Claimed By Desire

Destiny.

Lucien.

At first glance, it was just another morning. The same coffee, the same desk, the same rhythm. But beneath the surface, something was different.

I felt it in the air, Amara’s restless energy. Her body had woken to me before her mind did.

The dreams I fed her clung still, a ghost pulse beneath her skin, a faint flush when she walked into my office with her coffee. She tried to bury it beneath a mask of composure, but I could feel it. I could taste it. Desire woven with confusion.

A perfect recipe.

She avoided my eyes as she set the mug on the desk. Her hand shook, subtle, but not enough to hide from me. That faint tremor told me everything she wouldn’t say.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the mug as my fingers brushed hers, deliberately.

A jolt went through her, her pulse leaping beneath my touch. She pulled back too quickly.

A slow smile touched my mouth. I sipped, holding her in my periphery. She busied herself with the neat arrangement of papers on my desk, as if order could shield her from the weight of my attention.

Patience. Always patience. Seduction was not conquest; it was cultivation.

“Sit,” I said.

Not a request.

She froze for a beat, then obeyed, sliding into the chair across from me. Her skirt tugged high when she crossed her legs, and she quickly yanked it down, the color rising in her cheeks.

“Rough night?” I asked, feigning casualness.

She swallowed. “Not… not exactly. Just a weird dream.”

I tilted my head. “Weird?”

Her eyes flickered to mine, then away. Silence louder than words. She didn’t realize the way her thighs pressed together when she grew nervous, how her body answered me even when her mouth resisted.

“Dreams can be revealing,” I said softly. “They can sometimes tell us what we want, even if we’re unwilling to face it.”

She looked away, flustered, and that was my cue. “Have you thought about my proposal?” I asked without preamble.

"Proposal?" she retorted, looking confused.

"At lunch yesterday, I asked you to be my submissive,"

"No, you didn't."

"Well, I am asking now. I want you. Every part of you." I said softly, my eyes lingering on her lips for a bit too long. "Tell me what it will take to make you mine,"

“I’m not… something you can just buy,” she said quietly, though there was no real conviction behind it.

"I never called you one. I am just a man who knows what he wants and goes for it. I can't say the same for you,"

I could tell she was going to say something.

But just then, my phone chimed. A discreet alert from the surveillance system. I didn’t need to look—I already knew. Another clip was queued for her to stumble upon.

An accident, of course. A technical slip. She’d see the ropes, the cries, the ecstasy hidden in pain. And she’d wonder—why did it feel like déjà vu?

I dismissed it with a flick of thought, focusing back on her.

“You should learn to trust your instincts, Amara,” I murmured, letting her name roll like silk. “They’re rarely wrong.”

Her breath caught. Her gaze lifted for a second, then darted away. My name on her lips, her name on mine—small things, heavy with promise.

The silence stretched, charged. I rose slowly. Her eyes followed despite herself, wide and wary. I moved to her side of the desk, leaning against it, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from me.

“Tell me about your dream,” I murmured.

She swallowed. “It’s not important.”

“It is,” I countered, voice dipping lower. “Because it lingers. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in the way you’re breathing.”

Her lips parted, then closed again. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

I let the silence stretch before easing back, granting her air.

Instead, I shifted. “Your work yesterday was thorough. I’m impressed.”

Relief crossed her face.

“Thank you, sir. If that will be all, I’ll be in my office should you need anything," she said, standing up and doing her best not to tip over her heels.

"That will be all for now, Amara," I said, and before I could even finish, she was already out of my office.

She thought she’d escaped. I allowed the illusion.

The hours passed. She fetched files, typed notes, and followed instructions with precision. Yet beneath it all, I sensed the restless heat she tried to smother.

By late afternoon, while she was working in my office, she’d earned another taste trap. A calculated mistake in the system—a clip routed to her inbox.

I watched discreetly as she opened it.

Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened, glued to the screen. Grainy footage of a woman bound, a man’s hand coaxing sobs into moans. The audio was faint, but the broken plea was clear enough.

Amara’s cheeks flushed. Her thighs pressed together. She fumbled for the mouse, trying to close it, but not before the choked cry echoed through the room.

She glanced at me, panicked. I pretended to be absorbed in a file, though my every sense was tuned to her.

Her heart raced. Her body betrayed her. And in that betrayal, I owned her more.

When she finally found her voice, it was hushed, strained. “Um—something’s wrong with the computer system. I… I got a file that wasn’t meant for me.”

I looked up slowly, feigning surprise. “Did you?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “It was… expli...inappropriate.”

I held her gaze, silence weighted. Then I nodded once, smooth. “I’ll have it looked at.”

That was all. No denial. No explanation. Just enough to leave her unsettled, wondering.

The rest of the day passed thick with tension.

When evening came and she gathered her things, I walked her to the door. My hand brushed her lower back, light, guiding, claiming. She stiffened, but didn’t pull away.

At the threshold, I leaned down, close enough for my breath to stir her hair. “Think about my proposal, Amara.”

She shivered.

I watched her leave, her steps quick, unsteady. She didn’t know if she feared me or wanted me more. Exactly where I wanted her.

Patience. Always patience. She was unraveling.

Soon, she would not know the difference between dreams and waking. Soon, she would stop fighting.

And when she finally came to me, it would not feel like surrender. It would feel like destiny. Because in my world, desire and fate were never separate things.