She blushes, lowering her gaze, but I can see the way her pulse flutters at her throat. And I know no matter who’s offering her cake, no matter how sweet the party, she’s thinking of me too.
Someone—I think it’s Owen, voice too high—calls out, “Would you like to join us, Mr. Vasiliev?” The invitation rings hollow. I know they’re hoping I’ll politely decline and disappear so they can go back to laughing without fear.
But today, I don’t.
I step into the room, the air tightening around us. The chatter fades to whispers, nervous glances bouncing between me and Zatanna. Even Owen takes a careful step back, suddenly interested in the wallpaper.
Zatanna sits frozen on the edge of the sofa, a paper plate balanced on her knee, the half-eaten cake waiting for another bite. Her cheeks are still dusted with color from the attention—and something more when our eyes meet. I hold her gaze, letting the silence stretch, feeling the way it makes her squirm.
I move closer, take the fork from her plate with a slow, deliberate motion. Every set of eyes in the room is on us. The space between us thrums, full of everything we can’t say.
“Try this,” I say, voice pitched low enough for only her to hear. I bring the fork to her lips, holding it just a second too long. She parts her lips, breath trembling, and lets me feed her, eyes never leaving mine.
Her tongue darts out, taking the cake from the fork. I watch the way her lips close around the bite, how she swallows, her pulse fluttering wildly at her throat. The room has gone so still you could hear a pin drop.
I lean in, brushing my thumb against the corner of her mouth where a bit of frosting lingers. My touch is gentle, but my gaze is possessive, promising more than anyone else in the room can even imagine.
Her tongue flicks out again to catch a crumb, and for a split second, I imagine her on her knees before me, lips parting not for cake, but for my cock—hungry, eager, her mouth so hot and wet around me I’d lose myself in seconds.
“Delicious,” I murmur, voice meant for her alone.
Her breath catches, and for a heartbeat, the whole world narrows to just the two of us, the air thick with wanting.
The others are forgotten.
All I see is her. All she sees is me.
12
ZATANNA
His fingers brushthe corner of my mouth as he feeds me, his eyes never blinking, never straying. The entire rec room has gone silent, the kind of hush that’s so thick it feels like pressure in my ears. I can barely think. All I’m aware of is the strange, shameful ache curling low in my stomach, the memory of his hands on me, and the way his body felt pressed to mine.
My thoughts slip to things I shouldn’t be thinking about, to his mouth, his hands, the way he looked at me in the steam, hungry and lost.
The words are rough, almost a growl, meant for me alone, but they reverberate through the group. For a split second, I’m frozen in place, caught between wanting to disappear and wanting to follow him without question.
I glance around, suddenly hyper-aware of every set of eyes on us. Lina looks worried, Owen’s mouth hangs open, and a few others are pointedly not looking at either of us, pretending to be fascinated by their phones or the half-eaten cake on their plates.
I try to play it cool, sliding off the counter, smoothing my skirt. “Thanks, everyone. Cake was great.” I shoot Owen an apologetic smile, knowing I’ve left him in the lurch.
He just shrugs, murmuring, “We’ll talk later,” trying to keep things light, but even he looks relieved as I follow Aleksei out.
The hallway outside feels cooler with air easier to breathe, but my heart is racing as I fall into step behind him. His stride is purposeful, almost impatient, and I struggle to match it.
Inside, my thoughts are a riot—embarrassment for making a scene, confusion about what just happened, and a burning awareness of him that won’t go away. Was I imagining things, or was everyone in that room just as stunned as I was by the way he touched me? By the way I let him?
As I catch up, nerves jangle through me, every cell on high alert.What was that all about?I wonder, panic and anticipation mixing in my chest.And what does he want from me now?
The walk to his office is a blur. I’m clutching my hands together, my mind a jumbled parade of panicked possibilities.
What if he fires me? What if I just embarrassed myself beyond repair in front of the whole office? What if he brings up yesterday, or worse—what if hedoesn’t? My brain refuses to settle, careening between panic and flashes of memory that make my cheeks burn.
And then there are the other thoughts, the ones I’m definitely not supposed to have about my boss. I press my thighs together, willing the heat to die down, praying I don’t look as wrecked as I feel.
When we reach his office, he pushes the door open and waits, holding it for me. It’s a tiny gesture—one I never expected from him—but it makes the moment feel almost… normal. The little flicker of gentleness, just for a second, eases some of the knot in my stomach.
“Sit,” he says, nodding to the chair across from his desk. His voice is steady, low, not quite friendly but not threatening either. The door closes behind me with a quiet click, sealing us in together.
