Raven's Point of View
The jacket wasn't on me anymore.
I'd slipped it off the second I sat down, draping it over the back of my chair like it didn't matter-like it hadn't already followed me into the room. But I could still feel it there. Heavy. Present. Like a shadow I couldn't shake.
The meeting room was full-voices overlapping, deep and controlled, men talking numbers and deadlines like the world was something they owned. Contracts. Percentages. Deadlines.
I did what I was supposed to do.
I took notes.
Kept my posture straight. Ankles crossed. Pen moving steadily across the page.
Professional.
Then I felt it.
A stare.
My shoulders tensed instantly.
I told myself not to panic. Not again. Not here.
I lifted my hand, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear, trying to ground myself-but my chest tightened instead. My breath hitched, shallow and sharp, and my pulse spiked like it had a mind of its own.
Please, God, no.
For half a second, my body was already somewhere else. Last night. The way David's presence had closed in on me. The way the air had felt thick, unescapable. The memory clawed up my spine so fast my vision blurred at the edges.
I struggled to breathe.
Don't do this. Not now.
My fingers curled around the pen harder as I forced myself to look up-heart hammering, already bracing for the wrong face.
It wasn't David.
It was Dominic.
And somehow... that didn't make it easier.
He was at the head of the table, exactly where he belonged, one arm resting against the chair, his hand near his jaw as he listened to one of the men speak. Calm. Focused. Untouchable.
Except his eyes-
They were on me.
Not flicking.
Not accidental.
Fixed.
And when our eyes met-he didn't look away.
Didn't soften.
Didn't pretend.
He just kept staring.
My breath stuttered.
It wasn't creepy. That was the worst part. There was no leering, no hunger I could name. Just intensity. Heavy. Intentional. Like he was assessing something he hadn't meant to notice-but couldn't stop seeing.
Heat crawled up my neck.
I dropped my gaze back to my notes too fast, my pulse thudding so loud I was sure someone could hear it.
Why is he looking at me like that?
I tried to focus. Forced myself to listen. Numbers blurred together as another voice took over, talking timelines and projections. My pen moved, but I wasn't sure what I was even writing anymore.
Then I felt it again.
That same weight.
His stare.
Every few minutes-there it was. Pressing. Unrelenting. Not constant enough for anyone else to catch, but consistent enough that my body stayed on edge.
I shifted in my chair, uncrossing my legs, the movement small but restless. My skin felt too warm. My throat too tight.
Was it hot in here?
I told myself not to look again.
Don't give him anything.
So I didn't.
I kept my eyes on the page, breathing slow and deliberate, even as awareness prickled along my spine. I felt exposed anyway. Like he could see past the neat handwriting, past the calm posture, straight into the places I was barely holding together.
Behind me, the jacket brushed lightly against my back.
I didn't turn.
I just focused on surviving the next few minutes-on staying here, in this room, in this body.
Because whatever Dominic Derveaux was seeing when he looked at me like that...
I wasn't ready to know.
★ ⋆｡°✩ ★
It was nearly six.
I'd been here since seven this morning, and no one had said a word about leaving. Not that I was complaining-two hundred and forty dollars an hour made twelve-hour shifts feel a lot more reasonable.
I sat at my desk, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard as I finished the report Dominic had asked for. The office was quieter now, the earlier bustle replaced with low hums and closed doors. Most people had already gone home.
My body, however, was still wound tight.
The meeting replayed in my head no matter how hard I tried to focus. The way he'd looked at me. The weight of it. Like he'd been measuring something he hadn't meant to notice.
I shook my head once, forcing the thoughts away.
He's your boss.
He's married.
Then my phone rang.
My spine straightened instantly.
Mr. Derveaux is calling...
I stared at the screen for half a second too long before answering. "Yes?"
"Come to my office."
That was it.
No pleasantries. No explanation.
My pulse kicked harder than it should have.
"I'll be right there," I said, keeping my voice steady even as I grabbed my notepad and stood.
The hallway felt longer than it had this morning. Quieter. Each step echoed too loudly in my ears.
When I reached his office, I knocked hesitantly.
"Come in."
I pushed the door open and stepped inside, only to feel my stomach tighten at the sight of him.
Dominic stood near his desk, his sleeves rolled up now, exposing his thick tattooed, veiny forearms. His expensive white dress shirt hugged his broad chest and sculpted torso perfectly, and the top few buttons were undone, giving me a glimpse of his inked skin beneath.
God, why does he have to look like that?
His jaw was sharp as ever, a slight shadow of stubble making him look even more rugged. The dim lighting in the office made him seem dangerous, yet completely mesmerizing.
I cleared my throat, trying to act normal. "You called me?"
His dark eyes met mine, unreadable. Then, without a word, he took a step closer.
My breath caught in my throat.
Another step.
I took a shaky step back, but I was too slow.
He reached out, his large, warm hand wrapping around my wrist.
And holy shit.
The air was thick, heavy with something neither of us were willing to name.
Dominic stood before me, his towering presence sucking all the oxygen from the room. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my body tense, my fingers curled into fists at my sides like I could fight off the inevitable.
But the way he looked at me-like he already owned every inch of me-made my legs weak.
A jolt of something-something real-shot up my arm the second his skin touched mine. It wasn't just some stupid cliché about sparks. It was real. A deep, burning sensation that made my pulse quicken and my stomach twist.
I sucked in a breath, my eyes snapping up to his.
His gaze darkened.
"Lock the door," he commanded, voice low, controlled.
I swallowed hard. "Why?"
His dark eyes dragged over my body, slow and deliberate, making my skin flush. "Because I don't want to be interrupted."
The weight of those words settled deep in my stomach, hot and consuming. I should walk away. I should remind him that he was my boss and this was wrong.
But my feet didn't move. My fingers, almost as if they had a mind of their own, reached behind me and twisted the lock into place.
A dark smirk tugged at his lips. "Good girl."
My hands trembled at my sides. I hated how small I felt beneath him.
And how much I didn't want him to move.
I shivered. "This is a mistake."
"Then stop me."
His hands were on me instantly, gripping my waist and pulling me flush against him. There was no space left to breathe. No room to think.
"Tell me you don't want this, Raven."
My lips parted. Nothing came out.
I couldn't lie. Not when he was looking at me like that.
"M-Mr. Derveaux, please-"
I didn't finish.
His cologne, expensive and ruthless, clinging to his skin like danger in liquid form. It was intoxicating, overpowering, the kind of scent you feel in your lungs and between your thighs. It was him. Dominic.
My thighs clenched. My breath caught.
His lips brushed the shell of my ear, low and sinful. "It's Dominic," he growled, his voice like a promise soaked in sin. "And I know later tonight... you'll be calling me daddy after I fuck the living shit out of you."
My gasp was so loud it echoed in my chest. My body betrayed me completely, leaning into him, trembling.
Every nerve in my body snapped alive. Heat burst through me like wildfire, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
His breath fanned across my lips. Mint and heat.
God.
I swallowed hard.
Then he kissed me.
Not gentle. Not rushed.
He kissed me like he'd been holding back for far too long.
Fireworks exploded through me-real ones. My body buzzed, every nerve lighting up at once. A sound slipped from my throat before I could stop it, soft and broken, and that only made him deepen the kiss.
I couldn't help it. I kissed him back.
My hands slid up his chest, feeling hard muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself to him as his lips molded perfectly to mine. Like this was inevitable. Like this was always going to happen.
When he finally pulled away, we were both breathing hard.
His hands were still framing my face.
"Do you feel that?" he asked quietly.
I knew exactly what he meant.
Panic slammed into me.
I just kissed a married man.
"I don't," I said too fast.
His jaw tightened. He dropped his hands.
"I know you're lying."
"I'm not," I insisted, hugging myself, my body still weak, my lips still burning.
His expression darkened. Dangerous.
"Stop fighting it."
"Fighting what?" I asked, my voice too innocent for what had just happened.
"This," he snapped. "You pretending that kiss didn't mean anything."
"I really don't feel anything," I said, even as my pulse betrayed me.
"Bullshit."
He stepped closer again.
Too close.
His hand came up fast, gripping my face this time-rough, unapologetic. Fingers digging into my jaw like he needed to feel me, like he was already past caring how it looked or what it meant.
My breath stuttered.
God.
His face had gone dark. Hard. The kind of expression that made your body react before your brain could catch up.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, like the word was ripped straight out of him.
Then he kissed me.
Not slow. Not careful.
It was all heat and pressure and frustration, his mouth crashing into mine like he'd snapped. I gasped, the sound swallowed instantly as his lips moved against mine-demanding, punishing, desperate.
And I lingered.
I didn't pull away.
I stayed right there, frozen and burning, because it felt too good not to.
Too right.
Oh my God.
Something inside me gave way, I kissed him back-really kissed him. My lips moved with his, chasing, matching, needing. I lost myself in it, forgot where I was, forgot who he was, forgot everything except the way he tasted and the way my body leaned into him like it had been waiting for this.
I chased his lips when he tried to pull back.
He let out a sharp breath against my mouth.
"See?" he growled. "I fucking knew it."
My head spun.
"You tricked me," I whispered, barely finding my voice.
His mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. Dark. Satisfied.
"Did I?"
I forced myself to pull away, my heart slamming violently against my ribs. I stepped back like distance could save me, like space could undo what we'd just done.
This is wrong. This is wrong. This is so wrong.
His hands curled into his hair, fingers gripping tight as he turned away, jaw clenched like he was barely holding himself together.
"Fuck," he muttered, pacing once like a caged animal. "You don't get to do that to me and pretend you feel nothing."
I swallowed hard.
"Okay," he said suddenly, spinning back to me, eyes blazing. "One last time."
My breath hitched.
"One last fucking time," he continued, voice low and lethal. "And you don't lie to me. You feel it. That's a fucking order."
My pulse went wild.
He didn't wait for an answer.
He kissed me again.
And this one-
This one ruined me.
It was deeper. Slower. Like he wanted me to feel every second of it. His mouth moved against mine with intention, with control, like he was proving a point. My knees went weak, my hands curling into his shirt without permission.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
"Did you feel it?" he asked, voice rough.
I gulped.
"No," I lied.
That was it.
His face went cold.
"Get the fuck out of my office, Raven."
The words hit harder than the kiss.
My chest tightened. I nodded, turning on shaky legs, every part of me screaming in protest even as I reached for the door.
I shouldn't.
I shouldn't.
But I did.
I turned back and kissed him.
Me. This time it was me.
Quick. Desperate. Messy.
God, it felt good.
Too good.
Then his hand slammed against the wall beside my head, his body caging me in as his mouth crushed back onto mine. The kiss turned brutal, consuming, like he was punishing both of us for it.
"This," he said against my lips, voice hoarse and breaking, "is why you need to leave."
I pulled back instantly, breath uneven. I gasped, my hands fisting in his shirt. "Wait-this is wrong."
He didn't stop.
Didn't slow.
"I don't fucking care," he growled into my mouth.
And that was the moment I knew-
He wasn't losing control.
He already had.
I turned to leave again.
I made it two steps before he caught me.
Not rough-decisive.
His hand wrapped around my wrist, stopping me cold, spinning me back before I could breathe. My back hit the wall again, but this time it wasn't the impact that stole my breath-it was him.
Too close.
All heat and hard lines and barely restrained fury.
His other hand slid to my waist, fingers digging in like he was grounding himself there, like letting go would shatter something. His chest pressed into mine, his head dipping just enough that his breath brushed my cheek.
His mouth crashed onto mine.
And this kiss?
This one was different.
It was possession.
My legs nearly gave out. My toes curled. My entire body went weak against him as his kiss swallowed every thought, every ounce of resistance I had left.
I wasn't standing anymore.
I was surrendering.
He broke the kiss just slightly, his lips brushing mine one last time before he pulled back, letting his eyes rake over me with that unreadable, dangerous hunger. My body shivered, weak, trembling from the intensity of what had just happened. I felt exposed, every inch of me ignited, and yet completely under his control.
His breath was hot against my ear, his lips barely grazing my skin as his large hands explored, roaming down to my hips, gripping possessively. Every nerve in my body fired off at once, betraying me, making me lean into him.
The tension between us was unbearable, thick and undeniable. Every breath I took felt heavier, every beat of my heart louder. His presence consuming the entire room. He then lifted me up like I weight nothing and put me on his desk. His gaze was locked on mine, intense, burning. There was no escape from the way he made me feel, no way to ignore how he pulled me in with every step.
His shirt clung to his muscular frame, outlining the strength of his chest and the curve of his shoulders. My hands were trembling slightly as I reached up, almost instinctively, to undo the buttons. It felt like the moment I had been waiting for, the moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.
With each button I popped open, I felt my pulse quicken. When his shirt fell away, revealing his sculpted body beneath, it was impossible to ignore the way my breath caught in my throat. He was built like a god-muscles rippling with every subtle movement, veins snaking across his skin like a roadmap of power. His chest was broad, his abs defined in a way that was almost too perfect to be real, and his arms, covered in intricate tattoos, flexed as he moved, sending a jolt of electricity through me.
I couldn't help it.
My fingers reached out, almost on their own, touching his skin. My hand hovered over his abs, the eight-pack staring back at me, the definition of his body leaving me mesmerized. It was impossible to resist the temptation to trace my fingers over the ridges, feeling the firm, warm skin beneath my touch. His muscles tensed under my fingertips, and I could hear his breath hitch ever so slightly.
I looked up at him, eyes wide, not knowing if I was allowed to touch him in such a way, but unable to stop myself. His smirk was slow and knowing, the kind that said he was aware of every thought I was having, every desire I was trying to hide.
"You want this?" he asked, his voice low and thick with something dangerous.
I nodded, barely able to speak, my fingers still lightly brushing against the hard planes of his stomach. My heart pounded in my chest, and I knew he could feel it too. The heat between us was almost suffocating, but in the best possible way. The air smelled of him-minty, smoky, and intoxicating. It was a scent that wrapped around me, pulling me deeper into him, making me crave more.
He didn't move. He just stood there, watching me, giving me the space to explore. But I knew the moment my fingers brushed the hard line of his abs that something shifted between us. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he let out a soft groan.
"You've been wanting this for a while, haven't you?" he murmured, his voice rough with the same desire I could feel rising inside of me.
Then he flexed.
Just enough.
The muscle shifted under his skin, deliberate. Measured. A silent warning wrapped in temptation.
My breath stuttered before I could stop it.
His mouth curved-not a smile. A threat.
"That's all it takes?" he said quietly.
My knees went weak. "Jesus Christ."
His hands came to my waist, firm, possessive, grounding me like escape was no longer an option.
"Good," he murmured. "Because I don't repeat myself."
I couldn't speak, but I didn't have to. The way I touched him, the way my eyes held his, told him everything. He could see how much I wanted him, how badly I needed him. And when my fingertips gently traced the tattoos on his arm, I felt the tremor in his muscles, the way his entire body reacted to my touch. It was as if the man I'd always seen as untouchable, the powerful, dangerous mafia boss, was just as human as I was.
"Don't stop," he growled softly, his voice filled with a raw, desperate edge.
Write a comment ...