Bound by Desire

Chapter 13 – Through the Glass

The office was nearly dark when the elevator chimed.

Dante stepped out, jacket over one shoulder, rain still dampening his cuffs. He told himself he was there for files, for the work, for anything that wasn’t the image of Selena walking into the rain alone.

But the city’s reflection in the glass said otherwise.

He loosened his collar, set the briefcase down, and stood by the window. The skyline shimmered, silver on black, every light a reminder of the rules he’d already broken.

The door opened with a soft click.

“Mr. Morelli?”

Her voice cut through the quiet, low and cautious.

He didn’t turn. “It’s late, Selena.”

“I know. You left these on my desk.”

She stepped closer, heels quiet on the polished floor, the faint trace of her perfume curling through the air. He caught her reflection in the glass—hair escaping its pins, eyes shadowed with the same storm that lived inside him.

“I was going to drop them off in the morning,” she said, placing the files on the desk. “But I thought you might still be here.”

He turned finally. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I know,” she said softly. “Neither should you.”

The silence after that breathed between them.

“Close the door.”

The latch clicked.

“This isn’t smart,” he said.

“Probably not.”

He studied her, every line, every heartbeat he could almost hear. The distance between them was suddenly unbearable.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “One word, and I walk away.”

Her chin lifted. “You won’t.”

He almost smiled. “No. I won’t.”

The air thickened; rain whispered against the glass. He reached up, fingers tracing her jaw, the tremor beneath his touch betraying both of them.

“You drive me insane.”

“Good.”

Dante’s restraint shattered. The space closed in an instant—her back hit the cool, polished mahogany of the desk with a soft thud, his body following, pressing her into the spot, hands braced on either side of her head. Their breath tangled, hot and fast, a palpable, screaming tension coiling tight between them.

He didn't kiss her immediately; his dark eyes devoured every detail, lingering on the frantic pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. “Do you know what you do to me?” he demanded, the question a low, raw sound in his chest.

“Maybe I do,” Selena whispered, her voice husky, heavy with an answering hunger.

That was all the permission he needed.

The kiss was instantaneous, brutal, and deep—a release of years of coiled tension. He tasted the rain, the desperate, raw flavor of her mouth, demanding everything he had. Her hands clawed at his shirt, fingers digging into the muscle of his back, pulling him closer, crushing their bodies together. His mouth devoured hers, plunging them into the inferno. He broke the contact only to trail fire along the sharp line of her jaw, down to the throbbing sensitivity of her neck, sucking a gasp from her throat.

Thunder rolled, a distant, muffled sound. The city lights were a blur, irrelevant.

He pulled back, his voice thick, ragged. “This is the line, Selena. The point of no return.”

“We’ve been past it since you walked in the door,” she countered, her own voice breathless, her fingers refusing to release his collar.

Her certainty was a match to his fuse. He looked at her—lips swollen and dark, eyes glazed with desire—and the last splinter of his control vanished.

His hands moved with a savage urgency. His mouth crushed hers again, deeper, more primal, while one hand dove under the fine silk of her blouse. His palm flattened over the warm skin of her stomach, trailing upward, a devastatingly slow ascent to cup the full weight of her breast, his thumb finding the hard peak beneath the delicate lace. She arched sharply into his touch, a soundless cry tearing from her as he teased the sensitive nub.

He lifted her swiftly, guiding her onto the desk, her legs parting instinctively to welcome him deeper between them. The office skirt was no barrier; he tore his mouth from hers to breathe a curse, his hands moving to rid her of the offending fabric, pushing it up past her hips, his fingers immediately finding the slick, hot skin of her thighs. Her stockings felt like a dangerous promise beneath his exploring touch.

He pressed closer, aligning their bodies, letting her feel the desperate, demanding hardness of him through the layers of their clothing. Her breath hitched, ragged and wet. He dropped his head, lips finding the sensitive hollow of her collarbone, trailing lower.

“Dante,” she pleaded, her nails digging into his shoulders, a raw sound of need.

He looked up, his eyes black, feral. “Tell me to stop.”

“Never,” she choked out.

The word was a permission slip straight to hell. He drew her tight against him, possessive and consuming, and the moment became a chaotic, singular reality: skin, heat, ragged breath, the accelerating, frantic tempo of two hearts beating as one, lost in the forbidden silence of the dark office.

Outside, the city kept its secrets.

Inside, Dante stopped pretending he had any left to keep.