20. Im completely at your mercy, Dr. Ayra.
The Grand Ballroom was a sea of shimmering silk, clinking crystal, and the low hum of the city's elite. To me, it felt like a world away from the sterile, fluorescent halls of the hospital where I spent a significant portion of my life.
I smoothed the fabric of my floor-length, emerald-green silk slip dress.
It hugged my curves in a way my scrubs never could, the plunging cowl back exposing the delicate line of my spine.
I'd swept my hair up, leaving a few stray tendrils to graze my collarbone, feeling more exposed than I had in months.
"Dr. Ayra, you look... terrifyingly beautiful." One of my fellow residents joked, holding a glass of champagne.
"I just feel like I'm wearing a costume." I admitted, my eyes scanning the room.
I turned toward the balcony for some air, but a sudden shift in the room's atmosphere stopped me. The air seemed to thicken, the chatter dipping into a hush before rising in a different, more excited tone.
I knew that feeling. It was the gravity of a powerful man entering the room.
I turned slowly. And there he was.
My breath caught.
Daxton Anderson walked in, dressed immaculately in a charcoal-black tuxedo that looked like it had been molded to his frame, the crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough at the collar to hint at the man beneath the suit.
He was speaking to a senator, his expression his usual authoritative one, until his eyes drifted across the room.
His gaze locked on to mine, and I could see the exact moment when he became more alert. His eyes traveled from the top of my head, down the curve of my neck, to the way the green silk draped over my hips.
He didn't walk toward me; he moved like he was reclaiming territory. He cut through the crowd without looking at anyone else, his focus so intense it felt like a physical touch.
When he reached me, he didn't say a word for a long minute. He just looked at me, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
"Ayra." He rasped.
"Mr. Anderson." My voice came out as a murmur as I stood flushed under his heavy, scrutinising gaze.
"I didn't expect you to be here." He said, voice low.
"I was invited along with my colleagues." I explained.
He nodded. "You look... stunning."
Heat rushed up my cheeks, butterflies erupting in my stomach. "Thank you. You look... very handsome." I admitted.
His lips curled up into a breathtaking smile. "I was going to ignore the invitation, but now I'm so glad I came."
"Me too." I admitted, smiling back.
"Accompany me? I'm tired of conversing with people who want my money. I'd rather talk to the woman who heals and talks about horror movies like they're the most incredible thing to exist." He said, eyes gleaming with playfulness as he extended his hand towards me.
I laughed softly, putting my hand in his, a spark running up my arm the moment I did.
As we moved through the crowd, he didn't let go. His thumb traced idle, burning circles on my hand. I pretended to be unaffected as he led me to a quiet corner of the ballroom.
"You're staring." I whispered as we stood by a tall marble pillar.
"I'm admiring." He corrected. He reached out with his free hand, his fingers grazing the delicate strap of my dress. "This color... it makes your eyes look like a forest I'd happily get lost in."
I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. "You're very good at this. Does the CEO training include a course on flattery?"
"Only for things I actually want," he said, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive growl.
He stepped even closer, his thigh brushing against mine.
He reached for my hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.
"And I want a lot of things right now, Ayra. None of them involve business."
Goosebumps erupted all over my skin, various sensations swirling in my body, none of them innocent.
The sexual tension was a living thing between us, thick and heavy.
"Like what?" I challenged, my heart racing.
He leaned in, his chest pressing against my shoulder, his hand moving from my back to my waist, pulling me flush against him. "Like finding out if you taste as sweet as you did in my dreams. Like taking you somewhere where there are no businessmen, no doctors, and no storms."
My mouth parted in both surprise and anticipation, heat coiling low in my stomach and... between my thighs. I felt a sensation, urgent, hot and irresistible down there.
Something I had never felt before.
I could not believe he was being so open, so straightforward about this.
He looked down at my lips, his own parting slightly. He was pining, it was written in the desperate edge of his gaze.
"I have the key fob," I whispered, my hand moving to his chest, feeling the frantic gallop of his heart. "Should I press it? Is this an emergency?"
Daxton let out a low, rough laugh, his forehead dropping to mine. "For me? Yes. It's a total catastrophe. I'm completely at your mercy, Dr. Ayra."
My cheeks burned crimson. My heartbeat was equally as frantic as his. My body felt like it had been set on fire.
I wanted him. I wanted him so bad, I didn't know it was possible to desire someone to that extent—with your whole heart and every nerve in your body.
"Should we head out to the balcony?" He suggested.
I nodded quietly, too consumed by the desire to be touched by him to even speak a proper sentence.
He took my hand, his grip firm and possessive, and led me through the towering French doors at the far end of the hall.
The moment we stepped onto the marble balcony, the heavy, perfume-laden air of the party was replaced by the cold night breeze.
The sounds of the violin and the chatter became a muffled hum behind the thick glass.
I walked to the stone railing, looking out over the city lights, but I didn't get far. Daxton was right behind me. He didn't just stand near me; he stepped into my shadow, his body a wall of heat against my bare back.
The contrast of the cool night air on my skin and the furnace of his chest made my head light. He reached around me, placing his hands on the railing on either side of my waist, effectively pinning me between the cold stone and his hard frame.
"You have no idea," he whispered, his breath ghosting over the sensitive shell of my ear, "how hard it was to stand across that room and act like I wasn't losing my mind."
I leaned my head back against his shoulder, my eyes fluttering shut. "You seemed very composed, Mr. Anderson."
"It was a farce," he rasped. He moved one hand from the railing to my waist, his palm sliding upward over the silk of my dress until his thumb rested just under the swell of my breast. My heart felt like it was going to burst through my ribs.
"I saw you in this dress and all I could think about was the way you looked asleep in my car.
The way you looked when you woke up. I've been haunted by you, Ayra. "
He turned me around in the small space of his arms. I looked up at him, my breath hitching at the raw, unadulterated hunger in his dark eyes.
There was no CEO here. No cold precision. There was only the man who had been pining for a woman he couldn't quite remember, yet felt like he'd known for a lifetime.
He reached up, his fingers splaying across my cheek, his thumb dragging slowly, firmly across my bottom lip. "I'm going to kiss you now," he warned, his voice a low vibration. "And if I start, I don't think I'll be able to stop."
"Don't stop." I whispered, my fingers clutching the lapels of his tuxedo, pulling him down.
When his lips finally met mine, it wasn't the tentative, gentle kiss I had expected. It was an explosion.
It was deep, demanding, and tasted like longing, desperation and affection. He let out a low growl into my mouth, his tongue sweeping against mine in a way that made my knees give out. If he hadn't been holding me so tightly, I would have collapsed.
His hands moved with a frantic sort of worship.
One hand stayed tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me steady for the onslaught of his mouth, while the other slid down the low-cut back of my dress.
His skin against my bare spine was electric, his touch possessive as he pulled me upward, trying to erase every inch of space between us.
I groaned into the kiss, my hands traveling from his chest to his neck, my fingers brushing through his hair.
The kiss changed then—softening from a clash of hunger into something deeply, achingly romantic.
It was the kiss of two people finding each other in a storm, of two souls recognizing a rhythm they had forgotten years ago.
He pulled back just a fraction, his lips swollen, his eyes dark with a look so intense it felt like he was seeing straight into my soul. He peppered small, affectionate kisses along my jawline, burying his face in the crook of my neck.
"Ayra," he breathed against my skin, his voice trembling. "What are you doing to me?"
I couldn't answer. I could only cling to him, my body vibrating with the aftershocks of the kiss, realizing that whatever had started in the rain was now a fire that neither of us could put out.
His lips found mine again, his hand sliding from my jaw to the back of my neck, anchoring me to him.
The world tilted. The city disappeared. There was only the press of his mouth, the quiet sound he made against my lips, the way his body leaned into mine like he'd been holding himself back for far too long.
When he finally pulled back, just barely, his forehead rested against mine again. His breathing was uneven. Mine matched it.
"That was worth the pining." He uttered, bringing more butterflies to my stomach.
"Yes." I breathed out in agreement.
My mind was still a haze, my nerves still buzzing from everything that had just happened. My lips were tingling, my body shaking in a way that could only be a result of having your first kiss with a man like Daxton Anderson.
My fingers had a mind of their own as they brushed his smooth, plump lips gently, as if trying to fathom that they had truly just devoured me a minute ago.
He watched my hand with an intensity that made me feel like I was the only woman left on earth.
He caught my hand, his teeth grazing the pad of my thumb before he kissed my palm, the flick of his tongue sending a jolt of pure electricity straight to my core.
"You have no idea," he rasped, his voice dropping into a tone so low it made my thighs ache. "How many times I've replayed a moment like this in my head. But the reality... you... you're devastating, Ayra."
He stepped even closer, his thighs slotting between mine, forcing my back flush against the stone railing. The cool marble was a sharp, grounding contrast to the fire of his body. He began to trail kisses down my neck, erupting goosebumps everywhere.
Every touch was a claim, a silent vow that he wasn't letting go.
"Daxton," I breathed, my head falling back, exposing the line of my throat to him. My hands were back in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of the friction that was making my head spin. "We can't... we're at a gala."
"I don't care about the gala," he growled against my skin, his hands sliding down to my hips, his grip tightening until I was pulled up against the hard, undeniable evidence of his desire.
"I don't care about anything but the fact that someone is following you.
That you're living alone in an apartment where I can't watch over you. It's driving me insane."
He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, his expression raw and fierce.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear, his hot breath making me shiver violently. "Move in with me."
I exhaled a shaky breath.
The desire was a living thing now, a thrumming pulse in my veins that silenced every logical thought in my brain. I wanted to wake up to that heartbeat every morning. I wanted to see that protective fire in his eyes every night.
"Yes." I whispered, the word escaping me before I could even process it.
He froze, his eyes searching mine as if he couldn't believe I'd said it. "Yes?"
"Yes." I repeated, more sure this time, my hands sliding up to cup his face.
He didn't say a word. He just let out a ragged breath and crushed his mouth to mine once more, a kiss that felt like a seal on a contract. It was possessive, relieved, and scorched with a heat that promised this was much more than just desire and temptation.