Chapter Eight
LEONI
The door slams behind him, and the sound vibrates through my bones. I stare at the wood, chest rising and falling too fast, hands shaking in my lap. I don’t cry. I won’t cry. Not again.
Then, without warning, the door rips open again, and Warren fills the doorway like a storm rolling in. My breath catches as I stare back wide-eyed, waiting for him to speak.
“Office,” he growls. “Now.”
There’s no room for argument, and so I move. Sliding out of my seat. I slip past him, my shoulder brushing his chest. He doesn’t move aside, forcing me to move around him. The contact steals my breath, sending a buzz of excitement through me.
He closes the door, the click ringing out in the silence. And then he turns the lock, and my heart slams harder. “Warren—”
He ignores me, moving with slow, deliberate steps around the office, closing each of the blinds one by one.The room darkens in stages. The privacy wraps around me as my mind races.
Is he angry? Is he hurt? Does he regret everything? Does he hate me now?
His hand drops from the last blind, and he turns toward me. He’s breathing hard.
“I don’t hate you,” he eventually says, his voice rough. “That’s the problem.”
My throat goes tight. “Warren…”
“No.” He steps closer. “You can’t order me to hate you.”
Another step. I feel the heat of him before he touches me.
“And you don’t get to cry in his arms,” he breathes, “when I’m right fucking here.”
And then his hand is in my hair, his fingers curling at the base of my neck and gently tugging me closer. I gasp, stepping in to him. Giving him silent approval.
His mouth crashes into mine, hungry, hot, months of tension breaking all at once.
I grab fistfuls of his shirt, dragging him closer. His other arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off the floor like I weigh nothing. My back hits the office door, and I moan against his lips, the sound torn from somewhere deep.
He kisses me like he’s starving. Like I’m oxygen.
His hands slide down, gripping my thighs, pulling me up so I’m wrapped around him. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan—a low, rough sound that shoots straight through me.
“Christ, Leoni,” he pants against my neck. “I’ve tried; I’ve tried so fucking hard—”
“Stop trying,” I whisper, breathless.
He freezes for half a second, just long enough for meaning to sink in, and then he’s tearing his suit jacket off, tossing it blindly across the room. His fingers find the hem of my shirt, knuckles brushing my skin, and every cell in my body lights up.
I yank his tie loose, fumbling, laughing breathlessly when it catches. He smirks, that dark, ruined sort of smirk, and helps me pull it free, tugging it from around his collar with one sharp motion.
Then his hands are under my top, warm, confident, sliding higher, dragging the fabric with them.
He pauses. His forehead presses to mine. A tiny breath of space. A question.
“You should tell me to stop,” he whispers. I shake my head, my fists still clutching his shirt. “Fuck it,” he mutters. His mouth claims mine, fierce and hungry, like he’s been holding this in for years and it’s finally allowed to exist.
Clothes come away in frantic, fumbling movements, shirts lifted, buttons undone, fabric hitting the floor. He lowers me onto the desk, papers scattering as he shoves them away, then his body is between my knees, his hands roaming everywhere.
His mouth moves along my neck, down my chest, and he cups my breast, bringing it to his lips.
His hot tongue circles the bud, and my head falls back in pleasure.
It’s been too long since I last felt this kind of need, so I push all sensible thoughts from my mind as I loosen his belt.
His eyes burn into mine, so full of desire, I can’t breathe.
I want him, all of him, every rough edge and sharp corner and burning, aching need that lives beneath his skin.
The desk digs into the backs of my thighs, but I don’t care.His body crowds mine, firm and solid and there. Kisses turn deeper, slower, like he suddenly needs to feel every second of this, to swallow every breath I take.
My back arches into him, fingertips tracing across my damp skin. He shudders when my nails drag lightly along his spine.
“Leoni …” he groans, the sound rough enough to make my whole body tremble.
His fingers find the lace of my underwear, moving it to one side and slipping his fingers there. He rubs slow circles over my swollen clit, and I pant breathlessly, knowing I need more.
As if he senses it, he lifts me again, his hands sure on my hips, and I wrap around him instinctively, trusting him to hold me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
His erection presses at my entrance, and as he slides into me, he fists my hair, tugging my head back and getting access to my neck.
His kisses become frantic the deeper he sinks into me, and when I'm sure I can’t take any more, he presses me against the wall and slams into me harder.
I cry out, and his hand finds my mouth, covering it to muffle the sound.
We move together, breathing hard, mouths pressed to shoulders, neck, jaw, anywhere we can reach.Chasing each other, holding on, unravelling and coming undone at the same time.
The world falls away.
He follows me over the edge, his grip tightening, his forehead pressed to my shoulder, breath shaking against my skin like the world just shifted under his feet.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
We’re tangled. Breathing the same uneven breath in the dim light of the office.
And then he slides me down his body. My feet hitting the rough carpet. My heart is hammering against my ribs so hard it hurts.
Then he goes still.
A breath leaves him, slow and controlled, the way people breathe when they’re shutting doors in their own mind.
He steps back just enough that I feel cold where his body had been. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t look anywhere. Just drags a hand over his jaw like he’s trying to erase the last ten minutes from existence.
“This shouldn’t have happened,” he says, his voice empty, void of any emotion.
I swallow, my throat burning with humiliation. “Right. Yeah. I—I know.”
I don’t know. I don’t know anything.
I reach for my blouse where it’s fallen to the floor, but my hands are shaking. Pathetic. I fumble the buttons three times before I even get one done.
He watches. Not helping. Just watching.
His expression is unreadable, and somehow, that’s so much worse than anger.
“You said you didn’t want messy,” he mutters.
The words knock the air out of my lungs.
I pull my hair back, fingers trembling. “I said that because I knew this would happen.”
He flinches. It’s tiny, but I see it. Silence thickens between us. Heavy and suffocating.
I want to tell him I didn’t mean it like that. I want to tell him I didn’t expect any of this.I want to tell him that for the first time in days, hours, minutes—I didn’t feel hollow. Instead, I pull my skirt on, then collect my bra off the floor.
“You don’t need to worry,” I say softly. “I won’t make it a thing.”
His jaw tightens. I don’t know why. Anger? Relief? Regret? Something else?
He nods once, sharp. “Good.”
Good. It echoes in my head like a door slamming shut.
I move toward the door. My legs are unsteady, like they don’t know how to hold me anymore.
His voice stops me, low and strained. “Leoni—”
I go still. But I don’t turn around. Because if I look at him, I’ll break.
So I just whisper, “Don’t.” And I pull the door open only to find Erik standing there. He doesn’t look surprised. He looks like he’s been waiting. Listening.
One glance at my face, my swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and trembling hands clutching my bra, and his mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile.
“Well,” he murmurs, voice dripping with satisfaction, “that didn’t take long.”
My stomach twists. Shame, anger, confusion. It all crashes at once.
“Move,” I whisper, trying to step past him. But he doesn’t. He shifts just slightly, blocking my way, placing one hand on the doorframe above my head like he owns the ground I’m standing on.
His eyes flick behind me into the office. To Warren. I don’t have to look to feel Warren’s presence there. To feel him watching.
Erik steps closer, too close, lowering his voice. “Did he break your heart already?” he asks, and the cruel softness of it nearly cracks me open.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Please get out of my way. I’m not playing your games.”
He tuts gently, like he’s soothing a child. His fingers lift, and he catches my chin between them, tilting my face up. “Sweetheart,” he breathes, “you already are.”
My vision blurs. I don’t know if it’s tears or fury. Behind me, a sound catches his attention. A shift of air. A presence.
Warren.
His voice is low, his tone warning. “Erik. Move.”
Erik’s smile widens, it’s slow, wolfish, and I frown, wondering if I have somehow played into their hands. A game I know nothing about.
He leans down, brushing his lips just close enough to ghost the corner of my jaw, not touching, just threatening it. And I know he’s doing it so Warren sees.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, Leoni,” he murmurs, his voice like smoke.
Then he steps aside, giving me barely enough room to squeeze past him. I don’t look back as I gather my things. I stride from the office like I have purpose.
By the time I reach the bathroom, I’m barely holding together. I lock the door, press both hands to the sink, and finally, I let my knees give out. And the sob rips out of me.
WARREN
I don’t follow her. I want to. God, I want to.
But I stay frozen just inside my office, jaw locked so tight it feels like my teeth might crack. The door is half-open. And Erik is still standing there.
He leans one shoulder lazily against the frame, with his arms folded, he’s clearly enjoyed the show.