And while it’s hard, still I wait.
I kneel in silence, the cool marble pressing against my skin. The anticipation tightens low in my belly, winding through my veins like a slow-burning fuse.
I don’t know why I want to obey him. There’s just something about the way Hayden speaks, the way he looks at me, that makes it hard to say no. It’s not like I’m in love with him, but when he tells me what to do, I listen. I don’t even think about it. I just react. And the worst part is, some part of me wants to. I want to follow his lead. I want to kneel for him, even if I don’t understand why.
It’s freeing, in a way. To submit. My whole life has been a perfect road of instruction: get the grades, smile politely, say the right thing, follow the plan. Always in control, always performing. But with him, it’s different. I don’t have to think or calculate. I just listen. I justfeel. And when I let go, when I follow his lead without question, there’s this strange relief. Like I can finally breathe. Like someone else is holding the weight for once,and all I have to do is give in. With him, there is never room for discussion, and in the loss of choice, I find freedom.
Everything is in place.
Including me.
The room remains still, but I feel him before I hear him. A shift in the air, the weight of his presence pressing against the quiet. Then, footsteps, measured and unhurried, the sound of leather against marble.
I keep my eyes downcast as he enters.
The space he commands is immediate, inescapable. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to—his energy crackles in the air between us, igniting something profound, something that has been waiting.
Then, his hand.
Fingers curl beneath my chin, firm in the way they lift my face to meet his gaze. My breath catches. His eyes are dark, so full of anger, yet they look down at me, and for the first time, I see the war in them. I feel like he sees through me. Every thought I haven’t voiced. Every ache I try to hide. Each breath slips out of me in shallow pants, my lips parting without meaning to.
His grip tightens just enough to part my lips, and then his mouth crashes against mine.
His lips are full of heat and pressure. A kiss that is not gentle, not patient, but claiming. His lips move with purpose, slow, deliberate devouring, and I give in to it, letting him take what he already owns.
His other hand comes up, fingers threading into my hair as he deepens the kiss, angling my face to his liking. My lipstick smears, smudging between us, staining me. He tastes of cold vodka and something that makes my pulse race.
When he finally pulls away, his thumb drags across my lower lip, smearing more lipstick around.
“Messy,” he murmurs, almost amused, his voice low and knowing.
I swallow, my breath unsteady.
His thumb drags lazily across my lower lip, smearing the last bits of my lipstick across my cheek. His gaze flicks over my face, studying the mess he’s made of me, his expression smug.
I'm breathless, but he's in complete control of himself.
Bringing his thumb back to my mouth, he pulls my lower lip down slightly, exposing the bottom row of my teeth. He presses against them, making me open my mouth, as he drags his thumb on the tip of my tongue.
He straightens, taking a slow step back, regarding me with that insufferable look of quiet amusement.
His fingers trail down my jaw before gripping it again, harder this time, just shy of pain. “You’re going to sign this contract,” he says, calm, absolute—a fact, not a request.
I force my breath steady, meeting his gaze head-on. “Forcing my hand already?”
That earns me a quiet laugh, dark and edged with condescension. “Martine,” he drawls, tilting his head, “while I enjoy you being an argumentative brat, this isn’t up for negotiation.”
His hand moves down, fingers brushing the curve of my throat, pressing lightly. Just hard enough to be a reminder. A warning.
“You look so beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Which means you already know how this ends.”
I should stay silent. It would be easier and much safer for me to bite my tongue.
Instead, I push back.
“You think so?” I say, my voice steady, sharper than he expects. “Maybe I’m here because I enjoy watching you waste your time.”
His smirk flickers, just for a moment, before it sharpens.
