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1656 Words
NATALIE
I didn’t even realize I’d moved until his mouth was on mine.
Or maybe he moved first.
I don’t know. I didn’t care.
Because the second our lips crashed, the world tipped off its axis.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was a goddamn collision.
Brutal. Hungry. Almost angry.
Like we were tearing into each other for every unspoken word we’d swallowed over the years. Every betrayal. Every missed call. Every time I cried into a pillow and hated myself for still loving him.
His grip fisted in my hair, tugging my head back so he could bite down on my bottom lip.
I gasped, and hated how wet it made me.
God help me, I liked it.
No, I craved it. The punishment in it. The ache.
We were heat and history and unfinished business. And I felt every second of it.
His hands were already on me. Possessive. Remembering. Claiming. Dragging over my ribs, then cupping my breasts like he’d missed the weight of them in his palms. Touching me like I was a stolen thing he was taking back without apology.
And maybe I was.
My fingers clenched his shirt like a lifeline. Like if I let go, I’d float away and never come back.
I should’ve shoved him off. Slapped him. Screamed.
But I didn’t.
I arched into him like a woman possessed. Like my body was screaming louder than my pride.
His mouth tore down my jaw. “You still react to me like this.”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
The wet heat between my legs was already betraying me.
“That doesn’t mean I want this,” I whispered, weakly. Uselessly. Even as my hand curled into his hair and dragged him back into me.
He laughed—a low, dangerous sound against my skin. “Tell that to your panties.”
Then… bam. My back hit the edge of the desk.
The air in my lungs vanished.
He pressed against me, hips grinding slow between my thighs, letting me feel the thick outline of his c**k straining in his trousers.
God.
I clenched.
He knew it.
“I could f**k you right here,” he whispered. “Make you come while you beg me not to stop. Is that what you want?”
Yes.
No.
I didn’t know anymore.
All I knew was my thighs were parting and my morals were slipping.
He grabbed my ass, lifted me effortlessly, and sat me on the desk like I weighed nothing.
Like I was his.
Because I had been. Once.
His fingers were already working on the buttons of my blouse, but not gently. They popped. Scattered. I gasped as cool air kissed my skin.
His lips were at my neck, then down, his stubble scraping over my breasts as he yanked my bra down and latched onto my n****e without hesitation.
“f**k—” I choked, head rolling back.
He sucked hard. Teethed it. Groaned like he’d just tasted something he’d been starving for.
I was soaked.
And he hadn’t even touched me there yet.
Then his hand was on my stomach, dragging down slow, slow, until…
My hips jerked. I was already trembling when his palm pressed between my legs.
He hissed.
“You’re soaked through.”
He shoved the fabric aside and slid two fingers over my slit, slick and swollen and begging.
My moan was shameless.
His smirk was lethal.
“You’ve missed this,” he said. “Admit it.”
I couldn’t.
So I whimpered.
He pulled back. “Say it.”
“I—” My voice cracked. “Yes. I missed it. I missed you.”
He growled and kissed me again, filthy and deep, like he was claiming what was already his.
Then, he spun me around. Bent me over the desk.
My breath hitched. My knees wobbled.
His body was a furnace at my back, his c**k pressed right against my ass as he bent down to growl in my ear.
“I’m not going easy on you.”
“I don’t want easy,” I whispered. “I want you.”
He grabbed my wrists, pinned them to the desk. His other hand dragged my skirt up. Panties? Gone.
I was bare.
Open.
Dripping.
And when he dragged the thick head of his c**k through my folds….slow, maddening…I sobbed.
Not from pain.
From need.
He didn’t enter me yet.
He teased. Rubbed. Slapped the head against my c**t once, twice, until I cursed him.
Then—he pushed in.
Slow.
Thick.
Brutal.
I gasped. My entire body arched.
“Still tight,” he hissed. “Still mine.”
He bottomed out and held it. Letting me feel every inch.
My knuckles went white against the desk.
Then he started to move.
Not slow.
Not soft.
Punishing.
Desk shaking. Skin slapping. His fingers wrapped tight around my throat, not choking, just holding, just reminding me who I belonged to.
“You take me so well,” he grunted. “Still f*****g perfect.”
I shattered.
Once.
Twice.
And he didn’t stop.
He kept going until I was crying. Until my voice was hoarse. Until my thighs shook and my legs threatened to give out.
He pulled me up by my hair, turned my face to kiss me as I unraveled again.
“I’ll never be done with you,” he whispered against my lips. “Never.”
Then he followed. Deep. Hard. Full. Groaning my name like it broke him to say it.
When it ended, when we both stopped shaking, it was just breath. Skin. Silence.
Edwin stepped back.
He didn’t say a word. Just adjusted his shirt, buttoning up like he hadn’t just pulled me apart with his hands and his mouth and his memory.
I stayed bent over the desk, trembling. My legs wouldn’t move. My breath was uneven, chest rising and falling like I’d just sprinted through a war zone.
What did I just do?
Why did I let this happen?
My body was still humming. But my mind had already flipped the switch…panic, shame, fury, everything rushing in too fast, too loud.
I heard him move.
His steps were slow. Measured. When he reached me, I flinched, instinctively. My muscles tightened like they were bracing for impact.
But instead of pulling me back into chaos, he cupped my cheek with a gentleness that broke something open in me.
“You’re still mine,” he said quietly.
I swallowed hard. My voice barely made it out.
“I never stopped being yours,” I whispered. “That was the problem.”
He didn’t reply.
He just… looked at me
Then, to my complete confusion, he scooped me up.
Like I weighed nothing.
He walked us to a side door I hadn’t even noticed in the corner of the office. No words. No questions.
He pushed it open and stepped into a private bathroom, sleek, expensive-looking, all glass and matte black finishes. I blinked at the space. It felt too clean. Too intimate.
He set me down gently on the edge of the marble counter. Then…again, without a word, he turned on the faucet and grabbed a folded towel.
I just… stared at him.
Stunned. Shaken. Completely not okay.
And yet I let him help me.
He cleaned me up carefully, his touch slow and deliberate, never crossing the line—but never retreating either.
His fingers grazed the inside of my thigh as he wiped me down, and I shivered.
The air was thick with everything we weren’t saying. And when I looked up, I found his gaze in the mirror.
His reflection. Mine.
Two ghosts.
The tension crackled between us—old pain, fresh heat, that quiet familiarity that shouldn’t have survived.
I hated him for still knowing how to take care of me.
For doing it so well I wanted to lean into it.
He handed me a clean towel. I dressed quietly. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch me again. Just stood there, watching, unreadable.
But something had shifted.
In him. In me. In the space between us.
When I slipped my arms back into my blouse, I realized something and frowned.
I turned to face him.
“Where’s my underwear?”
He smirked. That arrogant, infuriating, devastating smirk I’d sworn I’d forgotten.
“With me,” he said.
I glared at him. Hard. Trying to summon any scrap of pride I had left. “Give it back.”
He just tilted his head, infuriatingly calm. “No.”
“Edwin…”
“Don’t worry, Natalie. I’ll take good care of it.”
I hated him.
God, I hated him.
I also hated the way my body was still betraying me. Still warm. Still aching. Still reacting like he was the only man who ever knew what to do with me.
I straightened my shoulders. Fixed my blouse. Swallowed the hurricane in my throat.
Then I walked out.
Picked up my folder from the table like it hadn’t witnessed the undoing of my spine. Like I still had some dignity left.
And then…of course….he followed me.
I made it to the door and paused.
My hand on the handle. My back still turned.
I didn’t look at him.
But my voice came out low, steady, too steady.
“This was the last time,” I said. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Silence.
He didn’t answer.
And I didn’t wait for him to.
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway like I hadn’t just let my ex-boyfriend, now my boss, completely wreck me in his office.
My knees were weak. My heart was louder than my heels on the tile.
But I didn’t stop.
I didn’t look back.
Because I’d said it was the last time.
I meant it.
…At least, that’s what I told myself.
But some small, broken part of me already knew the truth.
I was lying.
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