Wolvenmark - The Forbidden Mate

Chapter 13 : Beneath the Surface II

Chapter 13 : Beneath the Surface II

Ruby's POV

The office hummed around me, the low, steady noise of printers and distant conversations doing a poor job of drowning out the frantic drum in my chest. Al wasn’t here. Again. The absence felt like a missing beat in a song I knew by heart—everything else kept moving, but the rhythm was wrong. I told myself to mind my own business, to focus on the stack of folders in front of me, but curiosity dug its claws in and wouldn’t let go. What could possibly have taken him the whole day?

I tried to busy myself the only way I knew how: with lists, schedules, and spreadsheets. I printed agendas, color-coded his calendar, flagged priorities and second-tier items, and typed polite placeholder replies to meetings he hadn’t confirmed. My hands moved in automatic competence while my mind kept coming back to one ridiculous question—had he been trying to figure out my scent? The thought made me snort and then wince; no. Impossible. Ridiculous. Still, the idea sat there like a tiny ember I couldn’t stamp out.

Time stretched, the minute hand dragging like it had weights tied to it. Without him here to toss in some absurd demand or to stroll in and ruin my concentration with a grin, the day dragged at me. The intercom under my desk looked accusatory—silent and square and useless. Every time I glanced at it, I felt a stupid hope spike and dip. What was I waiting for? A miracle? A message? A simple “where are you” that would make everything feel right again?

Then it buzzed. The sound punched through the office hush and punched straight into my ribs. My heart did a traitor’s flip—this is it. My fingers fumbled to smooth my shirt, useless theater for calm. I breathed, counted to three in a private, ridiculous ritual, and pressed the button.

“Ruby...?” His voice—there it was—soft and rough at the edges, threaded with something I couldn’t name. A little warmth, maybe, or a stray worry. It was a sound that made my attention pull tight like a thread being threaded through a needle.

I fought not to show how shaken I was. “Yes, Al?” I kept my voice even, businesslike. Inside, my stomach had started doing little, stupid somersaults. “Since wh—”

“Can you come here, please?” He cut me off. The words were simple, but his tone folded them into something that felt oddly intimate—tender, and for a second, a tremor of nervousness. I realized I was grinning like an i***t.

“Okay.” The single syllable left me more breathless than it should have. I practically vaulted from my chair, adrenaline scrubbing whatever composure I’d been trying to maintain.

The elevator ride felt too long. Numbers ticked upward; the walls blurred into a pale tunnel as I rehearsed what I’d say and what I wouldn’t. My palms were slick; I wiped them discreetly on my skirt. My mind ran a scattershot of scenarios: was he ill? Was something dangerous happening? Or—more embarrassingly—had he called me in just to have me fetch another damned coffee he could’ve made himself? The last image made me laugh aloud, which startled the woman two cubicles down and made my grin twitch into something less serene.

At the 48th floor, the elevator sighed open and the hallway swallowed me in its cool, plush silence. Carpet muted my steps to a whisper. Doors lined the corridor like sentries, a few with frosted glass and names in tasteful silver. My key card scanned with a polite chirp; the security lights blinked obediently. I walked with the practiced calm of someone who belonged here, though my insides did flips.

His office door was slightly ajar—the kind of small, human detail that told me he hadn’t bothered to close it all the way. I paused, fingers hovering over the handle, and let myself take one last breath. I smoothed the invisible creases from my shirt, tilted my chin, and pushed the door open.

Light flooded the room: floor-to-ceiling windows, the city bleeding gold into the corners, and him—standing by the desk, not behind it—hands tucked into his pockets, looking less like the untouchable CEO and more like someone waiting for an answer. For me. For whatever small thing he’d summoned me for.

“Hey.” The word came out softer than I intended, but he was watching me with that strange, unreadable expression that had been my undoing since day one. His presence filled the room, not in a way that pushed me back but in a way that pulled my focus entirely to him.

The knot in my chest loosened a fraction. I closed the door behind me and stepped fully into his space, ready for whatever came next—command, confession, trivial request, or nothing at all. My heart was still racing, but now it was a different kind of electricity: expectant, alive, and dangerously close to hopeful.

The elevator doors opened, and I hurried down the hall to his office. I knocked softly, then, unable to contain myself, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Al stood by the vast glass windows, walking back and forth restlessly as if he's in a deep thought. He was dressed in a casual dark blue t-shirt and sweatpants, white sneakers completing the unexpected ensemble. Where had he been?

He stopped pacing as I entered, his eyes locking onto mine. The intensity of his gaze made my breath catch in my throat. I couldn't read him. What was he thinking? What was wrong? An uneasy feeling glued me on my feet.

Suddenly, he moved, jolting forward and closing the distance between us with unsettling speed. Before I could react, he was right in front of me.

Then, he reached out, grabbed me, and kissed me.

My mind blanked. What?! His lips met mine, a tentative pressure that quickly deepened. His tongue traced my lips, and then he was inside, exploring, claiming. I stood frozen, unable to move because of the shock. His right hand cupped my face, his thumb gently stroking my cheek, while his left hand found my waist, pulling me closer.

Is this real?

My mouth parted slightly, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss. A strange mix of panic and surrender washed over me. Part of me screamed that this was wrong, that I should stop him, but another, louder part, reveled in the sensation. This was what I had secretly wanted, hadn't I?

I found myself kissing him back, my hands rising to his shoulders, my fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss was intoxicating, a dizzying spiral of heat and longing.

He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look at me. My face burned, I was sure I looked like a tomato, but I couldn't break his gaze. He was magnetic.

A faint chuckle escaped his lips, and then, without a word, he kissed me again.

This time, I was ready. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. His kisses trailed down my chin, then to my neck. A gasp escaped my lips.

He pulled back sharply, his eyes filled with concern. I just smiled, a shaky, breathless smile. What he did next sent another jolt of shock through me.

He swept me into his arms and carried me to the sofa, dropping me gently. What is happening? Is this a dream?

Reality crashed back as I felt the plush cushions beneath me. He didn't waste a second. He kissed me again, then he quickly took off his shirt revealing his well-maintained physique flashing his chest to die for, his hands moving to the buttons of my polo shirt. He quickly unbuttoned it, his eyes never leaving mine, and guided me to remove it. His hands began to roam devilishly all over my body, sending shivers across my skin. I admit, my body isn't as sexy as his.

His kisses trailed down my neck, to my chest, focusing on my n*****s. He teased one with his teeth and tongue while his hand played with the other.

I couldn't articulate the extreme sensation that was flooding my body, a euphoric rush that threatened to overwhelm me. My mind was spinning. He knew exactly what he was doing. He switched sides, his attention just as intense, just as consuming.

The morning sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the scene. It was freaking 9 AM. His face was flushed, his eyes dark with desire. He moved lower, kissing my stomach, and I couldn't suppress a slight moan.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a fresh wave of heat through me. The next thing I knew, our pants were off, and his manhood was throbbing in front of me. Man, that's almost the size of my arm!

I looked up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. A devilish smile played on his lips.

"You can handle that," he whispered, before kissing me again, a wild, possessive kiss.

I surrendered. I had no choice. He stood before me, and I knew what he wanted. He signaled me to hold his thing. I hesitated, unsure. He took my hand and gently placed it on his length. It felt hot, heavy, and alive. I feel excited, yet I also feel scared. How can I even do this thing?

The room felt really silent, his air conditioning was on, yet I felt really hot.

The room was silent save for the hum of the air conditioning. I opened my mouth and licked the tip. His manhood was drooling at it just adding the weird texture and taste to it. I wanted to stop but I didn't want to disappoint him. I took him into my mouth, slowly, carefully. His knees began to shake. I pulled back, concern etched on my face, signaling him to sit down.

I stood and squatted between his legs. I began again, slowly at first, until eventually I went faster going the up and down motion with my hand still holding the roots of his manhood, and my other hand playing with his balls. Soft moans escaped his lips, music to my ears.

I went on for a longer time enjoying the rhythm I had fallen into.

His hands tangled in my hair, brushing it off, his legs contracting, his body twitching and shivering. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensations. I varied my technique, using my mouth and tongue to explore every inch, when after several minutes he pulled my head back, a loud scream escaping his lips as he erupted, a hot, thick stream gushing out of him directly into my face.

He leaned back, heavily breathing as he had his head laid back struggling to get his energy. Instinctively, I turned around to get the tissue paper on the table to wipe my face.