Crossing The Line

ADRIAN

People like to pretend obsession arrives all at once.

It doesn't.

It begins quietly.

A glance that lingers a second too long.

A voice that stays with you long after you've forgotten everyone else's.

A woman who walks into your office for a job interview wearing a navy blazer one size too big because she couldn't afford one that actually fit.

That was the day I met Meret Sterling.

I should've hired someone else.

Instead, I hired her.

Not because she gave the best interview.

Not because she had the strongest résumé.

I hired her because I couldn't stop looking at her.

There was something about Meret that fascinated me.

Something I couldn't quite explain.

So I started noticing the little things.

The way she forced a smile to hide her nerves.

The way she kept twisting the wedding ring on her finger whenever I asked a question she hadn't rehearsed.

The way her eyes searched my face, trying to figure out what I was thinking.

After I hired her, I kept my distance.

You probably think it was out of respect for her marriage.

Please.

I couldn't have cared less about her husband.

I stayed away because I enjoyed the slow torture of it.

I watched her eyes drift to my mouth during morning briefings.

I heard the sharp hitch in her breathing every time I leaned over her desk.

I felt the tension crackling between us whenever I stood just a little too close, watching her catch her lower lip between her teeth.

Her body betrayed her long before she ever did.

She was practically begging to be noticed.

To be touched.

To be ruined.

But I waited.

For six long months, I played the indifferent boss.

I convinced myself I was in control.

At least, I thought I was.

Then I caught her watching me touch myself.

She had no idea I was imagining how she'd feel wrapped around me.

Instead of looking away, she stood there...

Taking me in.

Every inch.

And you know what they say about opportunity.

It only knocks once.

So I took it.

I gave Meret exactly what she'd been silently begging for.

Now that we'd crossed that line, there was no turning back.

I was done pretending I didn't want her.

Because I did.

Not a single day passed without me wondering what her lips tasted like.

Not a single day went by without me imagining the warmth of her skin beneath my hands or the feel of her wrapped around me, helpless and unraveling as I finally claimed everything I'd spent six months denying myself.

Oh, Meret.

You have no idea what I have planned for us.

I paused outside Conference Room B, watching Meret through the glass as she arranged the files for the ten o'clock status meeting.

A slow smile tugged at my lips the moment my eyes found her.

She'd worn the skirt.

Of course she had.

She could tell herself whatever she wanted, but actions had a way of exposing the truth, didn't they?

I'd always liked skirts.

The way they traced a woman's curves.

The way they revealed just enough while pretending to conceal the rest.

Then she bent over the conference table to straighten a folder.

The hem of her skirt rode up, offering me a fleeting glimpse of smooth, pale thighs that disappeared into a pair of stunning red heels.

I glanced at my watch.

Fifty minutes until the board members arrived.

More than enough time.

The corridor was quiet.

I swept my gaze in both directions before stepping up to the door and turning the handle.

The click made Meret whirl around.

The moment her eyes met mine, I watched the air leave her lungs in one sharp, beautiful hitch.

Without taking my eyes off her, I reached behind me, found the deadbolt, and slid it into place.

"You actually wore the skirt," I murmured.

My gaze traveled slowly over her, lingering at the gentle curve of her hips.

Before she could respond, I walked past her toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I reached for the wand on the first set of blinds, twisting it until the harsh fluorescent light from the corridor was reduced to thin slivers.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice quivering ever so slightly.

I didn't answer.

Instead, I moved to the next set of blinds.

Silence was far more effective when someone was trying to convince themselves they didn't want what was about to happen.

I adjusted the final blind, and the room sank into a muted twilight.

Shadows stretched across the polished mahogany table, sealing off the outside world until it felt as though the conference room belonged only to us.

Only then did I turn to face her.

She instinctively took a small step back, clutching a folder tightly against her chest as though it could protect her.

"Whatever you're planning to do," she said, lifting her chin in a brave but desperate show of defiance, "not here. We have a meeting in less than an hour."

I folded my arms and leaned lazily against the glass wall, a slow, dangerous smile curving my lips.

"Enlighten me, Meret." I held her gaze. "What exactly do you think I'm planning to do?"

Meret opened her mouth, her lips parting as she searched desperately for something to say.

Nothing came.

Instead, she took another step backward until the edge of the conference table pressed into the small of her back.

"You're... you're going to touch me," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the dimly lit room. "And I told you—"

"You've told me a lot of things," I cut in, closing the distance between us. "Most of them were lies."

Before she had a chance to react, I reached down, my fingers gathering the smooth fabric of her skirt.

A helpless gasp escaped her lips.

"Adrian... please," she whimpered, her body arching instinctively away as my palm settled against the inside of her knee, urging her leg farther apart.

"Please what?" I murmured, my voice low and dangerous as my hand traveled higher. "Please stop?"

My gaze held hers.

"Or please give you what your husband couldn't last night?"

"Don't..." she panted, shaking her head. "Don't talk about him."

Her head tipped back the instant my thumb brushed over the lace covering her.

I felt the dampness beneath the delicate fabric.

She was soaked.

Her own body had already answered every question she'd tried so hard to deny.

"Why not?" I growled softly, maintaining steady pressure through the thin material. "Were you thinking about your husband when you chose this skirt for me this morning?"

I leaned in just enough for my words to brush against her skin.

"Or were you remembering how my cock felt in your hand?"

"Ah... God..."

Meret arched away from the table, her fingernails biting into the polished wood as a ragged moan slipped past her lips.

"Look at you," I whispered, hooking two fingers beneath the damp silk and tugging it roughly aside. "You're practically begging for it."

My fingers slipped into her dripping folds, finding her swollen center and pressing straight down.

"Ethan gave you his usual two-minute routine, didn't he?"

The only answer I got was a shaky breath.

She trembled beneath my touch, her body betraying every desperate attempt to hold herself together.

She was so drenched.

"He has no idea how to make you leak like this," I murmured. "He doesn't know how to make you scream."

"He doesn't..." she sobbed, her hips lifting helplessly against my hand, surrendering completely to the relentless friction. "He doesn't touch me like this..."

"I know," I said quietly.

Sliding one long finger deep into her tight, scalding heat, I rolled my thumb over her clit, drawing another helpless sound from her.

"Now pull your knees back, Meret."

My voice dropped into a quiet command.

"Spread your legs."