Tempting The CEO

24. "The term control comes under my domain, Aurelia Sinclair."

I stood there, frozen in place, her perfume still clinging to the air like a curse.

"Behave yourself, Zayden."

Her voice echoed through my head like a gunshot. Calm. Unaffected. So infuriatingly assertive.

My hands were still flexed at my sides, clenched into fists. My body was hot, coiled tight like a live wire. Every nerve was still responding to her proximity — the feel of her breath, the silk of her skin beneath my fingers, the softness of her dress brushing against me like a fucking invitation.

And then she pushed me away like it meant nothing.

Worse.

Like she was in charge of every damn second of it.

I exhaled through my nose, slowly and deliberately, trying to gather the pieces of my control that had shattered somewhere between her stepping into the hallway and walking away.

It wasn't just lust.

It was the fact that she knew exactly what she was doing, and the way she seemed so unbothered by it all while my body felt like it'd been set aflame every single time.

Aurelia Sinclair didn't accidentally wander into my space. She invaded it. Boldly. Strategically. Like she knew I wouldn't be able to resist for long. That eventually the reins of my control would snap.

And for a moment... control slipped right through my fingers like sand.

I almost let myself give in.

Almost kissed her.

Almost let the line blur into something I couldn't walk back from.

But she stopped it.

Right at the edge. Just before the fall.

She pushed me. As if she wouldn't have liked my mouth on hers. As if she wasn't the one provoking me. As if she wasn't playing dangerous games. Trying to get me all worked up and incite a reaction out of me.

She knew exactly what that would do to me. Exactly what that did to me.

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing back down the hallway like a man with fire in his veins. I could still feel the shape of her waist in my palm, the smooth trail of skin beneath the hem of her dress.

I wanted to hurl something.

Punch a wall.

Drag her right back out of her room and kiss her until her smug little smirk disappeared.

But instead... I made it to my room. Closed the door. Locked it.

And stood there, staring at nothing, jaw locked, chest heaving, a bulge in my pants straining painfully against its restraints.

She thought she could play with fire and never get burned.

Fine.

She wanted games? I'd give her a game she wouldn't forget.

But the next time she came looking for attention, I wouldn't be the one begging for control.

She would.

———

I hadn't meant to go that far.

Okay, maybe I had. I did want him all hot and bothered. I wanted to consume his thoughts. To be like a drug for him. Addictive and irreplaceable. I wanted him wrapped around my fingers.

I flopped onto my bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, my heartbeat still a chaotic mess in my chest. Every nerve in my body still buzzed from being touched and almost claimed by Zayden Ashford.

My skin tingled where his fingers had been.

My breath was still uneven and erratic. And the heat that pooled low in my stomach showed no sign of cooling.

The moisture between my legs? A constant reminder of how influenced my body was by his closeness.

But I had to do it.

I had to walk away. No matter how bad I wanted him too.

Because if I hadn't, if I'd let him cross that line... I wouldn't have just kissed him back. I would have let him strip me bare right there in the hallway, under the soft chandelier light, against the damn wall.

And I would have regretted nothing.

But also... everything.

Because even though my body would have enjoyed every second of it, Zayden didn't deserve to win. Not so soon. He couldn't just have me so easily. He had to put up a fight, go to far lengths just to feel my touch. He had to prove that he truly deserved me.

I couldn't just be any ordinary girl to him.

I needed him to feel what I felt. To crave what he couldn't have. To burn the way he made me burn every time he so much as looked at me with those dark, unreadable eyes. Or didn't. I wanted him to feel the frustration I felt when he made me feel nonexistent and unwanted.

And judging by the way his mouth parted when I pushed him, by the frustration and incredulity etched in his expression as I walked away, I had succeeded.

I smirked into the darkness, tucking my hands under my head.

Let him burn.

Let him unravel.

Let him want.

I wasn't going to be one of those people who melted if he so much as looked at them. I didn't know anything about his history with women. But if he had been with any, I was going to be the most distinct one out of them all.

The following morning, I made a point to sleep in.

I didn't want to accidentally run into him again in the kitchen with my hair all messy and the scent of desire still haunting my skin.

When I finally left my room, he wasn't home and I was glad.

The rest of the day was quiet. Unusually so. I answered some emails, did a little writing, organised my room just for something to do, but the memory of Zayden's voice, his hands, the way he'd caged me in and set my body ablaze—it all clung to me like a scent I couldn't scrub off.

Late afternoon rolled in, and with it came a parcel. A large white box with my name on it, carried to my bedroom by one of the house help.

No note. No indication of who had sent it.

Confused, I opened it.

Inside was a dress.

Satin. Crimson. Floor-length with a dangerously high slit and a plunging neckline that screamed trouble. It was the kind of dress you wore when you wanted to bring a man to his knees.

Underneath it was a small white card. No handwriting. Just typed words:

No name. But I didn't need one.

It could be none other than Zayden.

I rolled my bottom lip into my mouth, very intrigued.

———

By the time 8 pm rolled around, I was dressed in the dress Zayden had sent me. Hair pinned into a neat bun with a few loose strands curled around my face. Heels strapped on. Lipstick a bold maroon. Eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man.

I looked lethally stunning. Zayden Ashford must know just who he was dealing with.

I came down the stairs slowly, letting the heels click intentionally against the steps until I saw him waiting by the door.

Zayden stood in a black button-down and dark grey slacks, one hand tucked casually into his pocket, the other holding his phone. He looked up as I approached, and his eyes instantly betrayed him.

They devoured me. Unable to look away.

I saw it. That flicker of tension that tightened his jaw and made his gaze drop slowly from my face to my legs, and back up again.

His controlled facade was already slipping.

Good.

He cleared his throat. "You're late."

"I was debating whether or not I wanted to be seen with you tonight." I said sweetly, brushing past him with a deliberate swing of my hips.

He walked out behind me, before taking the lead and escorting me to his car.

He opened the car door for me, and I slid in without a word. We drove in silence, but it wasn't peaceful. It was electric. I felt warm and slightly nervous as the tension hung thick and heavy in the air.

We arrived at a fancy, private rooftop restaurant. A soft breeze blew, candles flickered on the table, and the sky above us was dark and clear with tiny stars and the full moon illuminating it.

The table was set for two. And the setup was too romantic.

I arched a brow. "No client?"

He held my gaze. "Just dinner."

I narrowed my eyes. "What are you up to, Ashford?"

"Nothing. We're just going to eat." He said, pulling out my chair.

I sat in slowly, scanning him. "You're being suspiciously nice."

"And you're suspiciously obedient." He replied calmly.

Taking the seat opposite to me, he met my gaze with his hooded ones. "Nice dress."

I smirked. "Nice taste... surprisingly."

His gaze dropped to the neckline of my dress—subtle, but deliberate. "It's more your taste, Sinclair. Too much skin. Too little fabric."

My smirk grew as I sat unfazed. "Don't act like you don't enjoy the show."

He arched a brow. "Show? What show?"

I snorted, shaking my head before pushing my chair back. He seemed taken aback by my move, eyes alight with curiosity as he watched my movements. Dragging my chair, I placed it next to him before slowly settling in it, completely mindful of his heated gaze grazing every little move.

I crossed one leg over the other, allowing the treacherous, high slit in my dress to fall aside and expose my bare legs. If the dress would hitch up one more inch... he'd have a clear view of my black lace panties that left little to the imagination.

His gaze dropped to the danger zone where the sinful dress was barely holding me together, for only a millisecond before it returned to my face. Composed and controlled. No expressions.

"Is this your big show?" He taunted, as if I didn't see the way his throat bobbed.

I smiled sweetly. "I haven't shown anything yet."

"Nothing I'm interested in seeing." He mocked.

I leaned back in my seat, carefully uncrossing my legs, watching flames light up his dark eyes. What was the point in lying when his body kept giving his true feelings away?

"Do you think you'd ever be lucky enough to see more?" I quipped with a smug smirk.

His jaw clenched, but before I could hit him with another remark, he suddenly grabbed the napkin and threw it on my lap.

I frowned, about to argue when I saw the waiter approach us.

He began taking our orders, while I sat carefully, my most private area concealed beneath a napkin.

The waiter left, and as soon as he did, Zayden sucked in a sharp breath. "Sit properly."

I rolled my eyes, tossing the napkin back on the table. "Covering me with a napkin, seriously?" I taunted, even though the gesture had charmed me. But he did not need to know that.

He chuckled humourlessly. "What you wear on a daily basis to cover yourself is very comparable to a napkin."

I cleared my throat, my eyebrows coming together as I made a move to stand. "Did you call me here to continue with your ancient insults that I don't give a damn about?"

I almost gasped as he placed his big, warm hand over my thigh, grounding me in place. A spark flew up my thigh, and a shiver up my spine.

The sensation was so electric, I almost lost composure for a few seconds. And surely my face delivered my true feelings.

His smug look confirmed it.

Damn it.

"You're quiet all of a sudden," he murmured teasingly, his thumb brushing slowly over the skin above my knee. "That's unlike you, Sinclair."

I gave him a warning glare, but he was already leaning back in his seat, perfectly casual, like his hand wasn't creeping higher inch by inch.

"I think it's pointless wasting my breath on you." It took everything in me to speak without stuttering.

He chuckled darkly. His thumb stroked a maddening circle over the inside of my thigh, and I felt my legs tense automatically. But I didn't move. I didn't want him to think he had any influence over me.

Okay. Two can play this game.

I shifted slightly, leaning towards him. "You think too highly of yourself if you think you're going to touch me and I'm going to feel something."

He raised a challenging brow. "You're not feeling anything?"

I kept a straight face. "Nope. But you sure are. You always do, don't you, Zayden? You've been dying to touch me all along."

His lip twisted up into a sadistic, dark smirk. "You want the truth, Aurelia? I'm just dying to know what sounds you'd make if I kept going."

My eyes widened slightly at his audacity.

He smirked, slow and cruel, his fingers still teasing, still dangerously high under the table. "You shouldn't play games you don't know how to finish, Aurelia."

"Who says I don't?" I bit out, shifting slightly—trying to escape his touch, needing to, because I was seconds from unraveling.

Big mistake.

The movement gave him the perfect opportunity, and his hand slid even higher, stopping just shy of indecent. So close to where I was already burning for him.

He looked like a man with nothing to lose, and every intention of watching me fall apart.

"Still think you're in control?" He asked lowly, voice dark and deep like sin. "Because right now, you're trembling."

"I am not." I hissed, even as a shiver visibly ran down my spine.

"You are." His fingers pressed, ever so slightly.

My thighs clenched involuntarily, and I nearly whimpered.

He leaned in like he was about to whisper something soft and sweet. Instead, his breath ghosted against my ear.

"I could make you come without even lifting you out of this chair."

"Zayden—"

"Shh." He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes again. "You wanted to tease me. You wanted control. But the term control comes under my domain, Aurelia Sinclair."

I almost whimpered as his fingers grazed the edge of my panties. I was afraid that his fingers would end up right in the centre, and he would know just how wet I was when he had barely done much so far.

Snap out of it, Aurelia. You're supposed to be in control.

The waiter suddenly appeared, and I jumped slightly in my seat, but Zayden's grip tightened on my thigh, holding me in place.

The waiter served food while Zayden's finger circled my inner thigh torturously slow.

The waiter left, and just as he did, so did Zayden's hand.

I blinked, surprised, watching as he cut into his steak nonchalantly. No emotion on his face. As if nothing had happened.

When I didn't start eating for the next couple of minutes, he turned towards me. "Come on. Eat."

I cleared my throat, hastily grabbing a fork and knife like they could provide me some sense of control.

We both ate in awkward, pinching silence with simmering sexual tension hanging dense and loud in the air.

"Something wrong?" He asked, finally lifting his eyes to mine.

I fought the urge to glare at him.

"Mm." He tilted his head, as if amused. "You look tense. Maybe you're distracted."

"Distracted?" I echoed, refusing to fidget. "By what?"

His gaze didn't waver. "By whatever's got your breathing all uneven."

I stiffened slightly, pulse betraying me before I exhaled. "Why did you invite me to dinner?"

"To eat." He responded casually, cutting into his steak again.

Right.

You called me here because you wanted the upper hand. But I'll never let you have it.

"Then can I eat in peace?" I snapped.

The corner of his lip lifted up into a cruel smile before he gave a silent nod and continued with his food.

We finished our meal with the kind of tension that could burn the restaurant down.

"You look a little pale," he murmured, his tone mocking. "Is it the food?"

"No," I said, lifting my chin defiantly. "It's the company."

He grinned.

Asshole.

When the bill came, he paid without blinking, rising smoothly to his feet.

I followed, trying to steady my heartbeat as I walked beside him to the elevator. His hand grazed the small of my back again—innocent enough to pass as polite, but his fingers lingered just long enough to make my spine straighten.

The elevator doors closed.

And I exhaled sharply, turning to him. "What was that?"

"What was what?" He asked, feigning innocence.

"The under-the-table nonsense." I snapped, glaring at him.

He stepped closer, voice low and deliberate. "That was me reminding you what happens when you try to mess with fire."

I scoffed, but I couldn't hide the way heat rushed to my cheeks. "You think you're fire?"

He leaned in, mouth by my ear. "No. I think I'm gasoline."

The elevator dinged, and I practically bolted out.

My eyebrows scrunched together as I noticed a car other than the one we came together in.

He took the lead, walking to it and pulled the door to the backseat open like a gentleman. Without sparing him a glance, I sat in as fast as I could, my whole body on fire.

Then he slammed the door shut, and the chauffeur started driving.

He never got in.

I watched as he made his way to his car.

Asshole.