And he was going to let me do it, one choice at a time, until he'd chosen his own destruction so thoroughly he'd call it love.
My phone buzzed. Text from Thomas.
Dropped off package at residence. Package appeared confused but unharmed.
I smiled and typed back:Excellent.
Three days until I saw him again. Three days for him to obsess and overthink and convince himself that Tuesday he'd have the strength to maintain boundaries.
He wouldn't.
By Tuesday, he'd be mine.
I just had to be patient.
And patience was something I'd learned very, very well.
CHAPTER 7: EMILIO
I SPENT SUNDAYand Monday trying to convince myself I wouldn't show up to Tuesday's meeting.
Sunday I worked from home, reviewing case files and pretending I wasn't replaying Saturday night on an endless loop. The dinner. The wine. The way Sandro had looked at me across the table like I was something he planned to acquire. The kisses against the window that had left me harder than I'd been in years.
The way he'd sent me home instead of finishing what we'd started.
Monday I went to the office early, buried myself in other cases, and managed to go three entire hours without thinking about the feeling of Sandro's hands in my hair. A personal record, considering I'd spent the previous twenty-four hours thinking about almost nothing else.
My phone buzzed at 11 AM. Text from Sandro.
Still planning to see you tomorrow. 2 PM. Don't be late.
No question about whether I'd show. Just the assumption that I would. The arrogance should have annoyed me. Instead, my cock stirred at the casual dominance in those seven words.
I was so fucked.
I typed back:I'll be there.
Sent it before I could overthink it. Before I could write something professional and distant that would fool exactly no one about what had happened between us.
His response came immediately:Good. I've been thinking about Saturday.
My heart kicked against my ribs. I stared at the message, trying to decide how to respond. Whether to acknowledge what had happened or pretend it hadn't. Whether to maintain professional boundaries that were already so compromised they barely existed.
I went with honesty:So have I.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
I wanted to keep you. Still do. Tuesday we'll discuss whether that's something you want too.
I set my phone face-down on my desk and tried to focus on the contract dispute I was supposed to be reviewing. Failed completely. Read the same paragraph six times without absorbing a single word.
I wanted to keep you.
Not fuck you. Not sleep with you. Keep you. Like I was something to be acquired and possessed. Like Saturday night had been the opening move in a game I didn't know the rules to but was already losing.
The worst part was how much the idea appealed to me. Being kept. Being owned. Being the focus of all that intense attention instead of being overlooked and undervalued.
I was definitely fucked.
