She's in the master bedroom of the penthouse suite now, the one I had prepared for her, humming as she kicks off her impossibly high heels. They clatter against the polished marble floor. She does it with a careless grace, like this is just another content trip, another luxurious backdrop for her curated life.
The straps of her dress, that slinky, dark green fabric, slip off her shoulders, revealing the smooth curve of her skin. And I should turn away since she intentionally left the door open.
But I don't.
I can’t.
My eyes track every movement, drinking in every curve. She’s still humming, like she hasn’t just set fire to everything I’ve spent years building.
Her dress clings in all the right places while my control fractures in all the worst ones.
I know I should walk away. Shut the door. Drown myself in data and damage control.
But I just stand there.
Watching her like a man on the edge of something irreversible.
"Nikki," I say in warning.
She freezes, her hands halting halfway to unzipping her dress. Then, slowly, she turns. Her eyes, magnified by the low light of the suite, meet mine. There's something there. Mischief, yes. Defiance, absolutely. But underneath it all, something softer. Something almost scared, a flicker of vulnerability she tries to conceal. It's fleeting, but I see it and it calls to me.
"You liked the kiss," she says, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. "What you don’t like is that I’m the one who took the initiative. You don't like that I'm the one who decided when the kiss happened. That's it, isn't it?"
I cross the room in three strides. "You don't get to make the rules. Not here. Not in my world. You're a guest. Not the architect of this charade."
"Oh, so it's fine when you're shirtless in the background of my stories," she replies, "looking all brooding and mysterious, causing a global meltdown, but God forbid I act like we're actually a couple. God forbid I add a little authenticity to your meticulously planned illusion. Is that it? Is it getting a little too real for you?"
Damn it, she's pushing me again. She’s pushing for a reaction, an explosion.
If she wants to see me lose control then she's about to get it.
I pin her against the wall, my body a barrier, one hand at her waist, the other braced above her head, slamming against the cool marble just beside her face. Her breath catches, a small, startled gasp, and so does mine. The air thickens, charged with an undeniable current, a raw, almost violent tension. Our bodies are mere inches apart.
"I'm not your fucking plaything," I say, my words rough with barely contained fury. My eyes bore into hers, demanding submission. "I'm not a character in your little internet drama. This is my goddamn life. And there are real consequences to your reckless provocations."
"No," she whispers, "you’re not my plaything, but I might be yours. Whether you want to admit it or not. I might just be the one thing you can't control. The one thing you can't calculate away. And that scares the hell out of you, doesn't it?"
My grip tightens on her waist, my fingers digging into her soft skin. Her dress, already loose on her shoulders, slides lower, exposing the delicate curve of her collarbones, the swell of her chest. We're inches apart, nose to nose, breath mingling.
God,I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to fuck her.
I drink in the scent of her perfume, something light and floral, mixed with the faint scent of her skin. Feel her chest rise against mine, the frantic beat of her heart mirroring my own. Every nerve in my body is screaming for contact. The control I pride myself on, it's unraveling, thread by thread.
But I don't.
If I start, I won’t stop. And if I don’t stop, I lose control. Not just over her, but over everything I’ve spent my life building.
And that's the true danger.
That's the one thing I can't allow. It's a weakness, a vulnerability I can't afford. Instead, I pull back, to break the connection, the magnetic pull that threatens to consume me until we’re both burned to ashes.
I let go.
My hand leaves her waist, her body. I step back, forcing distance between us. The sudden release makes her sway slightly. She stares at me like I just set her on fire and walked away from the flames, leaving her to burn alone.
And I did.
But it cost me every damn thing I have in me to do it.
