Electric Tension
827 Words
Riley's POV
The s****l tension had become impossible to ignore.
It started with small things. The way Brett's fingers lingered when he helped me from the car. How his eyes tracked my movements across a room. The way he stood just a little too close during public appearances.
Three days had passed since our confrontation about the dinner, and he'd been icily polite. But underneath the coldness, something electric crackled between us.
Every interaction felt charged with unspoken tension. The way he'd catch me staring and hold my gaze until I looked away, heat flooding my cheeks.
How his voice would drop an octave when he said my name. The deliberate brush of his fingers when he handed me documents. It was psychological warfare disguised as accidental touches, and we both knew it.
He was testing my resolve, seeing how far he could push before I broke. The problem was, I wanted to break. I wanted to surrender to whatever this dangerous thing was between us.
I'd been trying to focus on a romance novel ironic, considering my current situation but the words blurred together. My mind kept replaying our argument, the way he'd looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve. Like I was something he wanted to possess completely.
The study door opened without a knock. Only one person had that kind of arrogance.
"Your posture is terrible," he said, approaching me in the library where I sat reading.
"Don't you believe in privacy?" I asked, not looking up from my book.
"Not in my house." His footsteps approached slowly, deliberately. "Besides, you're not really reading. You've been staring at the same page for ten minutes."
Damn him for paying attention.
"Excuse me?"
"You're slouching. It makes you look ordinary."
I straightened, irritated. "Better?"
"Marginally." He moved behind my chair, his hands settling on my shoulders. "Like this."
His touch sent fire through my nerve endings. Strong hands adjusted my posture, thumbs pressing against tense muscles. I tried to concentrate on breathing normally.
"You carry all your stress here," he murmured, his voice closer to my ear than necessary.
"I wonder why."
His thumbs worked small circles against my shoulders. It felt incredible, and I hated myself for enjoying it.
This was how he controlled people – through contradiction. Cruelty followed by unexpected gentleness. Public humiliation balanced with private intimacy. He was rewiring my responses, making me crave his touch even when I despised his methods.
"You're thinking too much," he murmured, his thumbs finding a particularly tense knot. "I can feel it in your muscles."
"Maybe I'm thinking about how wrong this is."
"Or maybe you're thinking about how right it feels."The accuracy of his words made me shiver.
"Maybe I fight because I'm tired of accepting things that are wrong."
His hands stilled. "And what exactly do you think is wrong?"
"This." I gestured between us. "The way you treat me like property in public, then touch me like this when we're alone."
"I touch you because you're mine."
The possessiveness in his voice made my stomach flip. "I'm not yours. I'm contracted to you."
"Same thing."
"No, it's not."
He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. "Your pulse is racing."
"You're standing too close."
"I'm standing exactly where I want to be."
I turned in the chair to face him, and suddenly we were inches apart. His gray eyes had darkened to storm clouds.
"What do you want from me?" I whispered.
"Everything."
The word hung between us like a promise and a threat. I could see the war in his eyes – desire fighting against control, want battling with self-preservation. He was as trapped in this tension as I was, but unlike me, he had the power to end it.
"You can't have everything," I whispered.
"Watch me."
His thumb traced along my jawline, and I forgot how to breathe. "You're shaking."
"I'm angry."
"You're lying." His said as his gaze dropped to my lips, and for a moment, I thought he might actually kiss me.
Instead, he stepped back abruptly.
"I have calls to make," he said, his voice cold again. "Don't wait up."
He left me sitting there, heart pounding, skin still tingling from his touch.
I was in serious trouble.
Because despite everything – the humiliation, the cruelty, the emotional manipulation – I was falling for Brett Graham.And he knew it.
I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Brett's hands on my shoulders, and heard his voice in my ear saying he wanted "everything." The memory of his touch burned through me like a fever I couldn't shake.
I'd escaped to his study hoping to lose myself in a book, but even the fictional romance couldn't distract me from the very real, very dangerous attraction growing between us. Maybe if I stayed awake long enough, I could convince myself it was all just exhaustion playing tricks on my mind.
- Writer
