Calla
The conference room was filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, a spread of pastries from my favorite black-owned bakery here in Winston Hills, Cocoa Crumble, and a sense of bureaucratic ambition.
I walked in first, heels clicking like I owned the floor.
Behind me, Malik and Zoey moved with the ease of people who were damn good at what they did.
We took our seats at the long, glass-topped table, our posture perfect, our expressions unreadable.
I adjusted my blazer, smoothed my slacks, and forced my mind into the zone. Calm. Cool. Professional. Unbothered.
Even though I hadn’t heard from him in a week.
Even though I’d dominated and fucked him into submission, and then some.
And even though I was still wrapping my head around the fact that we were here at all.
I’d known we were bidding on the instrumentation and monitoring contract.
Had poured over the numbers, agonized over the pitch.
But I hadn’t expected to win it. Not with the kind of legacy firms we were up against—companies with decades in the game and deep-pocket relationships on every board.
BlackSphere Technologies was still the new kid on the block in civil infrastructure tech.
Our wireless settlement systems and cloud-based pressure monitoring were cutting-edge, but they were new and unproven at this scale.
And yet here we were.
In the building.
About to present as the awarded contractor on a $1.2 billion overpass project.
I had come prepared to earn respect, but I wasn’t prepared to see him.
The door opened.
He walked in like thunder, smooth and loud in his silence.
James Carter Jr.
My mouth went dry. I blinked once, slowly, but it didn’t help.
The man looked dangerous. Ralph Lauren slacks tailored to his thick thighs, a peanut butter-hued button-down with the top two buttons undone, Gucci loafers no doubt polished by someone who knew better than to scuff them.
Hair fresh, beard edged so sharp it could slice through tension, and God, there was tension.
That scent of his hit me, too, spiced, dark, and masculine; it was woodsy and sinful, and way too familiar.
But it wasn’t just him.
It was her.
Walking a little too close behind him. Curvy and brown like melted caramel, with a soft belly and wide hips wrapped in business casual.
Long curls spilled down her back, and her skin glowed like she slept in cocoa butter and mind-her-damn-business.
Those dimples were audacious. And those tattoos?
I wanted to read every one of them so that I could figure out what parts of her he looked at the longest.
I hated her.
No, I didn’t. But I hated how beautiful she was—hated how she smiled at something he said, how he smiled back.
She looked like she knew him.
Like she saw the version of James that most people didn’t get. The relaxed one. The one who laughed too loud and cracked smart-ass jokes. The one who whispered things that made you forget your name.
I stiffened in my seat.
He was mine. I told him that. I claimed him—every sigh, every tremor, every broken moan. I left my marks on him in bruises and breath. I made him beg.
And here he was walking into my professional space like he hadn’t been brought to his knees a week ago.
“Good morning, everyone,” James said, voice deep and smooth.
The kind of voice that made grown people forget their points mid-slide.
“This is Amiyah Patterson, my assistant project manager. She keeps my schedule together, my ego in check, and makes sure I don’t show up to meetings with barbecue sauce on my tie. ”
Some folks chuckled.
Amiyah smiled like she loved that joke.
I didn’t.
“And this,” he gestured to the rest of his team, “is our instrumentation and monitoring crew. We’re excited to be working with BlackSphere Technologies on this phase.”
Then his eyes landed on me.
“Calla, would you like to introduce your team?”
My smile was cold and clean. The kind that made men think twice before underestimating me.
“I’m Calla Black, CEO of BlackSphere Technologies,” I said, my voice steady and silk.
“We specialize in advanced instrumentation, data analytics, and field performance systems for infrastructure and deep foundation monitoring. To my left is Malik Jameson, our lead geotech. If you want an honest answer, with zero sugar, talk to him. Preferably after he’s had his coffee. ”
More laughter.
“And this is Zoey Albright, our senior systems analyst. She knows everything, and somehow, she never forgets anything. So proceed with caution.”
Zoey gave her signature smirk and nod, and people chuckled again. But I didn’t miss James watching me, not just observing—seeing. Like he remembered what it felt like to have my hands around his throat and my mouth at his ear.
But when Amiyah leaned in to whisper something to him—and his smile tipped just slightly in her direction—it took everything in me not to toss my pen across the table.
I didn’t break my stare. Didn’t shift a damn muscle.
Let her talk close.
Let her smile wide.
She didn’t know him the way I did.
She didn’t own him.
Not like I did, and she never fucking would.
I knew I was being irrational, moving out of fear and insecurity of losing a man I’d given my ass to kiss until a week ago.
Still, now everything was different; the one thing I’d tried to avoid happened, and now James Carter Jr. was mine, embedded deeply in my soul, and I refused to let the curly-haired cocoa Goddess have him without a fight.
I hadn’t expected to be so affected by his presence this morning but the juxtaposition of James in this meeting, powerful and dominant, eyes on him, clinging to every word that flowed from his full lips, respect and trust evident in the way his team responded, while memories of him submitting to me, his body beneath me taking every inch of me made my thighs clinch, my nipples go taut, and my mouth water.
I needed a release, I needed space from him before I fucked him in this conference room and made Amiyah watch, confirming who the boss was when it came to him.
I owned his body, mind, and soul. I was charged mentally and sexually, and the only way to ease the currents washing over my body was to use James’ body to my absolute satisfaction.
“Calla?”
His voice slid through my thoughts like a blade dipped in honey.
I blinked. “Sorry, what?”
He arched one brow, lips tugging into a smirk that made my stomach tighten in the worst and best way. His eyes lingered on mine just a second longer than necessary; he knew. I’d been gone, entirely out of it.
Zoned all the way out like some love-struck intern instead of the CEO in the damn room.
“I said,” James repeated slowly, “we were planning a walkdown this afternoon with our monitoring crew, Amiyah’s coordinating it.
I wanted to see if you and your team have time for a quick site visit with us today?
Nothing too deep, want you and your team to get a feel for the space, walk the alignment, talk through sensor locations and ground access. ”
His tone was polite. Professional. But his eyes still held that flicker of heat, of memory.
I cleared my throat, then sat up straighter like that would help clear the haze he’d pulled me into.
“Uh, yes, of course. We’ve got our high-vis vests and hard hats in the vehicles,” I said, smoothing my voice into its usual confident cadence. “We’re always ready.”
He nodded, that damn smirk still hanging on the edge of his mouth. “Good. Then we’ll head over after we wrap this up.”
Amiyah gave him a soft smile, then turned to her tablet to make a note.
I didn’t look at her.
I couldn’t.
Because the next few hours were going to be long, and I wasn’t sure if I’d spend them focused on instrumentation specs or trying not to imagine James' voice repeating her name, but this time with his hands pinned behind his back.
Either way… I needed to get my shit together.
Immediately.
The meeting wrapped with the usual shuffling of papers, handshakes, and promises of follow-up emails. James stood to the side, deep in conversation with a consultant, while Amiyah turned toward me with a warm smile.
“Hey, you wanna ride with me to the site?” she asked casually, slipping her tablet into a leather sleeve. “It’s only about ten minutes, but parking’s tight. Might be easier to go together.”
I hesitated for a split second, just long enough to wonder if this was some kind of setup, but I nodded. “Sure. That works.”
She grinned, dimples flashing, and gestured for me to follow her out.
We walked in silence through the hallway and down to the garage, our heels echoing off the concrete, the air thick with summer heat trapped between the levels.
She walked with an easy confidence, not a performative one, but a natural one.
Ass swaying like it had its own rhythm section, and I was watching, not discreetly either.
Thick thighs, soft waist, those hips, that hair, the smile, her scent, I was fucking aroused, intrigued; my imagination had her straddling my lap, her mouth open and panting while I held her close, working a rhythm deep and steady, wondering how well she could take dick, or my strap.
Something told me she wouldn’t run from it, wouldn’t squirm away once it got deep.
No, she’d take it, be greedy for it, probably beg for more.
Jesus.
I shifted the weight in my heels, clearing my throat, trying to reel it in.
Amiyah beeped the locks on a sleek, dark hybrid SUV and opened the passenger door for me. She looked at me with something unreadable in her eyes, not shy, not cocky, but aware. Like she knew what I was thinking. Like she wanted me to.
Once we were inside, the doors shut with a soft thump and the AC kicked on.
“You good?” she asked, glancing over at me with a slight smirk. “You looked like you were miles away in that meeting earlier. You eat today?”