65

THEA

Mondays have always felt like punishment.

But today?

Today feels like a reward.

I wake up smiling. Actual smiling. The kind that creeps up without permission and lingers on your face like morning light.

Ezra left last night—after the most absurd, perfect, burnt-bacon morning of my life and him eating me out—and Shirley came by with Finn. My son. My heart. He babbled about his weekend with Leo, how he missed me, how we have another coffee table and side glass table now and how he wanted my toast for dinner. I gave it to him without thinking, still tasting Ezra on my skin.

And this morning, dropping Finn off at school, I feel… full. Like life has finally decided to be kind, just for a moment. No guilt weighing down my chest. No loneliness in the silence of the drive. Just this stupid, fluttery anticipation in my veins.

I’m excited to go to work.

Correction: I’m excited to see my boss.

God, what is wrong with me?

I don’t even care. Ezra Harrington—the man who once made me want to claw my eyes out and drive a stake through his chest —is now the man who ruins me with a look, a kiss, a goddamn smirk. And today, I get to see him in a suit while feeling something… like this!?

It feels illegal.

Hours pass in a blur of meetings, emails, fabric approvals of the other department, supplier tantrums—until I’m in the hallway outside the logistics floor, after an inspection that requires my presence, sipping a rapidly cooling flat white and talking to Nathan Elowen.

Nathan is still a surprise. A smooth-talking, sharply dressed surprise. There’s something effortless about him—the way he walks, the way he speaks, the way he never makes me feel like a target. Ezra said he might like me. I’m not sure I believe it.

Because Nathan? He’s never crossed that line.

Not once in the past four weeks or so that I've officially met him.

Which is a miracle in this building, honestly.

“...so I told her if she doesn’t get the sample in by Thursday, I’ll personally drive to the factory and sob in her parking lot until she pities me into submission,” he says, eyes glinting with mock-seriousness.

I laugh. Actually laugh. Not the polite, corporate chuckle I’m known for. A real one.

“You didn’t,” I say, shaking my head.

“Oh, I absolutely did,” he grins. “She’s been dodging me for weeks. Fear wasn’t working, so I went for emotional blackmail.”

I raise my cup in a mock toast. “Innovative leadership.”

He bows dramatically. “Thank you, thank you. I learned from the best.”

My phone buzzes in my hand.

BASTARD CALLING.

I made a mental note to change his name to how I feel right now.

Just his name on my screen sends something skittering through my chest. Like nerves, but worse. Or better. Or both.

I glance at Nathan, who lifts a brow in question. I give him a quick smile and step aside to answer.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual and absolutely failing.

His voice is low, steady. “Come to my office.”

Just that.

No hello. No preamble.

Just a command dressed like a request.

And just like that, my pulse spikes. I’m no longer in the hallway. I’m in his space. His voice. His gravity.

Even though I kind of dislike him ordering me around when he's in his moods like now based on his voice, I like it too.

“On my way,” I manage.

The call ends. I turn back to Nathan, heart thudding.

“Emergency?” he asks lightly.

“Something like that,” I murmur.

And then I walk.

Not run. But not exactly stroll either.

Because it’s still Monday. And for the first time in my life, I don’t hate it. I don't even hate the fact that I'm going to his office as I step out of the elevator.

Not even a little.

When I reach his door, I knock once, then open the door without waiting for a reply.

Ezra is behind his desk, pale, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, looking at me like I’ve done something terribly wrong and he’s about to enjoy… punishing me for it?

My brows rise.

Oh, so it’s that kind of meeting.

The air shifts the second I step in. The office feels warmer, darker, especially with the binds close. Or maybe that’s just him—looking like power incarnate, leaning back like a king on a throne he was born to rule. His eyes track me like he’s already undressing me in his head.

But he doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches. Sharp. Intense.

So I close the door softly and cross my arms.

“You rang?”

He lifts a brow. “I did.”

“Why?”

“You were smiling.”

I blink. “I smile all the time. You’re going to need to narrow that down.”

“In the hallway,” he says flatly. “With Elowen.”

Ah. So that’s what this is.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead give him a one-shouldered casual shrug. “He’s my friend.”

Ezra leans forward slowly, resting his elbows on the desk like a man trying not to leap over it. “Really?”

“Is that a problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just tilts his head, studying me. I swear I see the muscle in his jaw twitch.

“Didn’t know we were doing the ‘just friends with charming men who obviously want to get in your pants’ thing now.”

I blink, fighting the smile tugging at my mouth. “I’m glad you find him charming. You jealous?”

“Should I be?”

“No,” I say firmly, stepping toward his desk. “There’s nothing going on between me and Nathan. Don’t flare up at me because obviously, you love me now.” I say, blood rushing to my head.

Ezra’s gaze darkens. “Watch it.”

“Watch you,” I counter, standing my ground, tilting my chin up. “I’m not going to mistake kindness for interest. If I want to laugh at a joke from someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m their next meal, I will.”

His eyes burn as his lips pull up into a smirk. “Oh, you think he doesn’t?”

“Ezra—”

“Come here,” he says, voice low, rough, laced with warning and hunger.

I pause. Hold his gaze for a heartbeat longer than I should.

Then I walk.

Deliberately.

Slowly.

He tracks every step, tension radiating off him like heat from coals.

I stop just in front of the desk, palms braced against the edge. “If this is about Elowen—”

“Kinda,” he says, already standing, already moving. “It’s about you forgetting who you belong to.”

I don’t get a chance to respond because suddenly, I'm on his desk. 

Shit. I should have asked him how he did this the last time.

Then his hands are on me—firm, possessive, urgent—and I’m being hauled onto the desk like I weigh nothing. My back hits the smooth surface with a thud, papers scattering like confetti.

This desk.

The same one.

The first place he ever touched me like I was something sacred and sinful all at once.

“You don’t get to walk around this building smiling at other men like they’ve earned it,” he grits, pushing my skirt up with practiced impatience. 

“Ezra—” My voice is breathless already, my body stupidly responsive despite wanting to tell him not to do it when he's openly jealous.

“You’re mine, Thea,” he growls, pulling my underwear down and dipping it into his back pocket. “Say it.”

I arch, pulse thundering. “There’s nothing going on between me and Nathan. I shouldn’t have to defend that to you.”

“And you don’t,” he says, ripping open his belt. “Not really. I know you’re not his. You’ve always been mine. But you still need to be reminded.”

Horny bastard.

He drags me to the edge of the desk with one strong pull. I gasp.

He presses my clit with his thumb before thrusting two fingers into me, making me arch with a gasp.

“Ez–ra…”

He breathes harshly as he starts pumping in and out of me while he rubs my clit with his thumb and my face burns hotly from the sensation and the lewd noises coming from the friction.

When he pulls out, he takes his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean, before he pulls me closer by my neck and claims my lips, letting me taste myself.

I moan.

Then he’s inside me in one hard thrust.

“Fuck. You are so tight and right.” He growls against my lips. 

I cry out but he swallows it as I grip the edge of the desk, balance gone, sanity slipping.

It’s hot. Desperate. Punishing. Like he’s trying to fuck the image of me laughing with someone else out of his head.

And maybe I’m letting him.

Maybe I need this too.

I wrap my legs around him and meet every thrust with a fierce roll of my hips.

“You think Nathan could ever do this to you?” Ezra rasps, bending low to bite my shoulder, fangs grazing my skin but not breaking it, hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping my hip like he owns it.

I shake my head, unable to form words.

“You think he even knows what to do with you?”

“No,” I gasp.

“Damn right, he doesn’t.”

It’s a storm. A fire. Controlled only by the thin thread of restraint he’s constantly pulling back from the edge. And when I come, it’s with his name on my lips and his breath hot against my neck, his body trembling against mine.

After, we’re both still.

Breathing hard.

Sweaty. Messy. Alive. Him still in me.

He pulls out slowly and I wince. Then, he adjusts his pants, watching me like he’s trying to commit this wreckage to memory. My body, sprawled on his desk. My face flushed. My lips swollen.

I'm surprised he didn't try to draw blood. 

“You done being dramatic?” I ask quietly, brushing my skirt back down with hands that still shake a little, feeling his cum trickle down my thighs.

He lifts a brow. “That wasn’t drama. That was punishment.”

I level him with a look. “Well next time, communicate instead of treating me like a suspect on trial.”

He smirks. That insufferable, infuriating smirk. “Next time, don’t smile at another man like that.”

I stand, legs unsteady, and glance toward the door. “Someone’s going to hear about this.”

He shrugs, brushing his thumb across the corner of my mouth, a mirror of what he did yesterday in my kitchen. “Let them.”

I huff.

But when he kisses me, I let him.

Because no matter what this is, what we are—I still want him.

Even on Mondays.

Especially on Mondays.

When he pulls away, I'm gasping, and messier.

“I'm getting a revenge on you.” I say shakily.

His eyes rake my body. “As long as the revenge gets you on my desk.” 

Okay. Hot Vampire for sale.