Damage control
889 Words
(Noah’s POV)
My face was on the internet.
Not in a meme way. Not in a “funny guy who said something weird in a Zoom meeting” way.
No — I was the “mystery office guy who got claimed by a billionaire in red stilettos."
“Mystery Man in Finance: Who is Dahlia Kingsley’s New Toy?”
“Power Boss or Office Romance Gone Wild?”
“Is This Love or Leverage?”
I was going to vomit.
By the time I made it home, the article had been reposted on three finance gossip pages, two anonymous tea accounts, and someone had DM’d me on LinkedIn asking if I needed “rescuing.”
I threw my phone onto the bed and sat down like I weighed 400 pounds. My whole body felt too full — of emotion, of confusion, of her.
Then it buzzed.
Dahlia:
Come over.
I'll send my address.
Bring nothing but your pretty little self.
We need damage control.
Thirty minutes later I was in her penthouse again, heart jackhammering.
She opened the door barefoot, hair pinned up, wearing a silk robe and a faint smirk.
“You look like you saw a ghost,” she said softly.
“I feel like one,” I replied.
She stepped aside, let me in, then shut the door like she was sealing the rest of the world out.
I stood there awkwardly.
“I didn’t mean for it to… explode,” I said.
“I did.”
I blinked.
She turned, walking slowly toward me. “I meant every second of that kiss. Every word I said. Every eye I burned a hole through.”
I stared at her.
“You weren’t mine before,” she said quietly. “Now the world knows you are.”
My heart stopped. “Why… why me?”
She didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she crossed the room, poured herself a glass of wine, and then looked back at me like I was the only person on the planet.
“You want the truth?”
I nodded.
“You’re the first person who’s ever looked at me like I was a person. Not a ladder. Not a prize. Not a power fantasy. Just… a woman.” Her voice dipped. “And the way you melt when I touch you? That does things to me, Noah.”
I flushed.
“But today,” she added, walking toward me, “when Araceli came to me shaking with rage? When I found out what Liam said? When I saw the look on your face?”
Her eyes darkened.
“I wanted to destroy something.”
I shivered.
“You did destroy something,” I whispered.
She paused. “What?”
“My peace. My grip on reality. My ability to sleep without imagining your lips on my neck.”
Dahlia laughed — a soft, dangerous sound — and closed the distance between us.
“I don’t want you to sleep,” she murmured, fingers grazing my jaw. “I want you to ache for me.”
“I already do,” I whispered.
She leaned in slowly, her breath teasing my skin.
“You don’t hate me for the kiss?”
“No,” I said. “But I wish it had been just for me.”
That stopped her.
She tilted her head. “Say more.”
I swallowed. “I loved it. But it felt like a power move. Like you needed to prove something.”
“And you want something… softer?”
“No,” I said. “I want something real.”
Her eyes locked with mine. “Then let me give it to you.”
The tension snapped.
She kissed me again — but this time, slow and reverent.
Her hands cupped my face like I was something fragile. She tasted like wine and warmth and danger. She kissed me until I forgot the world existed.
Then she guided me to the couch, pulled me into her lap, my legs over hers like I weighed nothing.
“You’re so pretty when you look overwhelmed,” she murmured, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Do you even know what you do to me?”
I shook my head, breathless.
“I want to ruin you in the most gentle way,” she said, sliding her hands under my shirt. “Make you come undone just from my voice.”
Her lips brushed my ear. “Would you like that, pretty boy?”
“Yes,” I gasped.
Her smile was pure sin. “Good. Because I’m not asking.”
Hours passed in heat and velvet touches.
She didn’t strip me bare with rough hands. She unwrapped me, piece by piece, like a gift she’d waited years to open.
She whispered praise into my skin.
She called me hers.
And when I came apart in her arms, trembling and flushed, she held me like something sacred.
Later, when the sky turned navy and the city glowed outside her window, she curled behind me on the couch, lips pressed to the back of my neck.
“You’re not a toy, Noah,” she whispered. “You’re a choice. One I’m done hiding.”
I closed my eyes, breathing her in.
And for the first time in forever… I believed her.
- Writer
