Lahat ng Kabanata ng Craving Forbidden Pleasures : Kabanata 211 - Kabanata 220

The office was too quiet at night. Too sterile.Ava shifted in her chair, crossing her legs at the knees, her skirt riding higher than she intended. The city stretched endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, its lights glittering like stars spilled across black velvet. Out there, the world kept moving—cars honking, lives colliding, stories unfolding. But in here, inside this glass-walled cage, time stood still.She pushed a strand of dark hair from her face and bent over the report on her laptop. Her fingers tapped at the keys, but her mind wasn’t on the numbers. It was on the sound of her own breathing. The hum of the fluorescent lights. The occasional creak of the air-conditioning.And—though she hated admitting it—the possibility of him.Dominic Blackwell.The CEO. Her boss. The man who didn’t need to command attention because it wrapped itself around him like a cloak. Even when he wasn’t in the room, his presence was.She had only been his executive assistant for a month. T

The cold tile bit into Ava’s knees, but she barely registered the sting. All she could feel was the heat radiating from Dominic as he stood above her, belt undone, his hand wrapped firmly around the thick length of his arousal.Her lips parted involuntarily. He was bigger than she expected—thicker, heavier, the kind of man who would never ask, only take. The sight alone made her thighs clench, shame and desire warring in equal measure. She had never seen a man with such a big ferocious tool before. And she had to admit tggat ashe wondered Hiw it would feel having him inside her. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unreadable. “Open,” he ordered.Her pulse leapt.It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t even an invitation nor an option. It was a command, sharp as the click of a lock. The order itself causing heat to flush through her inner thighs. And she obeyed. Slowly, nervously, she opened her mouth.Dominic’s groan was low, guttural, as he guided himself forward, the tip brushing her lip

The city outside the glass tower glittered like spilled jewels, but Ava felt no shine in her chest as she stepped out of Blackwell Industries. The revolving doors hissed closed behind her, cutting off the scent of leather, coffee, and Dominic. She clutched her bag tightly, her pulse still uneven, as though she were carrying a secret flame no one could see.The cool night air kissed her cheeks. Taxi lights streaked by, horns blared, and laughter spilled from a nearby rooftop bar. Life went on, oblivious. Yet Ava felt suspended between two worlds—one where she was the composed young woman her parents had raised, and another where she was being devoured, piece by piece, by a man who owned more than just her body.She hated herself for trembling at the memory of his hands on her. For the way her thighs pressed together involuntarily as she walked, her body remembering him too well. Her need of him increasing with each passing second. She hated to admit it but that was the truth. Her apar

The night pressed heavy against the windows of Blackwell Tower, the glass shimmering with the reflection of the city below. Ava sat at her desk long after the others had gone, the silence wrapping her like a shroud. She told herself she was catching up on reports. She told herself she was waiting for traffic to thin before heading home.But the truth was simpler, darker.She was waiting for him.Her phone lay facedown beside her laptop, but she could feel it, as if the screen pulsed with an invisible heartbeat. Every second she resisted checking it was torture. Every second she imagined the message that might appear, summoning her, claiming her.When it finally buzzed, her body jolted as though struck by lightning.My office. Ten minutes.Her breath caught. It wasn’t a question. It never was.Her rational mind screamed at her to leave, to grab her bag, to run home and never look back. But her body—her treacherous, hungry body—was already standing, smoothing her skirt, fixing her hair

The air smelled like containment: the kind that keeps rumors from spilling into files, the kind that tightens not around a throat, but around a life.Clara Jensen from HR found her at ten. Clara’s expression was all professional concern—crisp blouse, clipboard, the posture of someone whose job was keeping things adherent to policy. But her eyes lingered along Ava’s neck, the slight discoloration at the collarbone, and Ava felt exposed again, raw as a wound.“Quick word?” Clara asked. The hallway was quieter than usual.Ava forced a smile and followed. She had rehearsed answers—concise, contained, plausible. But words felt small against what had happened and what could happen.In HR, Clara closed the door and folded her hands. “We’ve had some reports,” she said. “Strictly procedural. Security flagged after-hours footage. I need to know if you were in Conference Room Three last Thursday at one-fifteen p.m.”Ava felt like she’d been punched in the gut. “Yes,” she said, voice thin. “But i