4. Cloying Desires
Chapter four
Cloying Desires
X ander
I sit in my car, rain still beating against the windshield, watching her disappear into her building. What the hell just happened? I promised myself I’d stay away. I had stayed away—until tonight. I don’t know what got into me. She looked up at me with those hazel eyes, lips parted, and everything in me snapped.
Now all I can think about is how she tasted, how soft she felt under my hands, and how I’m already craving more.
Fuck.
I grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. I shouldn’t have kissed her. I shouldn’t have touched her. But I did. And now the taste of her is all I want.
I drive to my penthouse, the streets almost empty at this hour. My mind is a mess—thoughts of Ellie tangled with the regret of crossing a line I can’t uncross. By the time I park in the underground garage, my body is still humming with pent-up desire, and it’s like my skin is too tight. I feel restless, heated.
The second I get inside, I kick off my shoes and head straight to my bedroom. The rain pounds against the floor-to-ceiling windows, but all I can hear is the sound of my own shallow breathing.
I unbutton my shirt, but it’s not enough. I’m hard, throbbing, aching in a way that feels fucking unbearable. Without thinking, I unzip my pants, pull out my cock, and wrap my hand around it.
It’s pathetic how quickly I start jerking off, like some desperate teenager who can’t control himself. But all I can picture is Ellie—her lips, her skin, the way she kissed me back with so much need it was like she’d been waiting for it just as much as I had.
My fist moves faster, and the image of her in the rain, wet and flushed, burns in my mind. Her red lips, her breathy little gasps, the way her body felt pressed up against mine.
Fuck, Ellie.
I groan, stroking harder, faster, and when I come, it’s like every nerve in my body explodes. But it’s not enough. Not even close. I’m still fucking needy . I stand there, panting, my chest heaving, my cock still half-hard in my hand.
I need to cool off. A shower. That’ll help.
I head to the bathroom, stripping off the rest of my clothes as I go. The bathroom is a sanctuary of sleek marble and glass, the kind of luxurious space that usually calms me down. But tonight, nothing’s working. I turn on the shower, stepping into the cascading hot water, letting it pour over me.
The heat should relax me, should ease the tension in my body, but instead, it makes me think of Ellie again—her warmth, her body pressed against mine. I lean my forehead against the cool tile, cursing under my breath.
Get it together, Blackwood.
After what feels like forever, I finally step out of the shower, towel off, and collapse into bed. But the second my head hits the pillow, I’m thinking about her again. Her eyes, her mouth, the way she looked up at me just before I kissed her.
I grab my phone and dial Lena’s number before I can talk myself out of it.
She answers on the second ring. “Mr. Blackwood?”
“I need the latest iPhone on my desk tomorrow morning.”
There’s a pause. “Understood.”
“And Lena,” I add, thinking about Ellie’s red lips, “make sure it’s in red.”
Lena hesitates, but then I hear her scribbling something down. “Yes, sir.”
I hang up, tossing the phone aside. The bed feels too big, too empty, and my mind is still spinning. I force myself to close my eyes, trying to shut out the image of Ellie’s face, but sleep doesn’t come easy.
*
The next morning, I’m at the office earlier than usual, sitting behind my desk, checking emails and trying to act like everything is normal. But the truth is, I’m not focused on work. Not even close. My mind keeps drifting back to last night. To the kiss. To her .
I’m also more nervous than I care to admit. What if she doesn’t come in? What if she quits because of the kiss? I didn’t even think of that last night. Fuck. What the hell was I thinking? She could walk away from this job, from everything we’ve been working on, and I wouldn’t blame her.
My collar feels tight. Too tight.
There’s a knock on the door, and Lena steps in, carrying a small box. “The iPhone you requested, sir,” she says, placing it on my desk.
“Put it on Ellie’s desk. It’s for her,” I say, trying to sound casual. “And when she comes in, ask her to come straight to my office.”
Lena looks confused but doesn’t ask any questions. She just nods and leaves the office, the box tucked under her arm.
I rub my temples, trying to ease the tension that’s been building all morning. I’m playing the waiting game now.
Waiting and hoping Ellie comes in on time, that she walks through the door, and that I can fix whatever the hell is happening between us.
It takes half an hour before there’s a knock on the door. I know it’s her. My whole body stirs before the door even opens. I don’t need to see her to feel her presence—like a fucking magnet, pulling me in whether I want it or not.
“Come in,” I say, my voice a little sharper than I intended, trying to keep the tension out.
The door creaks open, and there she is. She’s wearing black pants, fitted, professional, and a black turtleneck that hugs her body. But it’s not her clothes that grab my attention—it’s her face. She has dark circles under her eyes, and there’s no lipstick. Ellie always has lipstick on.
Something flares inside me. Concern, or maybe frustration that she’s here at all.
She closes the door softly behind her, the new phone in her hand, and steps closer to my desk.
“Morning, Mr. Blackwood,” she says, her voice a little off, like it’s strained. She’s tired, maybe even sick, and immediately I feel a stab of guilt.
I shake my head. “No. Don’t do that, Ellie. Last night changes nothing. I’m still Alexander to you.”
Her eyes flick away, like she can’t meet my gaze. She’s about to say something when she sneezes, and I sit up straighter, the words coming out before I can stop them. “You’re sick.”
I want to stand up, to do something, but I hold myself back, gripping the edge of my desk instead.
“I have a bit of a cold,” she says, brushing it off like it’s nothing.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Why the hell did you come into work?”
She shrugs, looking stubborn. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” I snap, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “Go to HR, then go home.”
“Sir—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“No. You’re sick, Ellie. Besides,” I pause, forcing a more even tone, “I need you healthy for tomorrow.”
She frowns, blinking in confusion. “What’s tomorrow?”
I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. “There’s a corporate event. You’re accompanying me.”
She stares at me for a second like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious. “What time does it start?”
“Tomorrow evening. I’ll pick you up around six,” I say, keeping my voice calm, controlled. “But until then, you rest.”
She opens her mouth, then shuts it again, clearly too tired to argue. “Okay,” she mutters, before lifting the phone in her hand. “Why did you get me this?”
I glance at the iPhone, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. “You’ll need it to FaceTime our clients. I work in tech. The gadgets my employees use needs to showcase this.”
She stares at me, and I know— I know she can see through the bullshit. But she doesn’t call me out on it. At least not today. She’s too tired for that.
I will have to make sure that I get every employee a brand new iPhone before the end of day so she does not call me out on my favoritism.
“Right,” she says, her voice quiet. “Thank you.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then I nod toward the door. “Go home, Ellie.”
She looks like she’s going to argue again, but instead, she nods and walks out, her steps slower than usual. I watch her go, feeling the tension in my chest ease just a little—but not enough.
As soon as the door closes behind her, I exhale, running a hand over my face. Fuck. That was a close one. She’s sick, exhausted, and here I am dragging her into work after last night, after that fucking kiss.
I stand up, pacing behind my desk, my mind a whirlwind. I should’ve stopped her the second I saw those dark circles, the second I saw her without her lipstick, but instead, I dragged her into my office to talk about a corporate event. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this at all. Shouldn’t be wondering how soft her skin felt last night, or how good she tasted.
Fuck. I lean my hands on the desk, staring down at the papers in front of me, but they blur. I can’t focus. My body is tense, my mind racing, and I can’t shake the urge to do something —anything.
She said she wanted professionalism. That she needed to keep things professional. Fine. I can do that. But professionalism is harder than I thought when all I want to do is call her and make sure she’s actually resting, or have someone send soup to her apartment. Christ , I can’t even send her soup without it feeling like I’m crossing a line.
I grab my phone, staring at it for a long moment, then shove it back in my pocket. No. I won’t call her. I won’t. She’s fine, she said she’s fine.
But still, the whole day, I’m fighting the urge to pick up the phone. My mind is spinning, wondering if she’s okay, if she’s resting, if she’ll be able to make the event tomorrow.
I ask Lena to get every single employee a brand new iPhone, then I sit through meetings, answer emails, talk strategy for the European expansion, but none of it sticks. Every few minutes, my thoughts drift back to Ellie. To the way she looked this morning, pale and tired, like she hadn’t slept at all.
She’s sick. That’s all. It’s just concern. Nothing more.
But when I picture her standing in my office, dark circles under her eyes, my chest tightens, and I know it’s more than just concern. It’s everything else too. The kiss. The way she looked at me last night. The way she felt in my arms.
I glance at my phone again, the urge to call her almost overwhelming. My fingers hover over the screen, tempted, but then I grit my teeth and toss the phone back on the desk.
I won’t call her.
I won’t.
But I’m still thinking about her when the day ends, still fighting the urge to do something, anything. And as I leave the office, heading back to my empty penthouse, I know I’m not going to stop thinking about her until I see her again. Until I know she’s okay.
Tomorrow.
*
It’s five-forty, and I’m sitting in the back of the car as we pull up to Ellie’s neighborhood. The city’s rush hour has just started to die down, but the streets are still slick from the rain earlier. I’m dressed for the event—dark navy suit, sharp lines, crisp white shirt, black tie. It’s the kind of suit that feels like armor, but right now, it’s doing nothing to protect me from the shitstorm of thoughts running through my head.
As we approach her building, my eyes land on the wall outside. That wall. The one I pressed her against the other night, kissing her like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. I feel the ghost of a smile tug at my lips, remembering the way she tasted—rain, vanilla, and something fucking addictive.
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus. Keep it professional tonight . I pull out my phone and call her.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”
Her voice sounds so much better. The congestion from yesterday is mostly gone, and she doesn’t sound exhausted anymore. Good.
“I’m outside,” I tell her, hoping— hoping she might invite me up. Just a quick look at her place. I want to see where she lives, where she spends her time when she’s not here, driving me out of my fucking mind.
But no. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she says.
“Okay,” I say, trying not to let the disappointment show in my voice. I hang up and sit back, glancing at the door of her building. She’ll be down soon.
When she walks out five minutes later, I forget how to breathe.
She’s in this soft, mid-calf sweater dress—long sleeves, form-fitting, and the way it hugs her curves... fuck . The material molds to her like it was made for her. My cock stirs, just looking at her, and I have to fight the urge to groan out loud. She’s beautiful—no, stunning . Her bright red lipstick is back, and the pop of color against her skin makes me want to ruin that perfectly painted mouth.
And those heels. Leopard print. Jesus Christ.
She’s holding a small purse, her hair is in a neat bun, and I’m pretty sure I’m staring at her like an idiot. I pull myself together, stepping out of the car before she can see how much she’s affecting me.
“Ellie,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “How are you feeling?”
She smiles, those red lips pulling up at the corners. “Much better, thank you.”
I nod, trying not to let my gaze linger on her too long. “Glad to hear it.”
She tilts her head slightly. “Where are we headed tonight?”
I open the door for her, watching as she slides into the backseat, the scent of vanilla filling the car as I follow her in. Fuck, that scent. It’s been haunting me for days.
As I discreetly adjust my cock— calm the fuck down, Blackwood —I clear my throat. “It’s a hospitality event. Industry people, potential competitors... a lot of them will be focused on luxury developments.”
“Oh, the French Riviera project,” she says, turning to look at me, her eyes lighting up with understanding.
I pull out my phone, scrolling through the list of attendees. “Exactly. There are people here who could be valuable... or problematic.” I pass the phone to her, showing her the names.
She leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat from her body. Her shoulder brushes mine as she scans the list, and I swear to God, I forget how to breathe for a second. The warmth of her skin, the closeness—it’s a fucking distraction, one I didn’t prepare for.
She hands me the phone back, nodding. “Anything I should know before we go in?”
I clear my throat again, trying to shake off the haze. “Just remember, our luxury resort idea is confidential. We’re here to learn, see what the competition is doing, but we can’t tip our hand.”
“Got it,” she says, her voice firm, professional. But when I look at her, I can’t help but see the way that dress clings to her, the way those red lips are begging to be kissed again.
The driver’s voice comes over the intercom. “We’re here, Mr. Blackwood.”
I glance out the window, and sure enough, the venue is packed. Cars pulling up one after another, people in suits and dresses milling around the entrance.
I turn to her, forcing a calm smile. “Ready?”
She nods, her red lips parting slightly as she takes a breath. “Ready.”
I step out first, then offer her my hand as she steps out of the car. The second she’s by my side, the heat between us flares again, the same heat that’s been simmering since that night outside her building. I adjust my suit jacket, trying to pull myself together. We have a job to do. I can’t let this get to me.
But as we walk toward the entrance, side by side, the only thing I can think about is how close she is. How much I want to touch her. How badly I want to do everything but stay professional.