He's Been Watching

POV: Chloe

The summons buzzed through my desk intercom. Tristan’s clipped, professional voice asked me to bring the quarterly reports to his office. Nothing out of the ordinary for a Tuesday at Blackwood Industries. Except...

Ethan had left the building twenty minutes ago. And Tristan never handled quarterly reports himself. I gathered the folders anyway, smoothing my skirt before standing. Tristan’s office door was cracked open.

“Come in, Chloe.” He spoke before I even knocked, his voice curling around my name. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. He wasn’t at his desk. Instead, he stood near the far wall, the one bordering my office, with his palm pressed flat against the surface.

His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, tie hanging loose. The posture screamed casual, but the tension in his rigid shoulders sucked the oxygen right out of the room.

“The reports,” I said, holding up the folders. My voice sounded much steadier than I felt.

“Set them on the desk.” I did as told. When I turned back, he hadn’t moved an inch. But his eyes tracked me with an intensity that hitched my breath.

“Do you know what this is?” He tapped the wall.

“Drywall?”

A sharp smile ghosted across his lips, nothing like the warm one I remembered from seven years ago.

“Come here.”

My feet moved before my brain gave the green light. That was the thing about Tristan; my body always answered him before my mind could hit the brakes. I stopped two feet away.

He reached past me and flipped a hidden switch. A window-sized section of the wall instantly shifted from opaque to transparent. And beyond it...

My office.

My desk.

My chair, still holding the faint impression from ten minutes ago. My coffee mug beside the keyboard. The potted succulent I’d brought from home.

“You’ve been watching me.” The words fell flat. My stomach dropped to the floor.

“Every minute,” Tristan said, unapologetic.

“Every time you bite your lip reading those emails. Every time you stretch your neck when you think you’re alone. Every time...” He paused, his voice dropping an octave. “Every fucking time my brother walks into your office and touches what belongs to me.”

He slammed his palm against the glass, making it vibrate. I flinched.

“Tristan...”

“I saw him kiss you!” The accusation dropped like a bombshell. My hand flew to my lips, instinctively checking if the evidence was still there.

“It wasn’t... He just...”

“He pressed his mouth to yours. His hands on your waist. Your fingers in his hair.” Tristan turned to face me fully, his composure completely shattered. Beneath the mask lay pure, ravenous hunger. “Do you know what that did to me? Standing here, watching another man put his scent on my...”

He didn’t finish. He lunged.

His hands gripped my waist, edging just shy of painful. He backed me hard into the wall beside the one-way glass, and then his mouth crashed down on mine. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t a question. It was a claim.

Tristan kissed me like a man possessed, trying to scrub away every lingering trace of Ethan’s touch. His lips crushed mine. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, and the second I gasped, his tongue swept inside. Hot. Possessive. Devastating.

My hands fisted in his shirt. I knew I should push him away, but I yanked him closer instead. A desperate, involuntary moan slipped into his mouth, vibrating right through his chest. His hips pinned me against the wall, and I felt it. Hard. Pressing into my belly through layers of fabric that suddenly felt like a crime.

A heavy surge of heat pooled low in my core. The ache between my thighs turned into a throbbing pulse. I bucked against him, chasing the friction, begging for more. The sensual movement ripped a guttural growl straight from his throat.

His hands dropped to my thighs, lifting me like I weighed absolutely nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. The new angle locked his rock-hard erection right against my clit. Even through our clothes, the pressure made me see stars.

“Yes,” I breathed into his mouth. “God, yes.”

I was soaked, dripping wet. My panties were a joke of a barrier, clinging uselessly to my folds. I rocked against him shamelessly, chasing the delicious friction of his thick length sliding over my sweet spot.

His mouth broke away to trail down my jaw and throat. His teeth scraped the sensitive skin below my ear. He rolled his hips in answer, grinding back. I whimpered, tilting my pelvis to take that pressure exactly where I needed it most.

“Look at you,” he murmured against my skin. “So eager. So ready.”

His desk was right there. Three steps away. The surface was completely clear except for those damn reports. I pictured my back on that polished wood, my skirt bunched around my waist, and him plunging...

Tristan froze.

His hands loosened; his hips stilled. Before my brain could even process the loss, he stepped back, letting me slide down his front. The rigid length of him dragged down my stomach, and my inner muscles clenched on empty air. He set me on my feet and took a huge step back. My knees nearly buckled.

“W-What are you doing?” My voice came out wrecked. A desperate plea wearing the skin of a question. “Why did you stop?”

Tristan stood three feet away, chest heaving. His pupils were blown so wide they completely swallowed his amber irises. The massive bulge straining against his zipper was borderline obscene. He was hurting just as bad as I was. Yet, his lips curved into a dark smirk.

“You want it, don’t you?” The question was a blatant taunt. He didn’t need an answer; my trembling thighs and flushed chest gave me away completely.

“Then break up with Ethan.” His voice dropped, gravelly with lust. “You can have all of this. All of me. The second you end things with my brother.”