chapter 22

The office lights were dimmed low when I walked in. The city whispered below us in flickering halos of neon. The hush of night felt like an accomplice, as I crossed into his domain with only the faint hum of the air conditioning beyond us.

Kyl stood behind me as usual, his scent silent but unmistakable—cedar mixed with something darker: steel, musk, promise. The file of my edits lay open on his conference table where I'd been summoned.

I circled the glass perimeter in my heels, my skirt riding up over my thighs. I could feel him watching my hips brush each time I swiveled, my pulse throbbed, hunger dangerous and near.

Not again, being close to him alone felt sinful, I didn't know what to do so

I cleared my throat. "You asked to go through Chapter Five?" I asked him my voice shaking.

He didn't move. Instead, he reached forward and skimmed the page until he found the line.

> "Power isn't in the money—it's in who's on their knees for you."

His finger traced the words. Then he closed the laptop with purpose.

I inhaled and Waited for him to say something, anything.

He stood tall, pulling me with a gravity I both resisted and needed. Heat gathered in my breast. Our proximity sharpened the air into static, I could hardy breath at this point.

He let his eyes lock onto mine Just inches apart silence stretched until I heard him whisper:

"Show me how you imagine that looks."

was he asking me to get on my knees? My heart throbbed and without thinking twice

I stepped forward.

The thrill of his challenge ignited in me and in his gaze, I saw encouragement, so without a thought, without hesitation, I gave a firm push: his chest, his suit, then—against gravity—the man who never fell into weakness. I watched him tumble back onto the polished tabletop where papers cascaded off like dreams breaking.

He lay there for a moment, spine touching leather, legs defying reason. I breathed deep,heart pounding, my blood roaring in the silence.

"I'm no one's apology," I said, voice hushed and steady.

He grinned, wry and sharp, shifting on the table.

"Good. Because neither am I."

He sat up, tension abruptly transformed into raw anticipation. One step, then one more. I closed the space until I hovered over him. My bra slipped down my shoulder. His eyes flicked there, tracing the exposed skin ghostly in fluorescent light.

I leaned in, voice close to his lips.

"So… tell me."

He pulled me down. One knee wedged between my thighs, his hand at the small of my back pulling me flush against him.

"Show me, Ivana. Show me your power."

My hands were deliberate, fierce as I slipped under his crisp shirt, unbuttoning each button like I was rewriting fate. His skin, hot beneath cotton, made my nerves alive.

He didn't resist. Just watched me with a hunger for my body, for my pu****y.

My breath hitched when our lips met. The kiss was tight, sharp, lacking hesitation and full of focus. He grabbed my hair as the sound of us kissing echoes in the conference room, I began to drip hot liquid as raw pleasure hit me.

He slipped me onto the tabletop so carefully it felt ceremonial, his fingers traced my collarbone, down to my ribs, a map redeveloped by indulgence not greed. My skirt bunched again, thighs pressing hot against cool glass.

"Look at me," he murmured against my skin. "You look potent here. Sacred. Reckless."

I arched under the words. "You do too."

"Do you want this? " he slipped his turgid erect di**k out of his pants, I starred in amazement at the size of it.

He kissed me deepl, mouth to mouth, chest to thigh, the rhythm was both protest and surrender.

His breath shuddered over my stomach as he kissed low. When skin touched glass I gasped.

His palm entered me just enough to test the leap from curiosity to desire, I exhaled deeply as I get his finger slip into me, one first then he slipped in the second finger, I gapsed because his fingers were large and I felt stretched. His fingers came alive, delicate but demanding, coaxing a tremor beneath my waist until I bucked softly.

"You are next-level chaos," he whispered in my ear.

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him close to me and he groaned. I reached out to his proud erect di**k and wrapped my fingers around it and began to stroke it up and down, he moaned loudly unable to endure he swiftly spread my legs wide and slid his full length into me emitting a gaps from me.

Every thrust spoke of unspoken agreements. The glass trembled beneath us. My skin slapped against his. His hands pressed heat into places I thought were still mine.

My nails dug into his shoulders as carefully as pen pressing on paper. I lost all sense of this being about recollections or resumes. Just skin, scent, intensity.

When he gripped me tight, voice gone raw:

"Grip harder if you have to."

I did...

He stroked harder and harder until we both climaxed his liquid spilling hot and powerful inside me and mine drenching the conference table.

Afterward, we rested quietly, him on the tabletop, me slid to the floor, knees tangled, breath still dancing across surfaces.

He finished straightening the scattered pages and closed his laptop quietly.

"You made me real tonight," he said, voice soft and slightly cracked.

I swallowed. "Your story, our terms." I replied

He nodded, eyes heavy. "But tonight was my rebellion."

He walked me to the sleek glass wall and pressed one button. It turned opaque privacy promised but our shadows visible.

He left me tangled in self-reflection and soreness, and when I rose to leave, he called my name.

Standing by the door, I turned.

"Keep writing. That's still your weapon."

In the elevator, my phone lit up with Agent inquiries, fan beta reads from my author newsletter, each ping reminding me of the world outside, but my blood still thundered in that glass room where we'd collapsed narratives and boundaries.

I stared at my reflection on the elevator glass wall, skirt wrinkled, eyes fierce with new awareness.