Twelve

Mark had not been able to pinpoint the exact moment it began, this unsettling obsession with Teresa that was corroding his entire being. The constantly staring, the noticing, the almost strategic tracking of her every movement. Perhaps the obsession had truly ignited when he stumbled upon that discreetly recorded footage, and decided to keep a copy for himself, such a private moment where she had dared to moan his name, while her hand was forming a secret caress between her legs, right there in his office chair.

Teresa had not merely integrated herself into becoming a part of his meticulously structured routine, she had detonated it. She was the chaos breathing life into his sterile, perfectly aligned systems, and astonishingly, he had allowed it. Worse, he didn't just tolerate this disruption, he revelled in it and wanted more.

From behind the shield of his tinted office glass, he watched her. He observed the almost serene precision with which she moved through the office. The precise straightening of a misplaced folder, the diligent double-checking of her notes, the familiar, endearing gesture of pushing up her glasses, and biting her lips, a tell-tale sign of her nervousness.

She had, he noticed, started wearing higher collars again, a futile attempt to conceal herself. But he saw right through them. He always did because he was always watching, everything she did . Every almost nervous twitch. Every quick flash of unease in her eyes, anxious lip bite. And, most acutely, every subtle, telling shift of her thighs rubbing together, a reaction he had meticulously cataloged, especially when his voice, sharp and commanding, was directed at her.

That particular reaction had been vivid just three days ago. He’d reprimanded her, his tone purposely biting, about a mix-up in the schedules. She had nodded, her face downcast, a picture of quiet submission. But then, almost imperceptibly, she had shifted on her heels, pressing her legs together just slightly, a movement so subtle, so fleeting, that anyone else would have missed it entirely.

He hadn't missed it. He’d seen it clearly. And from that moment, for the rest of the day, he hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away. The image had branded itself into his mind, a silent promise of something simmering beneath her so called composed exterior.

“Miss Smith,” he had said one morning, his voice cutting through the office hum as he appeared silently behind her desk, startling her with his sudden presence. “The vendor reports, on my desk. You have five minutes.”

“Y-yes, sir,” she had stammered, clutching the folder to her chest as if it were a fragile shield that would protect her from him. His gaze, unyielding and hard, dropped immediately to her chest, tracing the agitated movements of her fingers as they dug into the file. The silence stretched, taut and charged, until he finally spoke again, his voice a low, almost intimate murmur.

“Your blouse is crooked,” he had said, his words a soft, dangerous caress. “Fix it.”

A wave of crimson bloomed across her neck and crept up into her cheeks as she fumbled, her movements clumsy with embarrassment, to adjust the collar. He simply waited, a silent predator, allowing the flush to deepen, savouring the delicious discomfort that settled in her features. Only then, with a silent but profound satisfaction, did he turn and walk away.

He had thought during his drive to the office how to reduce his desire that compelled him to be completely entranced by Teresa's presence. He decided that he would keep her in the department directly below his, not permanent, just until he got a hold of his control. But when he got to the office that plan flew out of his mind.

A seething, possessive anger coiled within his gut whenever other men spoke to her. Especially Matthew, the office Casanova. The tales of Matthew's escapades had spread through the office, reaching him who never cared for office gossip. But now he cared and had the slightest idea of terminating Matthew's employment for daring to talk to her. He ignored the interaction that day because Teresa and rejected his advances and gone up to his office, to his personal territory where she belonged. He watched Mathew as he looked on at Teresa back, staring at her ass with a predatory glint that was open for everyone to see.

After that day, the interactions continued. He had caught Matthew leaning over her desk far too often, his fake-charming grin plastered on his face, his hand audacious enough to touch the edge of her chair, as if he possessed some inherent right to her space, to her attention.

On one particular occasion, Mark had stood framed in the doorway of his office, arms crossed across his chest and his posture radiating an icy disapproval. He hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t made a sound. He simply stared, a relentless, silent heat emanating from him, until Matthew, finally sensing the suffocating weight of his glare turned around and saw him.

"I don't remember granting you clearance to be on this floor." Mark's tone was cold and biting. His gaze was predatory like he was waiting for him to say something wrong so he could strike.

"No sir,"Mathew said with his head bowed. "I was told to drop up some files."

"Get out." Mark ordered not wanting to hear any excuse that would anger him to the point of him committing physical violence.

Mathew excused himself awkwardly, stumbling away from Teresa’s desk like a scolded dog.

"And you? You just allowed him to speak to you and waste the time you would have used to actually work." Mark said with an accusatory tone. One that sounded like a jealous boyfriend interrogating his girlfriend.

"No, I just didn't want to seem rude." She mummered with a voice so low and pitiful that Mark almost didn't catch her words. He simply stared at her bowed state which looked like she would soon fall to ground.

"Continue your work and let this be the last time you talk him or any other male in the office or anywhere."

Now that made Teresa perk up and look at him with confusion maring her face.

"But sir, I don't understand why I can't talk to other people."

Mark stalked forward causing Teresa to move closer to the door in order to put a distance between them but he still moved closer causing her to get backed up on the wall with Mark a few inches away from her.

Teresa kept her head down, not wanting to get overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating causing her to feel lightheaded. From this proximity she could see how built he was, how his shirt hugged his torso perfectly.

"S.. sir, please..I ."

"When I tell you to do something I expect that you do it without deliberation."

"But sir..."

"No buts Teresa,"He said her name with such raspiness that made her spine tingle. "I am doing this for your good."

She didn't have any other argument, simply just nodded her head. Her dependent and submissive deposition did something to him. Invoked a part of him that wanted her all to himself. And he would.