His unclaimed mate

Chapter 2

Elena’s POV

The alarm's buzzing pierced through my dreams and yanked me from a deep and blissfully ignorant sleep. I silenced it with a groan, burying my face back into the pillow for what felt like only a second.

Then I finally opened my eyes.

I glanced at the clock and a wave of panic washed over me. Fifteen precious minutes I had already wasted, drowning in the comfort of my blankets while the world moved on without me.

"s**t," I breathed, launching myself out of bed with the grace of a frightened deer.

This was not the first day I had pictured in my mind.

It was my first day at work and I couldn't afford to be late, I was rushing against time, much like a character in a silly comedy, grabbing whatever I could find. I yanked open my closet and pulled out the outfit I had carefully selected the night before a fitted mini skirt in charcoal gray, a crisp white blouse, and left for work in a hurry.

Upon arriving at work, Romando’s limited company, my dream workplace, I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and walked through those doors with as much composure as I could muster.

The lobby was stunning, with marble floors that extended endlessly and gleamed like mirrors. A large chandelier suspended from the vaulted ceiling, provided a warm glow to the busy reception area. Employees moved efficiently, their footsteps resonating within the grand space. Every detail of this place radiated success, authority, and potential.

My reflection stared back at me from the polished metal slightly disheveled, slightly breathless, but undeniably present.

Then the elevator doors opened.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea, creating an almost reverent path. My breath caught in my throat as I realized why.

Jacob Lucas.

A popular man in the world of business, impossibly handsome, and successful. The lobby fell silent as he strode through, his bodyguards flanking him like shadows. Nobody dared to speak. Nobody dared to even breathe too loudly. The sheer weight of his presence seemed to compress the very air around us.

I tried to catch a glimpse of his face before he disappeared through the revolving doors, but he was already gone, swallowed by the city beyond. The bodyguards followed, and just like that, the spell was broken. The lobby resumed its normal hum of activity, as if a god had briefly descended and then departed.

A very gorgeous woman approached me tall, elegant, her dark hair swept up in a professional chignon. Her smile was warm but efficient, the kind of smile that said she had seen a thousand nervous new hires and knew exactly how to handle them.

"You must be the new secretary," she said, extending a manicured hand. "I'm Bella, HR Coordinator. Welcome to Romando Limited."

I was employed as the new Secretary of the Romando heir, Nicolas Romando.

Another popular man not only in the world of business but also in the world of women, the type of playboy every girl would want in their bed. It was almost impossible for me to believe it.

And then I saw him.

My boss.

Sitting majestically in his office, doing his own work.

I didn't even get to sit down before I got a call from him to come into his office. A message from an unknown number.

Come to my office. Now.

My heart leaped into my throat. No greeting. No pleasantries. Just a command.

This was it. Time to meet the boss.

I took a deep breath, smoothed down my skirt, and adjusted my blouse. The tight shirt revealed more of my cleavage than I had intended, but there was no time to change now. I ran my fingers through my hair, pushed it back from my face, and applied a fresh coat of lipstick with trembling hands.

Then I walked toward his office, my heels clicking against the polished floor with steady determination.

The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

Shock crashed over my face, over my features like cold water.

It was him.

The one-night-stand guy was my boss.

He was sitting behind the massive oak desk, surrounded by the trappings of immense wealth and power. His suit was dark and expensive, his hair perfectly styled, his green eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my knees weak.

He stood up immediately from his chair and went to close the curtains, locking the door as well. He pulled me closer and his familiar touch made me feel aroused by his touch.

With a trembling voice, I said

“It's you”.

He didn't hesitate, he moved into my space, and I retreated, step by step, until the desk caught me hard at the back of my thighs. His hands planted themselves on either side of me, trapping me against the wood. His face kept coming closer, slower than I could breathe.

His scent alone sent a flood of our shared memories crashing through my head. Then with a demanding tone, he spoke

“Hello again, beautiful.” Then he smirked.

Well, after all, we meet again," he said, his voice made my stomach flip. "It seems like fate wants us together."

He flipped a strand of hair from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear. His fingers lingered against my skin, tracing a slow path down my jaw to my neck. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he inhaled deeply.

"You smell exactly like I remember," he murmured. "Like temptation."

His hands gripped my hips and lifted me onto the desk. He spread my legs wide careless, certain, like turning a page, and pressed himself between them, and I felt him hard against me through his trousers. I clung to his shoulders as his palms locked around my waist, holding me in place.

Neither of us spoke, until he broke the silence by kissing me. Deeper this time, his tongue exploring my mouth with possessive urgency. His hands roamed my body like he was reacquainting himself with every curve, every dip, every secret, till they found me.

Then he pulled back, dropping to his knees in front of me.

His fingers curled into the waistband of my p*nties, drawing them down with torturous deliberation. Every inch of fabric slipping away sent a tremor through me, left me more aching, more desperate for him. His gaze held mine the entire time, a dark vow smoldering in his eyes as he exposed me.

His tongue found me then, and I gasped, my head falling back as pleasure exploded through my body. He was an expert experienced and skilled, his tongue moving with practiced rhythm that made my mind go blank. My hands gripped his hair, pulling him closer, needing more.

"F*ck”, I moaned, the word escaping without permission.

Then he pulled back, standing up, leaving me breathless and aching.

He unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. I knew what he wanted. And God help me, I wanted it too.

My hand found his c*ck through his trousers, fingers tracing his length before fumbling with his belt. I worked it free with trembling hands, then sank to my knees and put his c*ck into my mouth.

A deep, guttural moan rumbled from his chest and it made me feel powerful, wanted. His hand threaded through my hair, guiding but never forcing. He was letting me lead, letting me prove I could match everything he'd given me.

I surrendered to the rhythm—the weight of him on my tongue, the salt of his skin, the way he filled my senses. His moans deepened, his fingers tightening in my hair as I lost myself completely.

But then he pulled me up, lifting me into his arms and carrying me to the leather couch against the wall. He laid me down gently, his body covering mine, his weight a comforting presence.

He started kissing me again.

His fingers moved down my shirt, undoing one button after another with agonizing patience. Each pop of fabric let the cool air kiss my skin. At last, he swept the material open, exposing the lace that barely covered my br**sts.

His tongue traced a slow path up my stomach, dragging heat across my skin until he reached my br**sts. He took one into his mouth, sucking with a fervor that bordered on rough painful, yes, but I could take it.

The ache only sharpened the pleasure, and I found myself craving more of both my moan grew louder, my breath grew heavier, and my facial expression mixed with pain and pleasure.

He was seconds away from sinking into me, and then came a knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It was sharp, insistent, impossible to ignore.

We both went still, our eyes locking in shared shock and disbelief. Desire drained from his face, replaced by raw frustration, his jaw clenching as the weight of the interruption settled over us

"Mr. Nicolas?" a voice called through the door. "I have the quarterly reports for you to review. They're urgent."

What are we going to do now?