Sweet

"Who is this kid, anyway, boss?" Chris asked, looking at me.

"Don't tell me you had a secret kid," he whispered as if he'd uncovered the world's greatest scandal. I rolled my eyes.

"Don't talk nonsense. Since when did I have to explain myself to you?" I said coldly, still annoyed.

"Well, we still need to talk about—"

"Later," I cut him off.

Chris's eyes widened dramatically. "Wait… The Adrian Voss is saying work can wait?" His voice dripped with exaggerated shock. "Hold on—don't tell me this is really your kid."

"Get out, Chris." I leaned back in my chair.

Chris smirked but didn't push his luck. He simply turned on his heel and left. He knew better than to make me repeat myself.

Silence returned to the office. I exhaled, picked up a glass of water, and took a slow sip, grounding myself.

This was supposed to be a restricted area, dammit.

But the repeated intrusions made me pause. Made me think.

Think about what I was doing. About how ridiculous this was. I wasn't some teenager losing his mind over a bit of skin. And yet, I felt… off. Uncomfortable.

Had it really been that long since I'd had sex? Did I just need to pick someone and get it over with?

My mind was all over the place.

I looked down at her—him, I mean. My hand moved on its own again, caressing the soft skin. It was all so warm, so delicate beneath my touch, I could almost feel my palm burning with desire.

His hot breath fanned against my hand as my thumb traced over his pink, plump lips.

"Mhmm." He groaned and turned away.

The sound made my hand pause.

I was really losing my mind.

Because the thoughts filling my head were sickening. But I knew—knew—that indulging in them would bring me the greatest sweetness I had ever tasted in my forty years of life.

My hand enclosed around his throat, very lightly, just enough to feel the slow, warm pulse beneath my fingers. His skin was soft—too soft—and the heat of his body radiated under my touch like slow-burning embers.

I let my hand drift downward, tracing the smooth curve of his throat, then lower, past the fragile dip of his collarbone. That was when I felt it.

Soft.

Softer than it should be.

My breath hitched. My fingers trembled, pressing against the supple flesh of his chest. He shouldn't feel like this. No man should.

I swallowed hard, but I couldn't pull away. My palm moved, pressing gently, experimentally. The sensation was unreal—silky skin giving way to something impossibly plush, warm, and yielding beneath my touch. My head spun as my fingers ghosted lower, brushing against the unmistakable peak of a nipple.

I froze.

Pink. Firm. Protruded.

A sharp exhale left my lips.

I shouldn't be doing this.

But God help me, I couldn't stop.

My thumb flicked over the peak, testing, teasing, and watching for any reaction. His body was so responsive, even in unconsciousness. His breath hitched, just slightly, his chest rising a fraction deeper before settling back into its slow, steady rhythm.

I pressed down again, rubbing slow circles over the tight nub, feeling it stiffen further under my touch. My own breathing grew ragged.

This wasn't right.

But it felt so good.

So addictive.

My other hand moved on its own, splaying over his chest, molding to the shape of him, relishing in the way his body responded so easily, so perfectly.

So much like a woman.

I clenched my jaw, trying to regain control, but it was slipping—slipping fast. My fingers pinched lightly, just enough to make his lips part, his breath coming in the faintest whimper.

Heat surged through me.

I could stay like this forever, tracing every inch of this softness, worshiping the contrast between what he was supposed to be and what my hands were discovering.

Possession curled in my stomach, dark and suffocating.

I had lived forty years, yet nothing—nothing—had ever felt this good.

This right.

Would he wake now? Would he catch me in the act, see the hunger in my eyes?

Would I even care?

A sharp knock at the door shattered the haze clouding my mind. My eyes snapped toward it, a dark wave of irritation surging through me. Someone was bound to die tonight.

"Who is it?" I asked, masking the sharpness in my voice.

"Sir, Miss Evelyn is here to take the kid away," came Victor's voice from the other side.

Take him away?

For a moment, the sheer absurdity of it nearly made me laugh. I almost told him to tell her to fuck herself—to tell her that he is mine—but I caught myself, jaw tightening as I exhaled slowly. Instead, I adjusted his clothes, smoothing down the fabric where my hands had just been, reluctant to part from him but forcing myself to appear composed.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Victor stepped inside, Evelyn following close behind.

"Greetings, sir," she said cautiously.

I barely acknowledged her. My hand was still resting against Leo's, my fingers idly tracing the delicate bones of his wrist. His skin was soft—so impossibly soft—that I almost didn't notice the way his small fingers suddenly twitched, then curled, gripping onto my sleeve.

Clinging. Even in sleep.

Evelyn's eyes widened in horror. "I am so sorry, sir!" she blurted out, stepping forward, but I lifted a hand, halting her.

She turned to Leo, voice gentle but urgent. "Leo, son, it's time to wake up."

No response. He remained still, his warm breath ghosting against my wrist.

"Let it be," I said sharply.

I moved before she could argue, my body acting on its own as I slid an arm beneath him. My hand slipped under the delicate curve of his thigh, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, feeling the unnatural warmth radiating from his skin. The contrast was unbearable—his small frame against my broad, calloused hands, his fragility against the sheer force I was capable of.

I gripped him firmly as I lifted him, my other arm supporting his back, pressing him flush against my chest. His body molded to mine with ease, the silky fabric of his clothes brushing against my skin. His head lolled against my shoulder, breath tickling the side of my neck.

His weight—so light, so delicate—felt almost unreal in my arms.

I held him tighter.

Victor shifted beside me. Evelyn looked like she wanted to speak, but thought better of it.

"I'll take you both down," I said, already moving toward the door. "I'll drop you off myself."

Evelyn blinked, startled. "Sir, that won't be necessary, I can—"

"I said I'll take you."

She fell silent, wisely choosing not to argue.

I stepped into the corridor, the dim lighting casting shadows along the sleek black marble floor. Each step was slow, deliberate, as I adjusted my hold on Leo, letting my palm press firmer against the small of his back, feeling the heat of his body seep through his clothes.

His scent—subtle, warm, laced with something sweet—filled my lungs, sending a slow burn through my veins.

He shifted slightly in my arms, a quiet sigh escaping his parted lips as his chest rose against mine. My gaze dropped, fixating on the faint outline of his pink, protruded nipples beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, jaw clenching as something hot and unbearable coiled in my gut.

The elevator doors loomed ahead. Victor stepped forward to press the call button, but I didn't slow my pace, moving with a silent, unwavering possessiveness that no one dared question.

This was fine.

This was normal.

And if anyone thought otherwise—

They could try to stop me.