I stand up, my chair legs screeching. "Mr. Gunnar." I keep my tone icy. "Let’s keep this focused on the environmental impact, shall we?"
He chuckles, a dark sound. "Steady, Counselor." He leans over the podium, his voice dropping to a rough, private register that doesn't reach the council but vibrates straight to my marrow. "I’m focused, baby—laser-focused on the way your pulse is hammering at your throat. I know you want me to bend you over this table and sink my cock into you in front of everyone in this room."
The response lands like a physical blow. Condescending. Unprofessional. Yet my pussy is already soaking the silk of my thong, a hot, heavy ache spreading between my thighs as I imagine him hiking this skirt up and burying that thick, heavy cock inside me right here on the council table. I want him to stretch me until I can't breathe. I hate him instantly. I hate him because he represents everything I despise—arrogant and lawless.
"The proposed expansion," I start, turning my back on him to address the Mayor. "Violates Section 4-C of the district preservation code. The construction alone would disrupt the drainage into the Grizzly Creek, not to mention the noise pollution affecting the local fauna."
I launch into my prepared opening statement. I weave facts and statutes into a steel cage of logic. I talk about soil erosion, traffic congestion, and the preservation of Pine Valley’s rustic aesthetic. I am articulate. I am precise. But the whole time, I feel him. He stands four feet away, a radiator of body heat and male pheromones. He smells of sandalwood and leather, underlined by something uniquely muscular. Intoxicating. When I finish, I risk a glance. He watches me with an expression I can’t parse. Pride burns in his gaze, scorching away any hint of annoyance. He enjoys watching me work.
"Your turn, Mr. Gunnar," the Mayor says.
Chase leans into the microphone. "Miss Preston makes a compelling argument," he says, voice smooth as velvet wrapped around a razor blade. "She’s passionate. Detailed. I like that." He pauses. Silence stretches. Innuendo hangs in the air. "But she’s wrong."
He pulls a folded blueprint from his back pocket and snaps it open. "We aren't just expanding a shop. We’re building a community search-and-rescue coordinating center in the basement level. A place for the teams to store gear, map routes, and coordinate during blizzards. We’re doing this for the town. For safety. Peak Wilderness Outfitters pays for it, sure. But Pine Valley reaps the rewards."
A murmur of approval ripples through the room. My spine stiffens. He’s ambushing me.
"That detail was absent from the initial filing," I snap, turning to face him fully.
He turns to me, closing the distance. He steps out from behind his podium. I refuse to back down, but I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eye. Massive. A mountain of a man.
"Things change, Counselor," he says softly, just for me. "We adapt. That’s how we survive up here."
"It’s a manipulation tactic," I hiss. "You’re wrapping a commercial land-grab in a flag of public safety."
"I’m protecting my home," he says, his voice dropping an octave. The olive eyes darken, pupils dilating until the green is just a thin ring of fire. "And when I decide to protect something, Cassandra, nothing gets past me. Nothing hurts it. And nothing takes it away."
The air between us crackles with static electricity. The building is no longer the subject. We both know it. His gaze feels like a physical touch, a heavy palm cupping the back of my neck to force submission while his eyes strip me bare.
"Is that a threat?" I ask, breath coming faster.
"It’s a promise," he murmurs. He leans in closer, invading my personal space, his scent flooding my senses. "You’re fighting the wrong war, baby. You should be careful. You might win the battle and realize you’ve been conquered anyway."
My mouth goes dry. My heart thunders against my ribs with frantic heat. I’ve faced corporate litigators, hostile judges, and screaming ex-husbands. I have never felt this kind of raw, primal danger. Violence isn't the threat here. Being consumed is.
"I don't get conquered," I whisper. Defiance sounds weak to my own ears.
He smiles then. A slow, lazy unfurling of lips reveals white teeth and a hint of a tongue. "We’ll see."
"Order!" Mayor Thompson bangs his gavel, startling me. "Mr. Gunnar, please return to your podium. Miss Preston, do you have a rebuttal?"
I blink, tearing my eyes away from Chase’s hypnotic stare. Disoriented. Like stepping off a spinning ride. I look at my notes, but the words swim. Conquered.
"I... request a recess," I manage. "To review the new proposal regarding the rescue center."
"Granted," the Mayor sighs. "Fifteen minutes."
I turn and practically flee the room. I need air. Space. I need to get away from the gravitational pull of Chase Gunnar. I push through the crowd, ignoring the whispers, and burst out the side door into the cool afternoon air. The alley beside Town Hall is shadowed and quiet. I lean back against the brick wall, closing my eyes, inhaling deeply. My hands still tremble.
Get it together, Cassandra. Just a biker. A thug in a tight shirt using sex appeal as a weapon.
"Running away so soon?"
The voice comes from the shadows, dark and amused. I snap my eyes open. Chase stands at the mouth of the alley, blocking the exit. He’s lit a cigarette, the ember glowing bright orange in the dim light. He takes a drag, cheeks hollowing, then exhales a plume of grey smoke that drifts toward me.
"I’m not running," I say, pushing off the wall. "I’m strategizing."
He walks toward me, slow and deliberate. Heavy boots echo on the pavement. He stops two feet away, trapping me between his massive body and the brick wall.
