My Burning Desire by RK

Chapter 4

I pulled my hand out of his grip, staring down at marble tiles as the fight completely drained out of me.

"People are going to talk," I whispered, my voice dropping so low it was barely a murmur against the quiet hum of the restroom. "They're going to compare..."

He stopped dead, his brow furrowing as he strained to catch the words I was too afraid to say out loud. "What?"

"We can't," I said, shaking my head. "They're going to judge you."

He blinked, looking genuinely stunned for a fraction of a second. "Judge me? For what?"

With a heavy, miserable sigh, I looked down at myself, gesturing vaguely to my frame—to the curves that didn't match the glossy magazine standards, to the insecurities I carried like a second skin.

"What the f**k. You can't be serious," he breathed, the disbelief and frustration bleeding raw into his voice. "You are f*****g under my skin, woman."

Before I could pull away, he closed the distance between us again, catching my hand and pulling me flush against his chest. His fingers gently cupped my jaw, tilting my face up toward his. With slow, agonizing deliberation, his thumb traced the contour of my cheekbone, mapping down the bridge of my nose until it rested softly against my lower lip, tracing its fullness.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice thick with an intensity that made my breath hitch. "You are beautiful."

Olivers pov

I frame her face with both hands, my thumbs sweeping across her cheekbones, forcing her to hold my gaze.

"You. Are. Beautiful," I reiterate, spacing every single word with absolute, unshakeable conviction.

I let out a slow, heavy breath, searching her eyes as the pieces finally started clicking into place. "How can I be with you for a full year and not know that you carry these kinds of insecurities? You handle yourself with absolute poise and confidence in the office. And behind closed doors, in our bedroom, you're an absolute wildcat. Where is all this coming from? Tell me."

She tries to pull away again, her shoulders hunching as she shakes her head, a bitter, defeated little smile touching her lips. "I'm not like your other women."

"Damn right you're not," I snap, my grip tightening just enough to keep her from escaping. "You are you. I never felt this way for a single one of them. I wouldn't have cared if any of them walked out that door and moved on with their lives tomorrow. But you? Seeing that prick look at you tonight made me feel like I could drag you right across that mahogany table and f**k you in front of Chris and anyone else who dared look your way, just so every single one of them knew who you belonged to. ME."

I let the harsh, heavy truth hang in the confined space between us, watching her breath hitch.

"And after we both came," I growled, lowering my voice until it was a low, vibrating menace, "I would turn around and cripple that Chris. Mind, body, and soul. I'd destroy him down to the ground. That is what you do to me, Janelle. You make me feral."

I tilt her chin up, forcing her wide, stunned eyes to lock onto mine.

"Do you understand me?"

She looks up at me, staring into my eyes as the raw, unfiltered truth of my words hangs heavy in the air. I watch the dark pupils dilate, her gaze shifting as the intensity of what she means to me finally breaks through every wall of self-doubt she had built.

"Now," I say, my voice dropping back to a low, commanding rasp as I let go of her face and take a half-step back, "put yourself together. Fix your hair, find your glasses, and we're walking out of this room."

A dangerous, wicked grin touches the corner of my mouth.

"And we're going to leave everyone out there wondering what the hell we were doing locked in here together. If they imagine the absolute filthiest things possible? I f*****g don't care. Let them talk."

I unlock the heavy wooden door, the low hum of the ballroom music instantly bleeding back into the quiet hallway. I turn back toward Janelle, keeping my eyes locked on hers, and hold my hand out, palm up.

For a second, she hesitates, staring at my hand like it's a lifeline she isn't sure she deserves to grab. Then, slowly, her fingers slip into mine, her grip tightening around my hand with a quiet, trembling strength.

The moment our skin fuses together, I suck in a sharp breath, my chest tightening so violently it feels like someone just squeezed my heart. It isn't the thrill of possession this time, or the hot rush of anger. It’s something entirely foreign—her trust. The terrifying, humbling realization that despite every doubt screaming in her head, she is stepping out into the light with me.

That raw, unreserved trust shoves something deep inside my chest, anchoring me completely.

"Ready?" I murmur, my thumb brushing firmly over the back of her hand as I pull her flush against my side, ready to show the entire room exactly who owns my world.

As we cross the threshold back into the brilliant glare of the ballroom chandeliers, I feel her weight shift backward, her instincts kicking in as she tries to shrink behind my shoulder, desperate to blend into the woodwork.

I stop dead in my tracks.

She slams right into my back, a soft, startled gasp escaping her lips. Before she can retreat another inch, I spin around and catch her by the waist, pulling her flush against my side so there is no escaping, no hiding, and no retreat.

I tilt her chin up with my knuckles, forcing her wide, panicked eyes to meet mine through the dim haze of the room.

"Chin up," I say, my voice a low, unyielding command. "We are walking out there together. "And with confidence, Janelle. Be my wildcat for me. Out here. In front of everyone," I murmur, my gaze locking onto hers with absolute, unyielding intensity. "Don't cower, don't hide. Be proud—like I am proud to have you on my arm."

As we step out of the doorway and into the brilliant glare of the ballroom side by side, my arm locked securely around her waist, a sudden, heavy hush falls over the room. Conversations stutter and die as heads turn, every pair of eyes in the venue locking onto us in stunned silence.

I feel Janelle tense up instantly, her body going rigid as she tries to quietly retreat, attempting to slip out of my grip.

Instead of letting her go, I tighten my hold, pulling her flush against my side so there is no mistaking our connection. I raise my voice, letting it carry effortlessly across the quiet hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I say, my tone smooth, commanding, and impossible to ignore.

Beside me, Janelle gives a desperate little wrench, her hands coming up to try and pry my arm away as she struggles against my hold. I don't loosen my grip by a fraction; I just clamp down harder, anchoring her firmly where she belongs.

"I have an announcement to make."

Janelle lets out a tiny, horrified gasp under her breath, fighting against me with everything she has.

I look out over the sea of slack-jawed faces—spotting Chris staring from across the room with a look of absolute disbelief—and smile.

"Janelle has done me the honor of agreeing to be my wife."