ALTHEA'S POV <.<
I was drowning in her.
Haven's hug wasn't just a hug; it was absorption. The desperate clutch of her hands, the tremor running through her body, the way she inhaled me like I was oxygen after years underwater it should have terrified me. Maybe a part of me, the old Althea deep in my bones, was terrified. But the me that existed now, the one with the fragmented past and the chosen present, felt something else entirely: a profound, dizzying power. This fortress of a woman, this CEO who made empires bow, was coming undone at my mere presence.
After what felt like an eternity, I tapped gently on her back. "Okay, okay. I can't breathe, you magnificent octopus."
She loosened her grip infinitesimally but didn't let go, her face still buried in my hair. I could feel her heart hammering against my chest, a frantic counter-rhythm to my own.
I wiggled free, putting a sliver of space between us. Her dark eyes followed me, hungry and wary. I needed to diffuse this intensity, to ground us both. I turned my back to her, feigning nonchalance, and let my gaze roam around her office.
"Wow," I breathed, genuinely impressed despite myself. The place was a monument to cold power. The obsidian desk, the floor-to-ceiling windows showing the city as her personal diorama, the utter silence broken only by the hum of hidden technology. It was the opposite of our warm, lived-in home. This was where Haven Hartwell, the myth, resided.
I drifted toward the massive desk, my fingers trailing over the cool, polished stone. My eyes caught on her open laptop. On the screen, frozen, was a clear, high-definition image of me. Me, in the Celestial Sound conference room, mid-laugh with Maya. The angle was from above. A security camera feed.
A slow smile spread across my face. I turned to look at her, leaning back against the edge of the desk. "So," I said, my voice light, teasing. "You were watching me earlier. Did you like the show?"
Haven stood frozen by the spot where she'd reclaimed me. A flicker of something like shame crossed her features before being swallowed by defiant possessiveness. She didn't deny it. She couldn't. The evidence was right there.
"Yes," she said, the word stark and simple. "I'm sorry."
I shrugged, hopping up to sit on her desk, swinging my legs. "It's fine, Haven. I understand. I forgot my tablet at home, and there were all those signs about 'No Recording Devices' in the studio. I couldn't give you a live play-by-play." I gave her a cheeky grin. "Though I must say, your surveillance tech is top-notch. That's a really flattering angle."
She took a step forward, then another, drawn to me like a magnet. "It's not about flattering angles, Althea. It's about knowing you're safe. About seeing you."
"Seeing me smile at Janea Vance?" I asked, my tone still light but my eyes sharp.
Her jaw tightened. The air crackled. I let it hang for a moment before my gaze fell on the small, ornate lacquer box sitting near her abandoned lunch plate. Emara's souvenir.
My playful mood evaporated, replaced by a cold, sharp spike of something primal. My earlier confusion in the hallway crystallized into a clean, fierce jealousy. I reached out and picked up the box. It was light, cheap.
"So?" I said, my voice dropping, losing its playful lilt, gaining an edge that surprised even me. I held the box up. "You accept gifts now, Hartwell?"
Haven's eyes snapped from the box to my face. "No," she said, her voice low and urgent. "She just left it there. I dismissed her earlier. Don't misunderstand, my love."
"Misunderstand?" I repeated softly. I slid off the desk, the box in my hand, and walked toward the discreet, modern waste bin tucked beside a shelving unit. I didn't look back at Haven. "I saw her leaving your office. I saw her wink at me. That wasn't a misunderstanding. That was a declaration."
I lifted the lid of the bin and dropped the box inside. It landed with a satisfying, hollow thud.
"Trash," I said, turning to face her, dusting my hands off, "belongs in the trash. Am I not right, Haven?"
A slow, dangerous smile touched her lips. There was no anger at my presumption, only a deep, approving heat. "You are absolutely right, my love."
The tension shifted, transformed. The electric charge in the room was no longer about fear or jealousy, but something darker, more intimate. I walked back to her desk and sank into her enormous executive chair. It swallowed me, but I leaned back, regally, placing my hands on the armrests. I noticed then that she'd changed from the silk blouse into a full corporate suit—jacket, waistcoat, trousers. She kept clothes here. Of course she did.
I cocked my head, assessing her. The power suit. The submission in her eyes. The wild hunger barely leashed.
I crooked a finger. "Come here."
She obeyed without hesitation, crossing the space until she stood before the chair, looking down at me. The dominance of the position was all hers, yet she was waiting for my command. It was intoxicating.
I didn't say anything else. I stood up from the chair, grabbed the silk of her necktie, and yanked her down into a searing, biting kiss. I nipped at her lower lip, tasting her gasp, and she moaned, a deep, ragged sound that vibrated through both of us.
When I pulled back, my breath was short. "You're mine, Hartwell," I whispered against her mouth, the words a vow and a command.
I kissed her again, deeper this time, my hands working at the buckle of her belt. My fingers slid beneath the waistband of her tailored trousers, finding the damp silk of her panties beneath. She was wet, but I wanted her dripping. I wanted her undone.
I circled her clit through the fabric, then slipped a finger inside her. She groaned, her forehead dropping to my shoulder, her hips pushing against my hand. But the angle was awkward with me shorter I have to look up and her standing.
"Tired," I murmured against her ear, nipping the lobe. "Sit."
She pulled back, her eyes glazed with need, and obeyed, lowering herself into the chair I'd just vacated. I didn't let her get comfortable. I dropped to my knees before her, shoved the chair back from the desk, and slid into the cavernous space beneath it. The obsidian desktop above me was a dark, solid obsidian.
I made quick work of her trousers and panties, pushing them down her thighs and make her legs widen. Then I was face to face with her heat, her scent of aroused Alpha dark wine turned heady and sharp filling the enclosed space. I didn't tease. I licked a slow, firm stripe from her entrance to her clit.
Haven cried out, her hands flying to grip the arms of the chair. "Althea—"
I hummed against her, the vibration making her jerk, and then set to work with focused intent, licking and sucking, plunging my tongue inside her, then circling her clit with relentless pressure. I added a finger, then two, curling them just so. Her thighs trembled on either side of my head.
That's when we heard the door open.
Footsteps. The crisp, professional voice of a young man. "Ms. Hartwell, I have the finalized contracts from Singapore and the—"
Haven's body went rigid above me. I froze for a second, my mouth still on her. Then, a wicked, reckless grin spread across my face. I looked up. From my angle, I could see nothing but the underside of the desk and Haven's clothes. But I could hear everything.
I resumed my ministrations, slower now, more deliberate. A secret punishment. A hidden claim.
"J-just leave them on the side table, Liam," Haven's voice came, strained but impressively controlled. A slight hitch. A catch in her breath that I caused with a particularly clever flick of my tongue.
"Are you alright, Ms. Hartwell?" Liam's voice was closer now, concerned. "You sound…"
"I'm fine," she bit out, the words clipped. I felt her abdominal muscles clench. Her hand found the back of my head, not to push me away, but to hold me there, her fingers tangling in my hair. A silent plea and a command all at once. Don't stop or stop? "A slight… headache. The Singapore figures. Are they the amended ones?"
"Yes, ma'am. The clauses on page seven have been renegotiated as you instructed." Papers rustled. I could picture him, standing there, oblivious to the CEO being devoured under her own desk.
"Good." Haven's voice was getting tighter. I added a third finger, stretching her, and she made a tiny, choked sound. "And the environmental impact report for the Bali site?"
"On top, ma'am. The preliminary findings are… favorable." He sounded unsure now, picking up on the strangeness in her tone but unable to place it.
"Thank you. That will be all." The dismissal was swift, brutal in its efficiency.
"Of course, Ms. Hartwell. Should I send for some water? For your… headache?"
"No. Just… close the door on your way out."
The footsteps receded. The door clicked shut.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then Haven's hand in my hair tightened, and she pushed my face back into her, a silent, desperate order. I obeyed, driving her over the edge with my mouth and fingers until she came with a muffled, shuddering cry, her release flooding my tongue.
She slumped in the chair, breathing heavily. I crawled out from under the desk, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, a smug, satisfied look on my face.
Haven stared at me, her expression a chaotic mix of shock, fury, and sated lust. "Althea," she breathed, her voice wrecked. "What the hell was that? Are you out of your mind?"
I smiled sweetly, climbing into her lap, straddling her. "I am. I have an accident and amnesia, remember?" I nuzzled her neck. "Besides, you liked it. You held my head down."
"For God's sake," she muttered, but her hands were already on my hips, pulling me flush against her. She reached over to a drawer, pulled out a packet of luxury wet wipes, and gently cleaned her release from my chin and cheeks. The act was tender, at odds with the frenzy of moments before.
I caught her wrist, bringing her fingers to my lips to suck them clean, my eyes locked on hers. "We can continue, Haven," I coaxed, my voice a low purr. "The chair is nice. But maybe somewhere… less accessible?"
I thought she was going to refuse, to put her CEO mask back on. She shifted me off her lap and stood, fastening her trousers with swift, efficient movements. My heart sank a little. But then she walked past me not to the door to leave, but to the door to lock it. The heavy thunk of the bolt sliding home was the most erotic sound I'd ever heard.
She pulled out her phone, and her voice, when she spoke, was loud, clear, and brooked no argument. "Liam. No one is to enter my office for the rest of the day. No exceptions. If anything is urgent, it goes to the secondary desk. I am not to be disturbed." She paused, listening. "I don't care if the building is on fire. Handle it."
She hung up. Then she picked up a remote from her desk. With a soft whir, the floor to ceiling windows previously clear, offering a dizzying view of the city darkened, their smart glass turning an opaque, smoky grey. Another button, and sleek sunshades descended silently, closing off the world entirely.
The office was now a sealed, private crypt. The only light came from a few discreet architectural lamps, casting long, dramatic shadows.
Haven turned to face me. The controlled CEO was gone. In her place stood the pure, unvarnished Alpha, her eyes black with need, her scent a potent, dominating cloud of grape wine and sex. "No one will disturb us now, my love," she said, her voice a dark promise. "Care to continue?"
I didn't answer with words. I closed the distance between us, kissed her with all the hunger and jealousy and wild possession she ignited in me. When I broke the kiss, I was breathless. "I want you, Haven. You're mine. Show me. Show me you belong to me."
A low growl emanated from her chest. "You want a show, little songbird?" Her hands went to the hem of my peach sweater dress. "Then let's see what you have to offer your Architect."
In one smooth motion, she pulled the dress up and over my head, tossing it aside. My bra and panties followed. Suddenly, I was naked in the center of her power nexus, and the vulnerability was as thrilling as it was terrifying.
"Eager," I tapped, even as I shivered.
"Starving," she corrected, her hands and mouth everywhere. She kissed me deeply, then trailed her lips down my neck, to my breasts. She took one nipple into her mouth, sucking and laving it with her tongue while her thumb circled the other. Her free hand slid down my stomach, through my curls, and found me already wet and aching for her.
"All this," she murmured against my skin, her finger slipping inside me, "because you were jealous of Emara? Of that pathetic, grasping creature?"
"Yes," I gasped, my hips rocking against her hand. "She winked at me. She was in your space."
"She is nothing," Haven snarled, adding a second finger, curling them. "Dust. A tool I used once and discarded. The only scent in this office, the only presence that matters, is yours. It's all I breathe when you're not here." She withdrew her fingers and dropped to her knees before me, her gaze fervent. "Let me remind you."
Her mouth on me was worship and punishment. She licked and sucked with a expertise that shattered coherent thought. I tangled my hands in her perfect hair, holding on as she drove me to a quick, sharp peak. I cried out, my knees buckling, but she held me up, swallowing every tremor.
Before I could fully recover, she stood, her own clothes now a forgotten pile on the floor. Her body was a masterpiece of lean muscle and power. And between her legs, her shaft thick, veined, fully erect stood proud. A slick bead of moisture gathered at the tip.
My mouth went dry. The sight of her, fully Alpha, fully revealed in this context, was devastating.
"Still eager to play?" she asked, her voice thick.
I backed toward the obsidian desk, never breaking eye contact. "I'm eager to see if the Architect can handle her own creation."
I hoisted myself onto the cold, hard surface, lying back among the scattered papers. Haven followed, settling between my thighs. She leaned over me, bracing herself on her arms, her shaft nudging at my entrance.
"I was so jealous today," she confessed, the words torn from her, as she pushed inside, inch by devastating inch. We both gasped at the sensation, the perfect, stretching fullness. "When I saw you with Janea. When you smiled at her. I wanted to burn the feed. I wanted to burn the building down."
She began to move, slow, deep thrusts that stole my breath. "I wanted to march in there, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you out. Mark you in front of her so she'd never forget whose scent is on your skin."
I wrapped my legs around her waist, pulling her deeper, meeting her thrust for thrust. "You don't need to," I panted, arching my back. "I am yours. Forever yours. She's the past. You… you're my future. My only one. Mark me again"
The words from my song hung between us. Haven's rhythm faltered, emotion overwhelming her. She buried her face in my neck and took a bite, her thrusts becoming harder, more possessive.
"And you," she growled against my skin. "Getting jealous over Emara. Over trash. You have no idea, Althea. No idea what you are to me. This office, this empire… it's just the shell I repaired to keep you safe. You are the core. The only thing that's real."
The banter was gone, burned away by the raw truth of our confession. It was just movement, and sensation, and the profound connection we were reforging with each thrust. The cold desk beneath me, her hot skin against mine, the smell of us mingling sex, sweat, strawberry, wine.
"I love you," I cried out, as the pressure built again, coiling tight and desperate. "I choose you, Haven. Every time."
"My love," she gasped, her own climax nearing. "My life. My everything. My universe"
We fell over the edge together, a synchronized shattering. Haven's release filled me, hot and claiming, as my own pleasure ripped through me, blinding and complete. Her name was a sob on my lips; mine was a prayer on hers.
She collapsed atop me, her weight a comforting anchor. We lay there on the desk, amidst the chaos of our passion and her scattered work, breathing each other in, two hearts hammering a slowing, synchronized rhythm.
After a long while, Haven stirred. She kissed my shoulder, my collarbone, my lips soft, tender kisses now. Then she gently pulled out and lifted me into her arms as if I weighed nothing. She carried me to the large, plush sofa in a seating area by the darkened windows.
She retrieved the wet wipes and cleaned us both with a meticulous, reverent care. Then she fetched one of her discarded suit jackets the fine, dark wool one and draped it over my naked, sated body. It swallowed me, smelling overwhelmingly of her.
"Sleep, my heart," she whispered, brushing my hair from my forehead. "I have work to finish."
Exhaustion pulled at me, heavy and sweet. I curled into the jacket, into her scent, and watched through heavy-lidded eyes as she returned to her desk. Naked, glorious, and utterly unselfconscious, she righted her chair, gathered some of the scattered papers, and began to work. The light from her desk lamp gilded her skin, highlighting the sweat-damp hair at her temples, the strong line of her back.
The CEO. The Alpha. The monster.
My monster.
And as I drifted into sleep, safe in the heart of her fortress, wrapped in the proof of her obsession, I thought I had never loved her more.
HAVEN'S POV
She slept.
Curled on the sofa, shrouded in my jacket, her face peaceful, lips slightly parted. The fierce, playful demon who had brought me to my knees under my own desk was gone, replaced by an angel of breathtaking vulnerability. Each soft, even breath she took was a hook in my soul, anchoring me to this earth.
I should be working. The contracts from Singapore needed final review. The Bali report demanded my attention. The smear campaign required a brutal, surgical counter-strike.
But I couldn't look away from her.
The sight of her sleeping in my office, in the citadel of my control, was a paradox that threatened to unravel me. She did not belong here, amid the cold calculus of power and profit. And yet, she was the only thing that had ever truly belonged here. She was the reason for it all. The silent cornerstone of every deal, the hidden fuel of every conquest. I built this empire to be a worthy cage for a creature like her. To be unbreachable. To offer everything, so she would need nothing and no one else.
And today, she had walked in and proven she could own the cage as thoroughly as I did.
My gaze drifted from her sleeping form to the dark, sleek line of my desk. I could still smell us on the air strawberry vanilla and sex, mingled with my own spent scent. The memory was a brand on my nerves.
Her on her knees. The defiant glint in her eye as Liam spoke. The secret, wicked pressure of her mouth. The absolute trust that I would maintain control, that I would not betray her game. She had turned a moment of supreme vulnerability into an act of supreme power. Over me.
A possessive thrill, hot and dark, coiled in my gut. She was learning. The amnesiac blank slate was filling not with the old, painful scripts, but with new ones she was writing herself. And they all seemed to feature me as both her guardian and her willing subject.
My eyes fell on the waste bin. The lacquered box was visible inside. Trash belongs in the trash. Her words, cool and definitive. She had seen Emara for what she was a nuisance, a parasite and had disposed of her claim without a second thought. The jealousy that had flashed in her eyes… it was a mirror of my own, and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
I wanted to wake her up and tell her. I wanted to describe the feeling of watching her on the camera feed, the visceral tear of seeing Janea approach her. The way my heart had stopped when she smiled, when she accepted that viper's apology. I wanted to confess that for a moment, a single, blinding moment, I had considered calling John and having him bring her home by force. Consequences be damned.
But then she had come here. To me. Drawn by jealousy of her own. She had walked into my lair and had not been cowed by its sterility, by the bowing employees, by the evidence of my surveillance. She had claimed it. She had claimed me.
On the desk. Against the glass. In my chair.
Each location was a territory she marked with her scent, her sounds, her pleasure. The quarterly reports were likely stained. I didn't care. I would have them laminated. Framed.
A soft sigh came from the sofa. She shifted, nuzzling deeper into the collar of my jacket. A small, sleepy smile touched her lips.
Everything in me softened, then tightened with a fresh, agonizing wave of possession. This was mine. This peace on her face, this trust in her sleep, this absolute sovereignty she held over every beat of my heart, every dark thought in my head.
I was Haven Hartwell. I commanded boardrooms. I broke rivals. I built palaces in the sky. And I was utterly, irrevocably enslaved to the amnesiac songbird sleeping on my sofa.
The work could wait. The world could burn.
For now, I would watch her breathe. And I would plan the rest of our forever, brick by obsessive brick, knowing that in the center of the perfect cage I was building, she was not a prisoner.
She was the queen.
And I, her most devoted and dangerous subject, would spend every remaining second of my life ensuring she never wanted to leave her throne.