Claimed By Desire

Boundaries

Amara

I had just finished washing my face in the bathroom and was drying it with a towel when I reached for my phone.

And the first message I saw was from him, Lucien.

Sweet dreams, Miss Williams. I have a feeling tomorrow you will have a really beautiful dream.

I stared at the message for a full minute, my stomach flipping. How did he always know? The timing, the tone—just enough to rattle me. Just enough to stick.

And it did. The dream came rushing back. His hands are on me. His voice, when he called me a good girl. Silk tied around my wrists. The look in his eyes was like I was something he owned.

I threw the phone across the bed and buried my face in my pillow.

This had to stop.

By 8 AM, I was dressed in the most professional outfit I owned—navy blazer buttoned up to the neck, a skirt long enough to feel like armor, and my hair pulled back so tight it hurt. Maybe if I looked in control, I’d feel that way again.

My first stop wasn’t my office. It was HR.

Linda Morrison. Fifteen years at Thorne Enterprises. Kind smile. Glasses. The kind of person you want to trust.

"Ms. Williams," she greeted me. "What can I do for you this morning?"

I sat on the edge of her chair, hands folded. "I was wondering about office arrangements. Specifically, if there might be other options for assistants."

She tilted her head. "Is there an issue with your current office?"

Where do I begin?

"It’s just... the glass walls. It’s hard to concentrate sometimes. I was hoping for something with more privacy."

Linda nodded slowly. "I understand. I can look into it. Though Mr. Thorne is very particular about his team’s setup. He likes accessibility and transparency."

Right. Transparency.

"Of course," I said quickly. "It was just a thought."

"I’ll see what I can do, but fair warning—Mr. Thorne tends to get what he wants."

Doesn’t he always?

I thanked her and walked to the elevators, trying to hang on to my resolve. But by the time I reached the 77th floor, my palms were sweating.

Ms. Chen gave me her usual polite smile. I wondered if she knew. Could everyone see how off-balance I was around him?

I sat at my desk and tried to focus, but every few seconds, my eyes drifted toward his office. It was empty—for now.

The quiet should have helped. Instead, it just made me feel jumpy.

At 9:15, he walked in.

I felt it before I saw him—like the air in the room shifted. Then he was, walking through the outer office like he owned every inch of it. Which, technically, he did.

He looked at me through the glass wall. Stopped. Smiled. Just a little.

And then kept walking.

I spent the next hour trying to talk myself out of doing what I eventually did anyway.

I'd come in with a plan—set boundaries, regain control, remind him (and myself) that I was a professional, not a pawn. But every time I started to stand up, I’d remember how his voice had sounded when he called me beautiful.

At 10:30, I snapped.

I grabbed a random folder—something about projections I knew he didn’t need—and walked to his door.

My outfit was perfect. Cold. Controlled. Hair tight. Heels silent. If I couldn’t be untouchable, maybe I could at least look it.

I knocked.

"Enter."

One word. Calm. Confident. Dangerous.

I stepped inside.

Lucien was behind his desk, looking at something on a tablet. His suit was dark grey today, shirt black, no tie. Button open at the collar like always. Like he didn’t need to follow rules—because they didn’t apply to him.

He looked up. His eyes locked on mine. Something in his expression shifted.

"Miss Williams," he said, voice low. "What can I do for you?"

I didn’t sit. I couldn’t.

"I wanted to speak with you. Briefly."

He gestured to the chair across from him. "Go ahead."

I sat stiffly, folder clutched in my lap.

"I wanted to thank you," I started. "This job has been... challenging. In a good way. I’ve already learned so much."

He nodded, watching me. Quiet. Too quiet.

"But," I said, lifting my chin, "I think we need to talk about boundaries."

His expression didn’t change. But the air got heavier.

"Boundaries," he repeated.

"Yes. I know I’m your assistant. And I take that seriously. But some things lately have made me feel... uncomfortable. The way you look at me. The glass walls. The messages."

I winced. I hadn’t meant to say that last part.

His eyes darkened, just for a moment.

"You feel sexually harassed?" he asked. The words were blunt. Cold.

I blinked. "No—I mean, not exactly. I just—"

"You feel powerless."

My breath caught.

Lucien stood. Slowly. Deliberately.

He walked around the desk.

I should have stood too. I didn’t.

He stopped right in front of me.

"Say what you came here to say," he said quietly.

"I... want things to stay professional," I said. My voice was thin, too quiet.

He crouched, resting one hand on the chair beside me. Not touching. Just... close.

"You want space," he said.

"Yes."

"You want me to stop looking at you like I own you."

I shivered.

"I never said that."

"No. But your body did. Just now. With this outfit. With your posture."

His other hand lifted, brushing lightly along my jaw. Not a grab. Just a whisper of contact.

And God help me—I leaned into it.

Heat rushed to my cheeks.

"You don’t even know what you’re asking for," he murmured.

"I came to—"

His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth. Slow. Firm.

"You came thinking I was the problem," he said. "But deep down, you want this. You want to let go."

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

Then he stood. Stepped back.

The space between us felt colder. Empty.

"Leave," he said. His voice was sharp again. In control.

"What?"

"Come back when you know what you want. And when you’re brave enough to ask for it."

I stared at him, stunned.

Then I stood. My face is burning.

I didn’t say a word. I just left.

Still dressed like I had everything together. Still pretending I was fine.

But feeling exposed in a way I didn’t have words for.