The office was empty.
Elara arrived later than usual, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor, echoing in the silent corridors. She had hoped the quiet would give her some control, a moment to reclaim the calm she thought she had before Lucien Blackwell entered her life.
She was wrong.
The moment she stepped into the elevator, she sensed him. His presence lingered, not physically there, but in every shadow, every reflection of the glass walls. The city outside gleamed with indifferent lights, but nothing compared to the heat that pulsed in her chest.
By the time she reached his office, Lucien was already standing by the window. He didn't acknowledge her arrival immediately, letting her watch him broad shoulders, strong stance, the faint shimmer of gold cufflinks under the office lights. It was deliberate. Controlling. Intoxicating.
Close the door, he said without turning.
She obeyed, and silence swallowed them.
Elara, he began, his voice low, deliberate, like silk sliding over steel. Do you understand the importance of rules?
Yes, sir, she said.
Good, he murmured. Then understand this: you have already broken one.
Her stomach flipped. I… I don't—
Lucien finally turned, walking toward her slowly, every movement measured. His gaze locked on hers, and she felt the weight of it pressing against her chest. He stopped a mere inch away. Close enough that she could feel his warmth, smell his cologne, but far enough that nothing yet had crossed a boundary she could name.
Uou came late, he said quietly. You should know better than to tempt me.
I wasn't tempted, sir, she whispered, though her pulse betrayed her.
Perhaps not, he said, his voice dropping lower, more deliberate. But temptation exists anyway, doesn't it?
Her breath hitched.
He reached out not to touch her face, not yet but his fingers brushed the edge of her wrist lightly, almost ghosting over her skin. The heat it left in its wake made her pulse race, her breath shallow.
Do you feel that? he asked softly.
Yes, she whispered.
Good, he murmured, letting his fingers linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then he pulled back, leaving her wanting more.
Lucien circled her slowly, methodically, observing every reaction the slight tremor of her hands, the quickened inhale, the way her eyes followed him. His presence was suffocating, intoxicating, a subtle claim of dominance that left her trembling.
You are difficult, he said finally, stopping in front of her again. Defiant and obedient all at once. It's… maddening.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She wanted to protest, to push back, to assert herself but her body betrayed her, leaning closer despite her own will.
Sit, he ordered.
She lowered herself into the chair, aware of how vulnerable she felt under his gaze. He leaned over her desk, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body radiating toward her. A subtle brush of his hand against hers as he examined the documents made her heart spike. It was nothing, and yet everything.
You're learning quickly, he murmured. Good. But remember obedience is earned, not assumed. You will not forget that.
Her lips parted slightly, breathing uneven. Yes, sir.
Lucien studied her for a long moment, then leaned down just enough for his lips to brush the shell of her ear a whisper, soft, deliberate, intimate.
"You will want to resist me, he said, voice low, deliberate. But you will not. And when the time comes… His fingers slid lightly along her jaw, not holding, just tracing. you will learn what obedience truly feels like.
Heat flared through her like wildfire. She had never been touched so deliberately, so lightly, and yet the effect was immediate, overwhelming. She couldn't focus, couldn't think, could barely breathe.
Get up, he said abruptly, straightening.
Her legs shook as she rose, body aware of every inch of his space. He didn't let go of the control; he didn't need to. His dominance was in the air around her, in the slow, deliberate way he moved, in the expectation in his eyes.
Walk toward me, he said.
She obeyed. Step by careful step, until she was within a whisper of him. He didn't touch her again yet but his presence pressed against her, claiming her senses, her attention, her mind.
You know the rules, he said, voice low and deliberate. "You know what is forbidden. And yet…
Her pulse pounded. Yet… sir?
Yet, he said, letting the word linger, heavy and intoxicating, …I want you to feel me. Even when I do not touch you.
Her knees nearly buckled. She realized, with startling clarity, that she was already addicted. Already caught in a web of control that she could neither escape nor resist.
He took a step back finally, giving her a reprieve she did not need but craved anyway. His gaze lingered, dark and unwavering, as he let the silence stretch between them.
You may go, he said.
Her exit was unsteady. She closed the door behind her, leaned against it, and exhaled shakily.
Her mind screamed that she should resist, that this was dangerous, forbidden.
Her body, however, had other ideas.