His lips are so close to mine I can feel the heat of them.
One breath. One tiny movement forward. That's all it would take to close the distance. To cross the line. To make this real in a way that can't be undone.
"Yes," I whispered. The word still hangs in the air between us, a surrender and a promise and a death sentence for whoever I used to be before this moment.
Dominic's eyes are dark, burning with an intensity that should terrify me. His hand is still tangled in my hair, his other hand on my waist, his entire body radiating possession and want and barely controlled hunger.
He leans in.
I turn my head.
Not far. Just a fraction of an inch. Just enough that his lips don't meet mine. Just enough that when he moves forward, he encounters my cheek instead of my mouth.
The proximity is electrifying. His lips brush against my skin—not quite a kiss, but close enough that I feel the warmth, the softness, the promise of what could happen if I just turned my face back toward his.
He goes absolutely still.
"Bella." His voice is a warning, a question, a demand wrapped into my name.
My heart is racing so hard I can hear it in my ears. My entire body is trembling with the effort of holding myself still, of not giving in to what every nerve ending is screaming at me to do.
"If you kiss me," I whisper, my voice shaking, "I'll scream. Security will come. This will be assault."
The words sound weak even to my own ears. Unconvincing. Like I'm trying to convince myself more than him.
Dominic pulls back just enough to look at me. His expression is unreadable—somewhere between amusement and frustration and something darker that I can't name.
"Will they?" His voice is soft, dangerous. "Will security come running? Will you press charges against me, Bella?"
He shifts his weight, and suddenly I'm more aware than ever of how trapped I am. The glass wall at my back. His body in front of me. His hand in my hair. His other hand on my waist.
"Because we both know the truth." His thumb traces along my jawline. "If you scream, security will come. They'll find us in this room. They'll see you pressed against this wall with my hands on you. And they'll ask you what happened."
His eyes search mine, reading every micro-expression, every tell, every sign of what I'm really thinking.
"And you'll have to explain that your boss expressed feelings for you. That he stood too close. That he touched your face. That he asked you to admit you have feelings for him too. And when they ask if he forced himself on you, you'll have to say no. Because I haven't. Because everything that's happened in this room has been with your consent."
"Consent?" I try to inject some fire into my voice. "You locked down the entire building—"
"To talk." His hand slides from my waist to my hip. "That's all we've done, Bella. Talk. I haven't touched you inappropriately. I haven't forced myself on you. I haven't done anything except stand close to you and tell you the truth about how I feel."
His hand on the back of my neck applies the slightest pressure, possessive and commanding.
"So if you scream right now, what are you screaming about? That I was honest with you? That I told you I'm obsessed with you? That I asked you to make a choice?"
He leans in again, his lips near my ear.
"Or are you screaming because you're terrified of how much you want this? How much you want me to stop asking for permission and just take what we both know you want to give me?"
"That's not—" My voice breaks.
"Your body is betraying you, Bella." His voice is a low rumble that I feel in my chest. "Your pulse is racing under my hand. Your breathing has changed. You're leaning toward me even as you turn your face away. Your body knows what it wants even if your mind is still trying to fight it."
His lips brush against the shell of my ear, and I gasp involuntarily.
"See?" His voice is almost tender. "You can't even control your responses to me. Three years of wanting me has built up inside you, and now that we're finally here, your body is screaming at you to stop resisting."
"Dominic, please—"
"Please what?" His lips move from my ear, tracing a path along my jawline with excruciating slowness. Not kissing, just brushing against my skin with enough pressure to make my entire nervous system stand at attention. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?"
His mouth moves lower, following the line of my jaw toward my chin, getting closer and closer to my lips with each millimeter of movement.
"Tell me to stop, Bella. Look me in the eyes and tell me you actually want me to stop. Tell me you don't want to feel my hands on you. Tell me you don't want to know what it's like when I finally stop being a gentleman and show you exactly what three years of obsession looks like."
He pulls back just enough for me to see his face. His eyes are absolutely dark, filled with raw hunger that has nothing to do with control and everything to do with desperate want.
"Tell me to stop, and I will."
My mouth opens. The words are right there. Stop. Don't touch me. Let me go. Simple words. Two syllables. I could end this right now.
Nothing comes out.
"You can't," he says softly. "Because you don't want me to stop. You want this. You've wanted this for three years, and now that it's finally happening, you can't bring yourself to walk away."
His hand on my hip shifts, his fingers spreading wider, claiming more territory. Not moving inappropriately, but making his intentions crystal clear.
"This is wrong," I finally manage to say. "You're my boss. There's a power imbalance. This is everything HR training warns about—"
"The best things usually are." His smile is dark, knowing. "The best things are the ones that break rules. The ones that cross lines. The ones that make you feel alive in ways that safe, appropriate relationships never could."
His hand on my hip slides lower, just slightly, testing boundaries. Still over my clothes. Still technically appropriate. But the promise underneath the touch is anything but appropriate.
"Do you think Marcus makes you feel like this?" His voice is rough now, losing some of that controlled politeness. "Do you think his touch makes your entire body respond? Do you think when he puts his hands on you, you feel this electricity?"
"Don't talk about him—"
"I'll talk about him as much as I want." His hand tightens on my hip, possessive, claiming. "Because he's the reason you're lying to yourself. He's the excuse you've been using to avoid admitting what we both know. That what you have with him is comfortable and safe and completely empty compared to what you could have with me."
His lips return to my jawline, tracing upward toward my ear again.
"I'm going to make you a promise, Bella." His breath is hot against my skin. "A promise about what happens when you finally stop turning your face away from me."
His mouth moves to my neck, just below my ear. I can feel his lips moving as he speaks, feel the vibration of his words against my pulse point.
"You're going to feel my hands on every inch of your body." His voice is low, intimate, absolutely certain. "I'm going to touch you everywhere Marcus has touched you and everywhere he hasn't. I'm going to erase every memory of his hands on your skin and replace them with mine."
My breathing has gone completely irregular. Fast and shallow and absolutely out of my control.
"I'm going to learn exactly what makes you respond. What makes you gasp. What makes you arch against me. What makes you beg." His lips press against my pulse point—not quite a kiss, but close enough to make my knees weak. "And by the time I'm done, you won't remember what it felt like to be touched by anyone else."
"You're very confident—" I try to inject some resistance into my voice.
"I'm not confident." His hand slides from my hip to the small of my back, pressing me against him. "I'm certain. Because I've spent three years learning you, Bella. I know what you respond to. I know what you need. I know what you want even when you won't admit it to yourself."
His lips trail down my neck, following the line of my throat, heading toward my collarbone.
"And I'm going to give it to you. All of it. Everything you've been denying yourself. Everything you've been running from. Everything you deserve."
He pulls back suddenly, and the loss of his warmth is almost painful.
His eyes lock onto mine, dark and absolutely consuming.
"But not yet." His smile is predatory. "Not until you admit you want it. Not until you stop turning your face away and look at me directly and tell me you choose this. That you choose me."
"I already said—"
"You said yes. But you're still fighting. You're still trying to maintain some illusion of resistance." His hand comes up to cup my face, forcing me to maintain eye contact. "I need more than a whispered yes in a moment of weakness. I need you to own this choice. To admit it without qualification or excuse."
He steps back, creating distance between us for the first time since this started. The absence of his touch is like cold water, shocking and clarifying.
"So here's what's going to happen." He straightens his shirt, regaining that controlled composure like he wasn't just making promises about touching every inch of me. "You're going to go home tonight. You're going to think about everything I said. Everything I promised. Everything that could happen if you stop running."
He walks to the conference room door and unlocks it with his phone. The sound of the locks disengaging echoes through the room.
"And tomorrow morning, you're going to come back to this office. You're going to walk through that door. And you're going to tell me what you've decided."
He opens the door, and suddenly the conference room isn't a prison anymore. I'm free to leave. Free to run. Free to pretend this never happened.
"If you choose to leave—to go back to Marcus, to find another job, to disappear from my life—I won't stop you." His expression suggests this is a lie, but his voice is steady. "But if you choose to stay..."
He lets the sentence hang there, unfinished, loaded with promise and threat in equal measure.
"If you stay, Bella, then tomorrow night you're coming home with me. To my penthouse. For the full seventy-two hours. And by the end, you'll understand exactly what it means to belong to me."
I should walk out. Should leave right now and never look back.
But I'm frozen, staring at him, trying to commit every detail of this moment to memory. His dark eyes. His commanding presence. The promise of his hands on me that still echoes in my bones.
"Go home, Bella." His voice is softer now. "Think about what you want. Really want. Not what you think you should want. Not what's safe or appropriate. But what you actually, desperately need."
I walk toward the door on shaking legs.
As I pass him, his hand shoots out and catches my wrist. Not roughly, but firmly enough that I stop.
"One more thing." He pulls me close enough that I can feel his breath against my face. "You're going to feel my hands on every inch of your body. That's not a threat, Bella. It's a promise. And I always keep my promises."
He releases me.
I walk out of the conference room and don't look back.