*Isabella's POV*
"Exactly. That doesn't mean we can't see each other at home. You avoid seeing me at all costs, and that's just childish," I said, my voice shaking with a frustration I couldn't contain anymore.
"Isabella, what if I told you I can't fucking control myself around you? Hmm? Did you think of that?" he snapped back, his eyes no longer cold but burning with a raw, undisguised desire that made my breath catch in my throat.
"What... you...." I said, my eyes widening in shock, my brain struggling to process his sudden, fucking confession.
The words just blurted out of me, so sudden I even surprised myself. "We're used to controlling ourselves. I've done it since I've met you." Yes, I wanted him since I met him. And yes, I've controlled myself around you all the time. And I just confessed that to him like it was nothing.
"I really can't, Isabella," he said, his voice ragged. He moved closer, and closer, until there was no space left between us, until his body was flush against mine. I could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell his clean, intoxicating scent.
"Once I got a taste of you, I cannot hold myself anymore. I want to fucking possess you every minute of every day. I can't resist... and it's not fair... to Jacob." He paused, his voice dropping to a pained whisper. "If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't be here. I didn't even think I could dare to touch you. He doesn't deserve this. We can't betray him. We won't." He let out a shaky breath, his forehead almost resting against mine. "Although you drive me fucking crazy. So please, Isabella... I beg you. Stay away from me until Jacob is back from New York."
His words, his plea, it just intensified everything—my desire, my frustration, the ache in my chest.
"That's what you want, huh?" I said, my voice turning cold, the hurt lacing every word. "Us being back to Mr. Lancaster and Ms. Williams." I took a step back, putting a sliver of space between us, a wall I immediately started to build. "Fine then. Have a good day, sir." I said, turning on my heel and walking out of his office.
Just as my hand touched the doorknob, his shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a steel band. He pulled me back, spinning me around to face him. Before I could even gasp, he caught my other wrist, pressing both of my hands firmly together between us. He moved closer, his body a wall of heat in front of me, his breath ghosting over my cheek, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
And no, I didn't enjoy what he was doing. I was fucking living for it. Every cell in my body was screaming, every nerve ending alight with a desperate, hungry fire. I loved it. I loved the feeling of his strength, the possessive grip, the sheer, overwhelming force of him.
"About calling me 'sir,' Isabella," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated right through me. "It drives my imagination wild." He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against my ear. "I would prefer not to hear that from you again... unless I have you pinned down against my bed."
My imagination was already running wild before he told me that, but now... now my knees were about to fucking fail me. The image his words painted was so vivid, so fucking intoxicating, I could barely breathe.
But I had to resist. I couldn't do this. I can't stand rejection, not from him, not right now. I pulled on every last shred of my self-control, forcing the words out.
"I understand. Goodbye, Damien," I said, my voice a cold, steady line. I yanked my wrists free from his grasp and walked out of his office, my head held high, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I didn't look back.
I went back to my desk, trying to drown my thoughts in a sea of spreadsheets and emails, but that never fucking works. My brain was a broken record, stuck on a single, goddamn word. Goodbye. What the hell does that even mean, "goodbye," when he's in the room right next door? When I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my wrists, the heat of his breath on my cheek? It was a joke. A cruel, sick joke.
Then my phone rang, shrill and insistent, yanking me from my spiral of frustration.
"Yes?" I answered, my voice clipped, hoping I sounded busy and important.
"Order me my usual and go get lunch too," his voice commanded through. It was cold, devoid of any emotion, the same tone he'd use with a stranger or other employees, not his girlfriend. It was like the kiss, the confession, the raw need... none of it had ever happened.
Breathe, Isabella. I told myself, my knuckles white as I gripped the phone. We don't want to upset the 'big boss'. The sarcasm in my own head was bitter enough to taste.
"Fine," I said, forcing my voice into a smooth, neutral tone. "You'll have your meal delivered to your office shortly." I didn't wait for a response. I just hung up, slamming the phone down a little harder than necessary. Oh Fuck this. And fuck me for caring so much.
At lunch, I practically fled to the cafeteria, needing a fucking break from the suffocating tension of my own mind. I spotted Cole immediately and made my way to his table, plopping down in the chair beside him with a dramatic sigh.
"I missed you, bitch," I said, leaning my head against his shoulder for a second.
"And how I missed you, bitch," he teased, not missing a beat. "You don't talk to us commoners anymore since you started living with the bosses." He winked suggestively. "So, how's Jacob?"
just rolled my eyes, taking a sip of his soda.
"Have you fucked?" he asked, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
I could feel the heat rush to my face, a fucking traitorous blush I couldn't control. Oh, you don't know the half of it.
"OMG, you did! You slut!" he cheered, a little too loudly, drawing a few stares.
"Oh, be careful you don't want to slut-shame me, you hypocrite," I shot back, dropping my own voice to a whisper. "From what I recall, you bang your boss."
"OMG, isn't she married?" I suddenly remembered, my eyes widening.
"Shhh," he whispered, looking around nervously. "She's going through a divorce."
"You're still the biggest slut in the room," I said with a smirk.
"Not really, I heard that Brittany..." he was saying, but I cut him off, a sudden, visceral wave of disgust washing over me.
"Eeww, I don't want to hear about that hoe," I spat out, my voice sharper than I intended.
Cole looked at me, taken aback. "But you're normally all for the tea. What's going on?"
"I just hate her face," I said, picking up my fork. "Now, can I please eat in peace without her ruining my appetite?" I took a big bite of my salad, trying to physically shove down the frustration that was threatening to boil over. I couldn't deal with Damien, and I wont hear about fucking Brittany right now. I was a mess.