Men Love Lust

Confrontations

"I see you want to dig, Jade?" he murmured, voice a lazy drawl. But his eyes? They were anything but lusting.

They drifted down her body, in a slow deliberate sweep, past the sharp line of her jaw, down the elegant curve of her neck. And lower, to the crisp white blouse tucked perfectly into the cinched waist of her skirt.

Every inch of her, screamed composure and control. But Asher could see the tension sizzling beneath it. The tight way she held herself. And the flicker in her throat as she swallowed. He let his gaze linger on her dazzling legs. And the slope of her thigh which was barely visible through the slit in her pencil skirt.

That damn skirt, tailored perfectly to do justice to her curvy body, but design to tempt. His fingers itched, but Jade didn't move. And neither did she flinch despite noticing his gaze. And that, that only made him want to push further.

"You don't get to look at me like you see through me, Jade." He sneered, slowly drawing closer. "You don't get to see what you haven’t earned." He growled.

But before she could answer, or regain the upper hand, he moved. Quick and purposeful. His hand caught her thigh, her warm skin beneath his palm as he slid up with devastating intent, curving around the back, cupping the roundness of her buttock in a grip that was firm but unhurried, but quite possessive.

And that was enough to send her off. Her hand shot up, swift and sharp. Fueled by pure instinct. But he caught it mid-air.

His fingers closed around her wrist just before the impact, stopping her inches from his face.

Silence immediately cracked between them.

Her chest rose and fell. While her eyes burned into his, furious and unyielding.

“Let. Go.” She sneered, each word edged with steel.

For a second, it looked like he might do as asked. Instead, his grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to challenge.

Just then, he pulled her. Her hips hit the desk with a muted thud as her breath caught. The distance between them totally gone. Yet still, she didn’t shrink, neither did she look away.

Even now, when she is trapped between him and the solid wood. Her chin lifted, with defiance radiating off her like heat. But her breath betrayed her.That small, involuntary hitch, which he instantly noticed.

His free hand braced beside her, caging her in, his face inches from hers but close enough to feel the warmth of her breath against his lips.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice lower now but rougher. “You swing like that again, you better be ready to follow through.”

Her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. Or maybe that was his. He searched her eyes, expecting fear. But there was nothing, only a flicker of something unsettling. Was it need?

Or was that his own?

“You’re just like the rest,” he muttered, voice thick with disdain though he couldn’t quite figure if it was for her or for himself.

And that alone, seemed to snap something in him. Abruptly, he released her, stepping back. The ignited heat gone with the same speed it came. No smirk, parting words lr cool arrogance. He just left, the door shut behind him like a line carved into stone.

And only then, did it hit.The tension in his hand from her touch.The imprint of her, still lingering against his skin. And beneath it all, something quiet colder.

"You crossed a line." A voiced echoed from his conscience.

Intutively, his jaw tightened. Because the worst part of it all, he wasn’t sure he regretted it.But masked it with his usual deviant demeanor.

But the sensation still clung to him. Her heat. The ghost of her gasped. And the look in her eyes. Not that of fear but of defiance. As if to challenge him.

"Asher," Reese called out the moment he spotted him striding down the hall. His ever-casual tone tried to pin levity in the air. "How did the session go?" he asked, catching up with him. "Did she crack the billionaire shell yet, or— ?"

Asher didn't break stride. Neither did he even blink in his direction. Intuitively, Reese's smile faltered.

"Alright then," he muttered, jogging slightly to match up his pace. "Are you good, man?" He sounded concerned, but whatever else he was about to say was sliced short the moment they both stepped through the glass doors into Asher's office.

And froze.

Seated inside with the ease of a man who believed the world belonged to him, was Robert Cross. Mr. Cross. Asher's father.