Chapter 6

ZAYDEN

The moment Rielle walked out, her scent still lingering like a storm I wasn’t ready to weather, Dante turned to me with a grin that made my fists itch.

“You always did have a type,” he said casually, straightening the cuffs of his navy suit like he hadn’t just undressed her with his eyes right in front of me.

I didn’t look up from the contract. “Let’s keep it about business.”

“Oh, but it is,” he said, tone light but loaded. “You see, I knew her first.”

That struck a nerve. But I didn’t flinch. I slowly closed the file and looked up.

He smirked.

“That woman—Rielle, right? She used to scream my name, you know. Had that same spark in her eyes back then too. Though, she looked a little more… satisfied.”

“You done?” I asked, voice low, steady. Ice under heat.

“I’m just saying,” he leaned back, spreading his arms over the chair like he owned the damn room. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who keeps women. But she’s something, isn’t she? That mouth… those legs…”

I stood, slow and deliberate.

His grin faded.

“You signed the contract. Meeting’s over.”

“Just like that?” He laughed — actually laughed — like he’d landed a punch I hadn’t felt yet.

“You know, Zayden…” he said as he passed me, “You’re a lot of things. But blind? That’s new.”

I didn’t respond.

But as the door shut behind him, the words stayed.

Something happened. Between them. Before.

And I didn’t like not knowing.

Back at Wolf Enterprises, the energy was business as usual — people walking fast, typing faster, pretending not to whisper about me when I passed by.

I headed straight for my office. The glass doors swung open — and there she was.

Rielle.

At her desk, pretending to be unbothered. Typing like her fingers weren’t still trembling, sitting like her legs hadn’t just betrayed her an hour ago. She didn’t look up.

Not until I spoke.

“Coffee.”

She looked up, blinked. “Sorry?”

“You heard me.”

Her lips tightened. “Right away, sir.”

She returned three minutes later, setting the mug in front of me like she was placing a bomb.

I took a sip.

Frowned.

“Too cold.”

She didn’t move. “It’s fresh.”

“Still cold.”

She disappeared. Again.

Came back with another cup.

I tasted it.

“Too bitter.”

“Would you like me to source volcanic water from Iceland, sir?”

I didn’t smile. I stood.

She froze.

I walked around the desk slowly, deliberately, letting the silence stretch.

Her breath hitched. Just slightly.

“You don’t usually complain about the details,” she murmured.

“Maybe today I’m in the mood.”

I stopped in front of her — too close, close enough that her perfume hit me again, that faint mix of something soft and stubborn. She looked up, eyes sharp and simmering.

“You and Dante,” I said at last, voice low. “What’s the history?”

Her smile was tight. “There’s none.”

“Try again.”

She looked up, chin tilted. “It’s not your business.”

I took a step closer. “It is. You work for me.”

She didn’t flinch. “So does the janitor. Will you ask who he’s dated too?”

That spark.

I shouldn’t have liked it.

But I did.

Too much.

“He was looking at you like a man who’s already seen you naked.”

She paused… then lifted a brow. “Well… maybe he has.”

She turned slightly, like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on purpose.

Silence.

Long. Tight. Dangerous.

I didn’t move right away.

But my body was on fire.

Then — slowly — I walked toward her. Calm. Dead calm.

“So you gave it to him?” I asked, voice low, sharp as a blade.

She met my eyes. Unblinking. Defiant.

“Why not?” she said. “He asked. Nicely, too.”

That did it.

My jaw clenched. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

She shouldn’t have said it.

She knew she shouldn’t have said it.

But it was too late.

I closed the distance in two long strides — chest to chest.

“You’re lying,” I growled.

She smirked. “Does it matter?”

My hand slammed beside her head on the wall.

“You want me to lose it, is that it?”

“No,” she said softly. “I think you already have.”

My mouth crashed against hers before the last word even died.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a punishment.

Her fingers clawed at my tie, yanking me closer, her mouth just as punishing as mine. She moaned into it—not from pleasure—but from the thrill of watching me snap.

“You let him touch you like that?” I hissed between kisses, dragging her blouse open. Buttons scattered to the floor like fallen teeth.

“Maybe I wanted him to,” she bit back, breathless.

My hand closed around her throat—not choking, just enough pressure to make her breath catch.

“You think I won’t fuck that thought out of your head?”

“Try me,” she dared.

I turned her fast, chest hitting the glass wall. Her gasp was sharp as I grabbed her wrists, held them above her head.

“You want it rough?” My voice was gravel. “Or should I be nice… like him?”

She pushed back into me, defiant. “You couldn’t be nice if you tried.”

My hand came down hard on her ass. Once. Twice.

She yelped—half shock, half arousal—and I felt the smile pull at my lips as I pressed into her from behind.

“Keep mouthing off,” I growled. “I’ll give you something to scream about.”

Her skirt bunched around her waist. My zipper came down. I shoved her panties aside, already soaked.

I reached between her thighs and found her already wet.

“Fucking predictable,” I hissed. “Your body knows who owns it.”

I pushed her panties down and off with one brutal tug.

Then paused.

Leaning down, I whispered, “Beg for it.”

She shook her head, panting.

“Zayden—”

“No,” I growled. “Say it. Beg me to fuck you.”

Silence.

Then: “Please.”

“Louder.”

“Please,” she said again, voice trembling.

“Not enough,” I said, sliding two fingers inside her slowly, stretching her. “I want to hear you say you need me.”

Her breath stuttered. “I need you.”

I pulled my fingers out and licked them, eyes locked on her back. “Good girl.”

“You’re wet for me,” I hissed. “Not for him.”

Then I slammed into her.

No warning. No slow buildup.

She cried out, the sound raw and broken.

I didn’t give her time to breathe. My hands gripped her hips. I drove into her again. And again. Each thrust punishing.

“This pussy remembers me,” I snarled. “Not him. Me.”

She moaned, hands splayed on the glass.

“Say it,” I demanded, fucking her deeper. “Say my name.”

She gasped.

“Zayden.”

“Louder.”

“ZAYDEN!”

I reached around, found her clit, circled hard and fast.

“You gonna come for me?” I whispered against her neck.

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

“Then beg.”

She whimpered. “Please.”

“More.”

“Please, Zayden. I need you—I need you.”

I drove into her one last time and felt her break—tightening, trembling, screaming.

She shattered with my name on her lips.

And I came right after, groaning into her shoulder, hips jerking, losing myself in her body.

We stayed like that—tangled, breathless.

Rielle’s palms still pressed against the glass, her blouse ruined, hair a mess, lips swollen. Mine's no better.