BEG FOR IT !

The phone wouldn't stop.

ALEXANDER STERLING.

Third time. Ethan was downstairs. If I declined again, I knew — tomorrow I wouldn't have a job.

I locked the bathroom door and picked up, my voice a whisper.

"S-Sir? Sorry, sir... I couldn't pick before..."

Silence. Then his voice. Casual. Low. Like he was lying on his bed after a shower.

He laughed. Low. Lazy

"I want to know why my secretary ran home like a scared little girl," he said. Casual. Too casual. "Did you go home and let your husband touch you after watching me, Ryan?"

My face burned. "That's none of your business."

"It became my business the moment you walked into MY private room," he said, his voice dropping. "You saw me, Ryan. You saw what I am. No other secretary has seen that. You think I let you walk away just like that?"

I couldn't breathe.

"Answer me," he said, possessive now. "Did he touch you?"

"No."

"Good." He sounded satisfied. "You were jealous today. I saw it. You watched her on my bed and you hated her because it wasn't you. Say it. Say you were jealous."

I bit my lip hard. I didn't want to say it. But my silence said it.

"That's my good girl," he whispered. "Jealous looks good on you. But don't worry, Ryan. Next time you are in that room, you won't be in the corner. You will be on the bed. Collared. Where you belong."

My legs gave out. I had to hold the sink.

"Tomorrow. 8pm. meeting I will send a car. Black dress. No lipstick.

"Yes... Alexander"

He hung up.

I was left shaking, sweaty, staring at my own reflection

---

He said it was a meeting with clients.

That's why I wore a black dress. No lipstick. Just like he said.

The driver — his driver — dropped me off 30 minutes ago in a location I barely know. Not a restaurant. Not a hotel meeting room.

A private building. Glass. Dark. Too quiet.

The lobby smells like expensive perfume and nothing else. No clients. No receptionist. Just me.

I have been waiting.

I checked my phone five times.

8:12pm

8:19pm

8:27pm

No clients. He wasn't even there.

And this place? Does this actually look like a meeting place? The lights are low. The sofa is too soft. There's only one long table with two glasses of wine and no food.

My heart is beating fast now. Not in a good way.

Was this a lie? Did he send me here to...

The elevator dinged.

My head snapped up.

Alexander walked out. No suit jacket. White shirt, sleeves rolled up, top buttons open. Hair still wet like he just showered nearby.

He looked at me sitting there alone in the black dress, legs pressed together, scared.

And he smirked.

"Where are the clients, sir?" I asked, my voice small.

He walked slowly to the table, picked up his wine, and sat down.

"There are no clients, Ryan."

My stomach dropped.

"What?"

"I said there would be clients because I knew if I said 'come to my private apartment for dinner', the good little married Mrs. Carter would say no."

He looked at me from head to toe.

"So? Are you going to run? Or are you going to sit and have dinner with your boss?"

I stood up. "Sir, this is not right, I have a husband —"

"Sit."

One word. Quiet. But my body sat before my mind could think.

He leaned forward.

"What do you really want, Ryan?"

He was suddenly behind me. I didn't even hear him move.

His voice was low at my ear.

"Because your body is telling me everything your mouth won't say."

I couldn't move. His hand was on the back of my chair. Not touching me. But close enough that I could feel heat.

"You told me Ethan doesn't look at you anymore. That he doesn't touch you like he used to."

My eyes filled. "I never said that —"

"You didn't have to," he whispered. "I see it. In the way you sit. In the way you stared that day in my office. You are starving."

He walked around, slow, and crouched in front of me. Eye level. His hand finally touched me — just his fingertips, drawing slow circles on the top of my thigh, OVER my black dress. Never underneath. Respectful, but possessive.

"Well, you have my attention now," he said, his grey eyes locked on mine. "All of it. And I am not a good man, Ryan. When I look at you in that dress with no lipstick, like I told you... I don't think good thoughts."

My breath hitched.

"I think bad things," he continued, his fingers still tracing. "Very bad things. Things a good married girl like you should run from."

"Then why — why did you bring me here?" I whispered, tears now.

"Because I wanted to see if you would run."

He kissed my lips slowly.

Slowly.

I froze. Not that I didn't want it — God help me, I wanted it — but I was in shock. No one had kissed me like that in years. Not fast. Not husband-kiss-on-the-cheek. Slow, like he owned every second of it.

My hands stayed in my lap. I didn't push him. I didn't pull him. I just... stopped breathing.

He took a step back.

Just one step.

And looked at me.

His eyes went dark when he saw my face. My lips were parted. My chest was moving fast. I was looking at him because I wanted more. I know I was. I couldn't hide it.

He knew.

"Oh," he whispered, with that smug, possessive smirk. "There she is."

"What?" I breathed.

"The girl who was in the corner that day. You want more, don't you, Ryan?"

I should have said no. I should have said I'm married.

I didn't.

He leaned against the table, arms crossed, looking down at me like a king.

"Then ask for it."

My eyes widened. "Sir —"

"Say it," he ordered, quiet but final. "Say 'Kiss me again, Alexander.'"

My face was burning. My heart was about to jump out of my black dress.

"Kiss... kiss me again... Alexander," I whispered, barely a sound.

"Louder. Like you mean it. Like you forgot you have a husband."

I swallowed tears. Shame and heat all at once.

"Kiss me again, Alexander. Please."

He smiled. Satisfied. He walked back, cupped my jaw so gently it hurt, and kissed me again — deeper this time. My hands finally moved, grabbing his white shirt without permission.

He broke it again. Just to torture me.

"Stand up."

I stood up.

"Turn around."

I turned around, confused, legs shaking.

"My zipper is stuck. Fix it for me."

It wasn't. He knew it wasn't. It was an order. A test. To see if I would obey.

I fixed it, fingers trembling.

"Good girl."

And then —

My phone rang.

Loud. On the table. Where we could both see it.

ETHAN...

My husband's name on the screen.

Alexander looked at the phone. Then at me. And he did not let go of my waist.

"Answer it," he whispered in my ear.