Chapter 122: The Breaking Point

Skylar's breath hitched as Chris's fingers traced over her skin, his touch slow and deliberate. He was in no rush. He never was. He didn't just take—he conquered.

His lips brushed against her jaw, trailing lower, and she felt the heat of his breath against her skin.

"You still think you can resist me?" His voice was low, taunting, filled with the same unshaken confidence that had driven him to the presidency.

Skylar's fingers curled against his chest, nails pressing into the fine fabric of his suit. "I hate that you think you own me," she whispered, her voice betraying her resolve.

Chris smirked against her skin. "I don't think. I know."

Her blouse slid from her shoulders, his hands guiding every movement, stripping away more than just fabric—stripping away the distance, the walls, the hesitation.

Skylar inhaled sharply as Chris lifted her effortlessly, pressing her against the cool surface of the presidential desk. The same desk where decisions that shaped the world were made—now the battleground for something far more personal.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured again, his lips hovering just above hers.

Skylar met his gaze, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had always been strong. Always in control. But right now? Right now, she was caught in his gravity, and for once, she wasn't sure she wanted to escape.

She closed her eyes, her voice barely a whisper.

"I can't."

Chris exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on her waist, his lips curving into a knowing smirk.

"Then don't."

And just like that, the last thread of restraint unraveled.

---

Hours later…

The dim light of dawn filtered through the windows of the Oval Office. The room, usually cold and impersonal, now felt different—charged, intimate, claimed.

Chris sat at his desk, his shirt unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up. His gaze flickered to Skylar, who was wrapped in his suit jacket, leaning against the window, her expression unreadable.

A long silence stretched between them before she finally spoke.

"So what now?" Her voice was quiet, cautious.

Chris leaned back, watching her carefully. She thought this was just another game, another power move.

But this was different.

He stood, crossing the space between them in slow, deliberate steps before tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

"Now," he said, his voice softer than before, "you stop running."

Skylar held his stare, searching for something—a weakness, a hesitation, anything that proved she still had the upper hand.

But there was nothing.

Because Christopher Blackwood never lost.

And this time, neither would she.