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Leap or fall.
“You’re not leaving,” he says, pulling my attention to him.
“Why not?”
He steps closer, crowding my personal space and filling the small span of air between us with the heady scent of his cologne. It rushes my senses, causing my head to feel faint. “Because I don’t want you to,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You’re coming to my office to take care of that stain.”
Looking down, I inspect the wet spot. “It’s a black dress. I doubt the stain will show.”
“Alexis, it wasn’t a request.”
My head snaps up, and when my gaze connects with his, I’m effectually caught. This isn’t a game. My boss is not seducing me. Something else very visceral and without pretense is taking place. And I’m too out of my depth to control it, or even understand it.
If for no other reason than to hear him say my name again, I nod. “All right.”
He takes my arm. Not in a guiding manor, how a man might loop a woman’s elbow around his own. He clutches my bicep, his strong fingers digging into my flesh and searing my skin through the thin barrier of my dress.
This one action ignites a wildfire that sweeps through me, blazing and destructive. I’m sure this man could devastate my reality. I feel as if everything I’ve known—everything I was sure of in my life up until this point—is about to be put into question.
What’s more, against all logic, a deep, hidden part of me craves just that—to have my existence tested. To be pushed to the edge of something daring. Frightening, even. To veer off the road—just let go of the wheel—of the steadfast course.
“Aren’t you tired of controlling every aspect of your life only to feel powerless in the end?”
His question should confuse me. More so, it borders on invasive and presumes he knows anything at all about me—and it should be distasteful. Only it’s not. With close enough inspection, anyone can see the hunch of my shoulders. The way my pale skin reflects the fatigue I endure every day trying to maintain an ounce of control.
“You’re scaring me.” It’s a brutally honest response. I don’t understand what’s happening or why. I can’t rationalize anything that’s taken place after I left the party.
His hand grips me tighter as he steers me toward his office. “You have no reason to be frightened. Not yet, Alexis.”
The floor beneath my feet feels unstable. The building—dark and empty at night—is a different world than the one I reside in during the day. It’s his world, and I’ve somehow been swept up into it, entirely unaware.
Only, I know Chase Larkin doesn’t do anything by mistake or on a whim.
I allow him to lead me into his immaculate office. He shuts the door behind us, finally releasing my arm. My skin is cool from the sudden absence of his warmth. I turn toward him. “Is this about my submission? Did I do something wrong?”
My voice is small and questioning, like a child trying to gauge a parent’s punishment. With anyone else, I would loathe this about myself. But as I stand in his presence, this beautiful man who has never acknowledged me before tonight, I’m too dazed to resent myself.
He flips the lock. The sound of the bolt lodging into place echoes through the room, effectively sealing us inside. He approaches me then, his movements purposeful and thrumming with power. “Take off your dress.”
A rush of adrenaline spikes my blood. My blinks come rapidly as I attempt to clear my vision, like it will help me process the situation. “I’m sorry…what—?”
“Stop being sorry,” he says, aggressively cutting me off as he stalks forward. “You heard me. Your dress is stained, ruined. I don’t wish to see it on you any longer.”
I can’t grasp a response fast enough.
“You know why you’re here, Alexis,” he continues. “I’m not one of those boys from accounting. I’m nothing comparable to the paralegals or interns trying to fuck you at a raunchy company party, like your friends desire.” He cocks his head, indicating the party outside his office.
“They’re not my friends,” I snap. Though I’m not sure why that detail is important—not when my boss is ordering me to undress in his office.
In a fluid turn, he pivots, coming up behind me. So close, I can taste his scent on my tongue. I press my lips together and force myself to take short, measured breaths. How far will this go? How far will I let this go?
The charged air between us hums against my skin. My purse drops to the floor. And when he strokes a finger along my shoulder, a current ripples in its wake. I shiver at the feel of his hand. My eyes close, my body responding to him of its own accord.
“I don’t like this,” I say, but my voice holds no conviction.
“You don’t know w
hat you like.” His hand flattens against my back, forcing my body to arc. “I’m not any more pleased than you are about being forced into this situation. But as I’ve accepted the outcome, you have two choices: take off your dress, or find another place of employment.”
