His mouth was a breath from mine, the air between us crackling with unspoken promises and threats.
His hand was still tangled in my hair, the grip a firm, possessive anchor. I could feel the thrum of his pulse, a frantic counterpoint to my own.
This was it. The precipice. I had pushed him, and he had admitted, in his own dangerous way, that I was a threat he might just allow to consume him.
Then, his eyes changed. The fire banked, replaced by the cold, hard steel of the CEO. It was like watching a door slam shut. He pulled back, not with a jerk, but with a deliberate, controlled motion that was more chilling than any rejection. He released my hair, the loss of his touch a sudden, cold void on my scalp. The memory of his warmth remained, a phantom sensation that made the air feel even colder.
He straightened his tie, a small, precise gesture that severed the moment completely. The predator was back in its cage, and I had just witnessed the bars slam shut.
