Heat behind Closed Doors

Chapter 3: Heat Behind Closed Doors

I told myself it would be easy.

One night. No emotions. No attachments.

But Monday morning came, and I walked into the Voss & Rose building wearing a black pencil skirt and a button-down shirt I didn’t remember buying because I’d dressed like armor. Like I could forget how I moaned his name two nights ago while tangled in his sheets.

Except forgetting was impossible when he was on the top floor… and I worked two floors beneath him.

The office felt different. People moved with urgency, heels clicking against polished marble, voices clipped and professional. I was one of them. I had to be one of them.

But my body still remembered his hands. His mouth. His voice when he whispered, “Good girl.”

“Lana.” My supervisor’s voice broke through my haze. “Mr. Voss wants to see you. Top floor.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” She didn’t wait for me to move—she was already gone.

My heart pounded against my ribs as I stepped into the elevator. I’d told myself there would be no consequences, no fallout. But now I was being summoned like I was part of his calendar—9 a.m. meeting, 9:30 regret, 10 a.m. fire someone.

The elevator opened to silence. His executive assistant, Camilla, barely glanced up from her screen. “Go in.”

I knocked once and stepped inside.

Dominic looked up from behind his desk. Black suit. No tie. Cufflinks shining like temptation. He didn’t smile. He didn’t say good morning. He just studied me like I was both a puzzle and a problem.

“Shut the door.”

Click.

I stood, arms folded, spine straight. “Is this about the quarterly brief?”

“No.” His tone was clipped. “It’s about the way you walked out of my suite like you weren’t thinking about coming back.”

I blinked. “I thought that was the rule. No goodbyes.”

“It was.”

“And now?”

His eyes darkened. “Now I can’t stop imagining what you sound like when you beg.”

Heat shot through me so fast I almost staggered. I gripped the back of the leather chair in front of me to keep from swaying.

“This isn’t appropriate,” I said.

“Neither was Saturday night.” He rose from his chair slowly, deliberately. “And yet, you stripped for me like your body belonged to me.”

I sucked in a breath. “You said it was one night.”

“I lied.”

My throat tightened. “Then change the rules.”

He moved around the desk, steps measured. When he reached me, he braced a hand on either side of the chair I gripped, boxing me in.

“You don’t want new rules, Lana. You want more nights.”

I hated that he was right.

His voice dipped low. “I’ve cleared your schedule for the next hour.”

“You can’t—”

“I can. And I did.”

He took my wrist, not roughly, but like he owned it. Like he’d decided I was his again.

He led me around the desk to a frosted glass door I’d never noticed. With a swipe of a thumbprint and a soft click, it opened to a private room—modern, sleek, and far too intimate.

A private space. Off the books.

There was a couch. A low table. No windows. Just heat.

He closed the door behind us. Locked it.

“Take off your shirt,” he said softly.

I didn’t move.

“Or,” he said, stepping closer, “I can take it off for you. But you won’t be walking straight when we’re done.”

God help me, I wanted to see if he meant it.

I undid the first button with shaking fingers. Then the second. His eyes never left mine.

By the time I slipped the shirt off my shoulders, his hands were already on my waist, spinning me around, bending me slightly over the edge of the couch.

“You’ve been in my head for forty-eight hours,” he said against my ear. “Do you know what that does to a man like me?”

I trembled.

He slid my skirt up, slow and possessive. “Every meeting. Every second. I pictured bending you over this desk. Or this couch. Or the elevator, if I’m honest.”

His fingers found the edge of my lace underwear yes, that lace and slid them down my legs.

“Still wearing the gift I gave you?” he growled.

I nodded.

“Smart girl.”

Then he didn’t speak again. Not with words.

He filled me in one deep, fast thrust no hesitation, no preamble. I gasped, fingers clutching the couch as he moved, hard and rough and silent.

The only sounds were our breath, our skin, the soft slap of desire echoing off soundproof walls.

He pulled my hair back, mouth at my shoulder. “You should hate me.”

“I do,” I moaned.

“Liar.”

He pounded into me with brutal control, each thrust pulling another moan from my lips. I tried to hold them in, but he made it impossible.

“You’re louder than I expected,” he whispered.

“Because you’re better than you promised.”

I came hard, eyes clenched, legs shaking. He followed, low groan muffled against my skin, fingers digging into my hips as he lost himself.

We collapsed in silence.

This time, he didn’t pull away.

He just stood behind me, chest against my back, breathing hard.

“You’re dangerous, Lana.”

“So are you.”

---

Minutes later, I redressed in silence, face flushed. I moved to open the door, but he caught my wrist.

“Wait.”

I turned, heart in my throat.

He looked at me differently this time not cold, not possessive.

Almost… conflicted.

“I’ll break every rule for you,” he said. “But don’t ask me to give you something I don’t have.”

I nodded slowly. “I’m not here for love, Dominic.”

He leaned in, brushed his lips against mine.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because love ruins everything.”