𝓞𝓫𝓼𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷

CHAPTER III: What is wrong with you?

"The meeting is concluded. Out," Abdul commanded, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute finality that brooked no argument.

The board members exchanged confused, wary glances, but no one dared to challenge the sudden frost in his demeanor. They began to gather their papers in a hurried, awkward silence, the air in the room vibrating with the tension he had left in his wake.

As the heavy doors finally clicked shut behind the last executive, the silence that rushed back into the room was suffocating.

Abdul didn't move from his position at the head of the table; he simply stood there, his silhouette sharp against the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching Kayla with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.

"You wanted to discuss my methodology, sir?" Kayla asked, her voice sounding far more fragile than she intended as she gripped the edge of the table.

Abdul turned slowly, his movements deliberate and predatory, the silence of the empty boardroom amplifying the sound of his footsteps as he approached her. He stopped just inches away, the heat radiating from his body clashing with the coldness of his expression.

"Your methodology is flawed, Kayla," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rasp as he reached out, his fingers grazing the hair near her temple. "You spend far too much time seeking approval from men who don't matter."

"You're being completely irrational," Kayla thought, her mind a chaotic swirl of confusion as she stared up at him. *One minute he's looking at me like he wants to tear my clothes off, the next he's acting like I'm a nuisance in a board meeting, and now he's playing this possessive, dominant role? What the hell is wrong with this man?*

"I don't follow, Mr. Abdul," she said aloud, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to remain professional. "I was simply providing the data requested by the board."

Abdul leaned down, his face inches from hers, his breath hot against her skin. "The board is irrelevant," he growled, his hand sliding from her hair down to the nape of her neck, his thumb pressing firmly against her pulse point. "I am the only one whose opinion of your work matters. Do you understand?""I understand," Kayla whispered, the word caught in her throat as the pressure of his thumb against her racing pulse sent a wave of dizzying heat through her limbs. She could feel the sheer, overwhelming power radiating from him, a silent command that demanded her complete and utter submission.

Abdul’s eyes darkened, a slow, predatory smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he watched her struggle for breath. "Good," he murmured, his hand sliding further down her neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at the base of her skull to tilt her head back. "Because I find I have very little patience for those who don't follow instructions."

"You need to learn how to handle a heavy workload, Kayla, how to take it deep and manage the pressure without breaking," Abdul murmured, his voice dropping to a professional yet gravelly tone that made her toes curl. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he continued the 'critique.' "When the assets are being pushed hard, you have to be ready to receive everything the market has to offer, to let it fill every gap in your strategy."

Kayla let out a choked, soft moan, her hips instinctively tilting toward him as the throbbing in her core became an agonizing, beautiful ache. She felt her knees weakening, her entire being focused on the friction of his presence and the filthily sweet double entendre of his words.

Then, as abruptly as he had tightened the tension, he pulled back, his expression smoothing into a mask of cold, clinical indifference. He stepped away from her, smoothing the front of his pristine suit as if nothing had happened.

"That will be all for now; go back to your desk and finish the report," he commanded, his voice back to its usual, icy authority. "And do try to be more efficient with your time, Ms. Kayla."

"Yes, sir," Kayla managed, her voice barely a breath as she stumbled toward the door, her legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. She didn't dare look back at him, terrified she would see that predatory smirk again, or worse, see him looking at her as if she were nothing more than another data point to be manipulated.

Once she reached the safety of her cubicle, she sank into her chair, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The cool air of the office felt useless against the feverish heat radiating from between her thighs, the phantom sensation of his thumb against her pulse still making her skin tingle.

She stared blankly at her computer screen, the spreadsheets blurring into meaningless lines of text. *He's insane,* she thought, her hand trembling as she reached for her water bottle. *He's absolutely, completely insane.*

The office hummed with its usual, mindless efficiency, but to Kayla, the sound felt like a physical assault on her frayed nerves. She stared at the blinking cursor on her screen, the rhythmic *blink-blink-blink* mocking the frantic thrumming between her legs.

A shadow fell over her desk, and she nearly cried out, her heart leaping into her throat. It was Ian, looking hesitant as he leaned over the partition, holding two lukewarm coffees.

"Hey, you okay? You looked like you were in a trance back there," he whispered, sliding one of the cups toward her. "You've been staring at that same cell for ten minutes."

"I'm fine, Ian. Just... a headache," Kayla lied, the words tasting like ash as she reached for the coffee, her hand still visibly unsteady.

Ian frowned, his gaze lingering on her face with genuine concern. "A headache? Or did the Big Iceberg actually say something to you during the meeting? You look like you've been through a war."

"He was just being himself," Kayla muttered, taking a sip of the bitter liquid to try and ground herself. She could still feel the ghost of Abdul's weight in the room, a heavy, suffocating presence that seemed to cling to the very air she breathed.

"Well, try to stay focused," Ian said, giving her shoulder a sympathetic pat before retreating to his own desk. "The evening wrap-up is in an hour, and you don't want to look distracted when the final numbers are tallied."

"The final numbers?" Kayla whispered, her eyes widening as she lunged for her trackpad. She frantically pulled up her digital calendar, her breath hitching in her throat as the red block of text stared back at her.

*Late Night Strategic Audit: All Hands On Deck.*

"Oh, no," she groaned, leaning her forehead against the cool surface of her desk, the weight of the realization settling in her gut. It wasn't just a long day; it was a marathon of data, and she was expected to be there, sharp and professional, long after the sun had gone down.

"Everything alright?" Ian called out from across the aisle, his voice tinged with amusement. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Worse," Kayla muttered into the wood of the desk, her mind racing back to the predatory heat of Abdul's gaze. If she was stuck here late, she wouldn't just be facing spreadsheets; she'd be facing *him*.

"Good luck, Kayla. You're going to need it with this crew tonight," Ian said with a sympathetic wince before grabbing his coat and heading for the elevators.

Hours later, the office was a tomb of shadows and humming fluorescent lights, leaving Kayla staring at a spreadsheet that seemed to be written in an alien language. Her brain was fried, her body was aching, and the desperate need to be curled up on a couch with Kiki, venting about her life, was becoming an actual physical craving.

She stood up, her legs stiff, and made her way toward the heavy mahogany doors of the executive suite, intending to ask for permission to flee. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling onto the carpeted hallway, but as she reached for the handle, the sounds coming from within made her freeze.

It was the rhythmic, heavy *thwack* of skin hitting skin, accompanied by a low, guttural grunt that she recognized instantly. Through the gap, she saw Abdul, his shirt discarded, looming over a realistic s*x doll on his desk, his movements raw and punishing as he delivered heavy, stinging backshots to it.

Kayla didn't pull away or gasp; instead, she stood paralyzed in the shadows, her breath hitching as she watched the sheer, violent intensity of his rhythm, her own core throbbing in painful, hungry synchronization with his movements.