"The first crack"
709 Words
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Chapter Five
Zephyr – “The First Crack”
The problem with wanting something you shouldn’t... is that eventually, wanting turns to needing.
And I’m starting to need Amara Vale.
It’s not just the way she walks into a room like she doesn’t belong there. Or the way her lips part slightly when she’s nervous, like she’s bracing for rejection. It’s everything. The stillness. The silence. The softness.
Things I don’t allow myself to crave.
But I do.
And tonight, after a late meeting with a nightmare investor, I’m still at the office. It's past nine. The lights are dimmed, the building nearly empty.
Except... she’s still here.
I hear her voice before I see her—quiet, frustrated.
“No, that’s not the file. Come on, Amara. Get it together,” she murmurs to herself.
I round the corner and find her in the copy room, struggling with the printer.
She’s out of her blazer, in a pale blouse that clings to her waist. A few strands of hair have fallen from her bun, curling around her cheek. She's not just beautiful—she’s accidental poetry.
“You know there’s a trick to that machine,” I say, voice low.
She gasps and spins, eyes wide.
“Mr. D’Voré! I—I didn’t know anyone was still here.”
I step into the room, the air tightening between us. “Neither did I.”
She looks down at the paper jam like it might save her from me.
“I can fix it,” she says quickly, fingers fumbling with the tray.
“I’m sure you can,” I say, stepping closer. “But I’m not here for the printer.”
Her breath catches.
She turns toward me slowly. “Then… what are you here for?”
Honesty has always been my weakness. But for her, it becomes a necessity.
“I don’t know how to ignore you,” I admit.
She blinks. “What?”
I move closer. One step. Then another. Until we’re only inches apart.
“You walk around this place like you’re trying to disappear. Like no one should notice you. But I do. Every damn day.”
Her lips part. Her chest rises and falls faster.
“I’m your employee,” she whispers.
“I’m not touching you,” I reply, though my voice is strained. “Not unless you want me to.”
Her eyes flicker to my mouth.
God, this is madness. She’s too young, too inexperienced, too fragile. But that doesn’t stop the fire crawling beneath my skin.
And when her fingers graze my wrist—soft, tentative—it takes every ounce of restraint not to pull her against me.
“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” she says, barely audible.
My breath hitches.
“Then let me teach you,” I say, my voice rough. “How it feels to be wanted. Gently. Deeply. Without fear.”
She swallows, but she doesn’t move away.
I lift my hand slowly, giving her time to stop me. When she doesn’t, I brush a knuckle down the side of her jaw. She shivers.
Then she closes her eyes and whispers, “Yes.”
And just like that, I’m undone.
I close the distance and kiss her—soft at first, because she deserves reverence. Her lips are warm, tentative, tasting like tea and nerves.
But then she makes a sound—a quiet, needy sigh—and my control fractures.
My hands slide to her waist, pulling her closer as her fingers twist in my shirt.
There’s nothing aggressive about the way I kiss her, but there’s ownership in it. A promise. I will not hurt you. I will not use you. But I will want you.
When I pull back, we’re both breathless. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide, lips kiss-swollen.
She stares up at me like I’ve just rewritten her world.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur, brushing a thumb across her mouth.
“I’m glad you did,” she replies softly.
And I know right then—I’m already too far gone.
This isn’t just a crush.
This is obsession.
And I’ll burn for it, if she lets me stay close.
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- Writer
