MasukThe office had never felt so small.
Every desk, every chair, every polished marble surface was suddenly irrelevant. Nothing mattered except the space between him and me. Drake’s eyes—dark, stormy, impossible—locked onto mine. The kind of look that saw everything and yet demanded more. “Sit,” he said, voice low, dangerous. Commanding, but not cruel. More… intimate. Personal. I obeyed, heart hammering so loudly I was sure the entire floor could hear it. He walked around the desk again, deliberate, predatory, like he was stalking me in a way that made my stomach twist in anticipation and terror. “Do you know how hard it is,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “to keep my hands to myself?” I shivered. “I—I can’t even imagine.” “You can,” he countered softly, his gaze flicking to my lips for a fraction of a second, “because you feel it too. Don’t lie to me.” I swallowed. My voice faltered. “I… I feel it.” A small, dangerous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Good,” he murmured. And then he closed the distance. His presence engulfed me. The heat radiating off him was addictive, suffocating, impossible to ignore. “Drake…” I whispered, barely audible. “Yes?” His voice was silk, velvet, and fire all at once. “I… I shouldn’t…” My words faltered, a weak protest. He pressed a finger gently against my lips. “Shh. Don’t fight it. Not tonight.” And then… his hand brushed mine. Not the accidental touch of a colleague, but deliberate, intimate. Fire shot up my arm. My pulse skyrocketed. “I’ve wanted this,” he confessed, voice low and raw. “Since the day you walked in here. But I… I didn’t know if I could. If I should. If I had the right.” I couldn’t stop myself. “Then… don’t think. Just… be here.” And he was. Closer. Closer. Until I could feel the rapid beat of his chest, the heat radiating off his skin, the dangerous edge of desire in his every movement. For the first time, he seemed… he let his guard down just enough for me to see it—the tension in his shoulders, the tiny hitch in his breath, the way his jaw flexed as he fought something inside him. “I shouldn’t want you like this,” he whispered, eyes dark with something fierce and unspoken. “I shouldn’t feel this. But I do. God, I do. And it scares me… because I can’t stop.” My chest tightened. “I feel it too,” I admitted softly. “I… I want you.” The air between us became unbearable, charged with something deeper than lust. Something forbidden. Something desperate. Something almost… dangerous. My knees threatened to buckle. “Do you trust me?” he murmured. I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” His lips captured mine in a slow, deliberate kiss—possessive, consuming, testing boundaries I had only ever imagined in stolen thoughts. The office ceased to exist. Files, deadlines, rules—all meaningless. There was only us. Only the heat, the ache, the raw pull of forbidden desire. His hands traced my sides, over my ribs, careful, calculated… yet claiming. The kind of touch that made me dizzy, weak, and utterly addicted all at once. I clutched his shoulders, trying to ground myself, but every second with him sent me spiraling further. And as the kiss deepened, has his hand begun conquer ,trace and to own every part of me. "Uhhh, Drake..." I moaned his name. He's unraveling the desires inside of me. With his suffocating and addicting kisses , I'm thirsty... of more of him. In an instant he lifted me as he sat on his table and carried me to sit on his lap facing him. I wrapped my armes around his neck as he unbottoned my blouse and then I removed it for him and tossed it on the floor as soon as he unbottoned everything. He leaned again and kissed me. This time deeper yet softer, delicate but deeper. He bit my lower lip and sucked my tongue ,sucked it like hell driving me crazy. His lips traced back down my neck then he unhooked my bra ,tossed it aside then he adored a look at both my bobbies cupped both of them on his hands in admiration ," These are mine now ,Sabrina, only mine," he says. My boobs are heavy and big and I know they're one of the reasons why I'm a head turner and I'm proud of that. I have big boobs and big booties because I workout to fit, I'm a figure OC that's why. He put one nipple inside his mouth and sucked ir hard. " Ahhhh," I moaned again. He looked up to me and smirked without releasing my nipple and sucked it again as he watched my reaction. I didn't look away and he saw in my eyes the hunger,the lust that he has unraveled and I want more. He released that nipple and licked the other,circled it with his tongue and brought my nerves sensational feeling I never felt before, then he kissed it and sucked again Deeper. Harder. Owning. Wanting.i He sucked it on and on while his hands lifted my pencil cut skirt and he slid his fingers inside the tiny garment that is now covering the wetness of mine. He felt it. He carressed it. He traced the folds of my vulva with his fingers and that skill of him if you call it skill, brought me into a different heights i have never been before. The feeling is addicting, it weakened my thghs but the wrakening felt addictive, I want more. His finger traced the small skin,the most sensitive skin of my clitt and that's the most electic and mind-blowing part he dared to touch and he moved his finger there, softly at first ...then stroked it more this time faster and the feeling made me shiver in exquisite sensation I love but I cannot explain....I moaned his name... over and over.." yeah...ahhhhhhh there....oh Drake please don't stop...ahhhhhhh" and I begged for more. then I realized one terrifying, exhilarating truth: I had crossed the line. There was no going back.“Who the hell even is Mendoza?”I froze mid-step, my hand hovering over the boutique’s glass door, as the words echoed through the chic SoHo showroom. The voice belonged to a sharply dressed woman in her forties, a buyer whose reputation had built and broken careers in a single lunch meeting. She clicked her pen deliberately against her pristine notebook, the sound like a metronome counting down my professional death.I swallowed, forcing my expression into calm professionalism. “I’m Sabrina Mendoza,” I said, letting my voice steady itself even though my heart was hammering like a drum in my chest. “I represent my own line, Mendoza Luxe. I believe our pieces could complement your boutique perfectly.”Her laugh wasn’t just dismissive—it was the kind that carved spaces in your soul, that made you question your existence in front of her. “Complement?” she repeated, rolling the word as if it were sour on her tongue. “Sweetheart, you’re unknown. I don’t do unknowns. I do what sells. And I
“Do you trust me?”“I have to,” I whispered back. “Because if I don’t, this whole thing falls apart.”Aria stared at me across the cluttered worktable, gemstone tweezers frozen mid-air. Her eyes searched my face, not for doubt—but for fire.“Then stop holding back.”The words struck harder than she probably intended.I inhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around the charcoal pencil. The sketchpad beneath my hands was already crowded with half-formed ideas: sharp-edged necklaces, broken-chain bracelets, imperfect rings that looked like they had survived a war. But none of them were enough.None of them felt like me.Not yet.“Okay,” I said hoarsely. “Then I’m going to design something I’m scared to admit exists.”“Good,” Kai muttered from his station. “Fear makes better art.”Theo rolled his chair closer, eyes bright behind his glasses. “This is it. This is the collection that defines Mendoza Luxe.”The name still made my heart stutter.Mendoza Luxe.Mine.No longer Drake’s shadow. No
“You’re late.”“I know,” I said breathlessly, shoving the glass door open with my shoulder while juggling three boxes of materials. “But the supplier changed the drop-off time and—”“And you still look like you fought a dragon,” Lila finished, eyeing my smudged jeans and paint-streaked hands.“Details.”The small office smelled like fresh wood, metal dust, and ambition. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating half-built tables, scattered tools, and sketches taped messily across the walls. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t polished. But it was alive.My dream had a heartbeat now.And today, I was about to bring in the people who would help keep it alive.Three chairs stood in front of my desk—mismatched, secondhand, slightly crooked. I’d spent hours arranging the space to look professional despite our limited budget. The chipped table now gleamed. The walls were freshly painted. Even the cheap coffee machine hummed optimistically.“You nervous?” Lila asked, leaning against
“So this is where I either rebuild my life… or lose myself completely.”The words slipped from my lips as I stood on the cracked pavement, staring at the row of aging buildings lining the street. My breath fogged the chilly morning air, heart thundering against my ribs. The city hummed around me—honking cars, distant sirens, the low buzz of people chasing their own dreams. But for a moment, everything narrowed to this single stretch of road.This single decision.Lila stood beside me, hands tucked into the pockets of her oversized coat, eyes scanning the neighborhood with mild suspicion. “You look like you’re about to either conquer the world or set it on fire.”“Maybe both,” I muttered.The buildings weren’t glamorous. No glass towers. No marble lobbies. Just brick walls, dusty windows, faded signs. But there was something raw and honest about this place—like it wasn’t pretending to be more than it was.And neither was I anymore.We walked slowly, s
“Why does heartbreak always sound like a dare instead of an ending?”The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them, whispered into the stillness of my tiny apartment like a confession meant for the walls. The city outside hummed with distant traffic, but inside, everything felt suspended—breath, time, pain, hope—caught between what I had lost and what I didn’t yet know how to build.I stared at the blank sketchpad in front of me.Blank, just like my future.Or maybe… not.I exhaled slowly and picked up my pencil.My fingers trembled. Not from fear—no, from pressure. The kind that came when your soul was crowded with too many emotions and nowhere to pour them. Rage. Loss. Love. Obsession. Grief. Longing. Desire. The ghost of Drake Peterson’s voice still echoed in my head, his last cold words looping endlessly.Take the money. Leave. Disappear.So I did.I left his world.But I didn’t leave myself.The pencil touched paper.A soft, hesitant line curved across the page. Then an
“Cancel the buyback....now.”The words left my mouth like a gunshot, sharp enough to slice the room in half. Every executive at the long obsidian table froze. Screens along the wall flickered red—numbers bleeding, graphs collapsing in real time. Peterson Luxe, my empire, was finally showing visible fractures.“Drake,” my CFO said carefully, voice tight, “if we cancel now, the market will interpret this as panic.”“They already are,” I snapped. My fingers curled against the tabletop, veins standing out like cables under skin. “I won’t pour blood into a fire Emma lit.”No one said her name out loud. They didn’t need to. She was everywhere—behind the sudden sell-offs, the anonymous whistleblower memos, the perfectly timed leaks to financial media. Emma Brookes didn’t attack with knives. She used silk gloves and poison.A junior analyst swallowed. “Sir… the London funds just pulled out.”There it was. Another pillar gone.I leaned back slowly, forcing my face into stillness. Control. That







