Outside His Shadow

Chapter 7: The Ghost of Us

(Olivia’s POV)

I heard him lock the door from outside. I stayed collapsed on the floor, the plush carpet mocking me with its luxury.

​I looked up at the bed—the site of so many lies told in the dark. My skin still felt sensitized. Before the shouting, before he told me I was "nothing" without him, there had been a moment of deceptive tenderness. It had happened right there, on those very sheets, everywhere in this house as a matter of fact.

It was three months ago. We had just closed the Graphite merger. Micheal was high on the adrenaline of the win, his eyes dark with a hunger that had nothing to do with business.

​He didn’t even wait for the elevator to reach our floor. The moment the doors slid shut, his hands were in my hair, he tilted my head back with a possessive force that made my breath hitch. I bit my lip, I longed for moments like this.

​"You were brilliant today," he growled against the sensitive skin of my neck, his lips searing. "My brilliant, beautiful Baby."

​I remember the way the silk of my dress felt like a nuisance as he gathered the fabric in his fists, lifting me until my legs wrapped around his waist. The cool metal of the elevator wall pressed against my back, a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body.

​For a moment, there was no ego, no power struggle—only the way his thumb traced my lower lip before his mouth crashed onto mine, tasting of triumph and a desperate kind of need. I wrapped my hands around his neck, extending my fingers to the back of his head and pushing his lips into mine, forming a sweet blend.

I felt his hands sliding up my thigh, goosebumps! Damn, I love this man. He parted my panties to gain access.

“Arghhh… Baby, you're so wet already. " Micheal whispered. I let out a small shriek as I felt his fingers in me. Then he stopped and began teasing my clits.

“​Go in,” I cried in desperation, my voice breaking in the small space of the elevator.

​Micheal gave a low, dark chuckle that vibrated against my chest. He didn't obey immediately; he loved to control too much. He kept his rhythm steady, his thumb circling my c**t with a torturous precision that made my toes curl against the backs of his thighs. I was a wire pulled taut, vibrating under his touch.

​The elevator reached our floor with a soft ding, but he didn't let me down. He carried me out, my legs still locked around his waist, my silk dress bunched up around my hips. We didn’t make it to the master bedroom. The hunger was too sharp, too jagged. He kicked open the door to the nearest guest room and slammed it shut, pinning me against the wood before we could even reach the bed.

​The guest room was cool and smelled of fresh linen, but the air between us was thick enough to choke on. He lowered me just enough for my feet to touch the floor, only to spin me around.

​"The bed, Micheal," I managed to gasp, my hands searching for purchase on the smooth surface of the door.

​"No," he growled, his voice thick with a primal need. "Right here."

​He stepped behind me, his body a solid wall of heat pressing against my back. I felt the sharp intake of his breath against my neck before he leaned down, biting softly at the junction where my shoulder met my throat. I arched my back, my palms flat against the door, as he reached around to find me again.

​This time, there was no teasing. He pulled my panties down, unzipped his trousers with a frantic haste. When he entered me from behind, it was a sudden, overwhelming invasion that stole the air from my lungs. I let out a jagged cry, my head falling forward against the door as he began to move.

The impact of his body against mine sent tremors through my entire frame. Each thrust was a heavy, rhythmic claim that made the wooden door groan in front of me as my weight was crushed against it. I gripped the handle until my knuckles turned white, my breath coming in short, hitching sobs.

I was lost in the friction, in the way his hands gripped my hips to anchor me to him. I felt like I was breaking and being rebuilt all at once.

A low, guttural groan escaped Micheal's throat with every thrust, the sound vibrating through his chest and directly into my back, making my own knees go weak.

​"You're mine, Olivia," he said under his breath. "Tell me."

​"I'm yours," I sobbed, the pleasure peaking into something unbearable. "Always yours."

​But as the first wave of release began to ripple through me, Micheal’s hands shifted. He slowed down, his fingers digging into my hips before he pulled back just an inch. I was breathless and aching for more. He leaned in, his lips grazing my shoulder while he gently tugged at the straps of my dress. As he unclipped my bra, the cool air hit my skin, but I was burning up from the inside. I could see the raw satisfaction in his eyes as he looked at my breasts, his gaze possessive and heavy.

He scooped me into his arms, my legs automatically locking around his waist. ​He carried me the few steps to the guest bed and tossed me onto the fresh linen.

He stepped back for a moment to strip off his own clothes. Even in my breathless state, I couldn’t help but admire him. He had a perfect, sculpted figure—wide shoulders that tapered into a lean waist, his muscles rippling under his tanned skin with every movement. He looked like a god carved from stone, and for a moment, I forgot we were even in a guest room.

​He joined me on the bed, the mattress sinking under his powerful weight. He began to fondle my breasts, his large, warm palms molding to my shape while his thumbs teased the peaks into hard points. My head fell back against the pillows, a low moan escaping me.

​As he shifted over me, I saw the impressive sight of his arousal. It was thick and pulsing, standing tall against his abdomen as a testament to the hunger he had for me. My breath hitched. Even after all this time, the sight of him like this—completely undone and wanting me—left me dazed.

​I reached out, my fingers trembling as I wrapped my palm around his heated length. The skin felt like velvet over fire. As I began to stroke him, my thumb grazing the tip, I heard Micheal let out a sharp, jagged hiss of air.

​"Olivia..." he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into my touch, his hips bucking slightly.

​I loved the power I had over him at that moment. I tightened my grip, sliding my hand in a firm, slow rhythm that made him throb against my palm. He was rock hard, and I could feel the vibration of his pleasure traveling through my arm and settling deep in my belly.

​But Micheal was never a man to be controlled for long. He caught my wrist, pinning my hand to the pillow above my head as he loomed over me, his eyes dark with a promise of what was coming.

​"My turn," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.