still bristling, muttering under my breath, “Unbelievable.”
The tension didn’t fade when he stepped away. It hung in the air, thick and undeniable, a silent reminder that this was far from over.