Chapter 24: The Desk Divide

Harper woke Friday morning in her Brooklyn apartment, the faint hum of traffic seeping through the walls, her body still restless from yesterday's terrace clash with Zane Carver. The memory of his hands gripping her hips on that lounge chair, their bodies grinding under the sun, her moans lost in the wind—it clung to her like a fever, a heat she couldn't shake. She'd left him at the elevator, his growled You're still mine echoing as she'd fled, and slept fitfully, dreaming of his touch, his heat, the edge they'd danced on. Today, 7 a.m., office tweaks at the penthouse, and she felt the pull—work a thin veil over the real stakes between them.She dressed with a sharp edge: a fitted black button-up, slim gray trousers, low heels—professional but bold, the shirt hugging her curves, a subtle tease she knew he'd notice. Her tablet held the tweaks—shelf adjustments, a new chair, a tweak to the desk layout—but her mind was on him, on how he'd push, how she'd push back. Coffee burned her throat as she grabbed her bag, the subway ride to Manhattan a blur of anticipation, her pulse a steady thrum by the time she stepped into the penthouse elevator, the city waking under a pale sky.The doors opened at 7:02 a.m., and the space was quiet—no music, just the soft glow of dawn spilling through the windows, the walnut table gleaming in the dining area, flowers drooping from their wine-soaked chaos. Zane stood in the office doorway, barefoot in dark jeans and a charcoal tee, his hair tousled, his gray eyes locking onto her with a mix of heat and something heavier—tension, resolve, a storm brewing. No smirk, just a steady gaze that made her breath hitch."Late again," he said, his voice low, steady, stepping aside to let her into the office—dark wood shelves, a sleek desk, a space that screamed power but begged for her touch. "Thought you'd dodge me.""Two minutes," she replied, dropping her bag on the desk, her tone sharp to mask the flutter in her chest as she kicked off her heels. "You're still standing.""Barely." His gaze raked over her—the button-up, the trousers, lingering on her hips—before flicking back to her face. "Office tweaks?"She nodded, pulling out her tablet, spreading the sketches on the desk—shelf height tweak, a new leather chair, a slight shift in the desk's angle. "Cleaner lines, better flow. Thoughts?"He leaned against the desk beside her, his arm brushing hers, his breath warm against her temple. "Shelves work—more space. Chair's good—comfort's key.""Figured." She smirked, her shoulder nudging his chest—a subtle shove that sparked heat despite her intent to keep it tame. "Anything else?""Yeah." He straightened, stepping closer, his hand brushing her lower back, lingering. "You. Us."Her pulse jumped, his touch pulling her in, and she turned to face him, the air thickening, the city a distant hum beyond the glass. "Us again?"He exhaled, sharp and unsteady, raking a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. "Yesterday—terrace, shower, table—it's not enough, Harper. I need to know where this lands. You're mine, but what does that mean to you?"Her chest tightened, his question slicing through the heat, laying them bare. "Zane—" She stepped back, needing space, her hand gripping the desk as she searched his face—raw, unguarded, waiting. "I don't have a map for this. You're in my head, my skin—I'm yours too—but I need more than words. What do you want?""You." His laugh was rough, raw, and he closed the gap, his hands framing her face, thumbs brushing her jaw—a touch softer than his usual fire, but no less potent. "All of you—messy, real, permanent. I'm done fucking around. But I need you to say it."Her throat closed, his honesty disarming her, and she leaned into his touch, her hands sliding to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palms. "Permanent?" Her voice trembled, the weight of it sinking in. "That's a big word, Carver.""Big man." His lips quirked, a ghost of his smirk, but his eyes held steady, fierce. "I mean it, Harper. I'm all in—scared shitless, but in. You?"Her breath hitched, emotion tangling with desire, and she nodded, her hands fisting his tee. "Yeah. In. Messy, real—all of it.""Good." His smirk returned, and he pulled her closer, his voice dropping to a growl. "Desk's new—test it with me."Her laugh was shaky, heat flaring at the shift, and she shoved him back a step, playful but firm. "Work first.""Work's done." He tugged her against the desk, his hand firm on her hip, pinning her there as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Approved. Now—test.""Zane—" Her protest died as he lifted her onto the desk, the wood cool under her thighs, her legs parting as he stepped between them, his hands bracing beside her. She gasped, the suddenness shocking her senses, and he grinned, low and rough, pressing in—chest to chest, his arousal evident through his jeans, brushing her core."Asshole," she muttered, shoving at him, but he caught her wrists, pinning them behind her, his body pressing hers, the desk creaking under their weight."Yours," he growled, his lips hovering over hers, his breath warm with want as he ground against her, slow and deliberate, the friction sparking through her trousers. She moaned, loud and unrestrained, her hips rocking back, feeling him—hard, insistent—through the fabric, a tease that made her tremble."Zane—" Her voice broke, her hands tugging free to fist in his tee, pulling him closer as he thrust against her, the rhythm building—slow, sensual, teetering on the edge. His mouth found her neck, kissing the fading bruise, his teeth grazing as she arched, her trousers tight against her thighs, clinging to every curve."Fuck, Harper," he rasped, his lips brushing her jaw, his hands sliding to her hips, gripping tight, guiding her as she bucked against him, chasing the heat. She whimpered, her legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him tighter, the desk groaning under their chaos, papers sliding to the floor."More," she panted, her voice husky, her hips rocking harder, the tension coiling tight, clothes a maddening barrier. He groaned, his hand tugging at her shirt, popping a button to bare her collarbone, kissing the skin there as he rocked faster, pushing her to the brink.But then—damn it—the desk phone rang, a shrill buzz that broke the spell. He froze, his chest heaving, cursing under his breath as he pulled back, his hands still on her, trembling with restraint. "Fuck," he panted, slamming the receiver off the hook, silencing it, his eyes dark with hunger, locked on hers."Timing," she gasped, sliding off the desk, her legs shaky, smoothing her shirt with trembling hands, her body a live wire of frustration and want."Always," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, his tee rumpled, watching her grab her tablet. "Tomorrow, 6 a.m. Final walkthrough. No desks.""No promises," she said, smirking despite the ache, heading for the elevator, her hips swaying deliberately, her shirt gaping slightly. "See you, Carver.""Harper—" His voice stopped her, rough with promise as the doors opened. "You're still mine."She didn't reply, just stepped inside, the doors closing on his silhouette—tee rumpled, eyes blazing, the desk a mess behind him. Her apartment welcomed her with silence, the couch a poor substitute for his arms, but she sank into it, her body still humming, the dry-humping replaying—his hands, his heat, the edge they'd teetered on. Tomorrow loomed, and she knew—damn it—she'd burn with him again.