SINVEER'S POV
When I receive the medical report about Marla, I could not stop laughing, recalling what Liach did to her yesterday It was hilarious. What a feisty little assistant I've here. I thought she was only collected, and professional—who would have imagined she can snap to this extent, being so wild because someone pushed the wrong button.
Which is what I've been trying to see. That fire.
And Marla, of course, did that for me, by bring all out. Acting all disgusting and make unnecessary noise.
So I call Liach in to hear what it is she has to say for herself.
As she opens the door, and walks in. I remain standing, back to her, facing the city.
"Sir, you sent for me."
I don't say anything.
The silence stretches, and I drink it in. She's standing there, perfectly still, probably thinking about how to justify breaking three ribs and giving my favourite bed warmer a concussion in front of the security team.
Which should make me angry.
But I'm not.
Instead I'm hard.
"Marek says, Marla has a fractured wrist, three bruised ribs, and a concussion." I say it flat, but in my head? How will you defend yourself now, Liach?
She answers like she's brushing lint from her blouse. "Sir, she walked in, talked shit And I responded."
I see she's not going with an apology, as some would. As expected.
"What did she say?" I ask. as if I'm not aware.
"Sir, I don't think I should say that." She replies with hesitation in her voice.
"Liach!" I call her name pretending I'm getting mad.
There's only one thing Marla knows—dicks. Because that's the only thing inside her head for instead of a brain.
But I want to hear it from your lips, Liach.
Say it.
"That we are fucking, Sir."
I bite my lips hard as a smile and a groan threatens to come out.
Then I turn slowly, finally facing her.
And gods— She looks fucking bored. Like violence is her coffee break.
"What kind of response was that, Liach? A military-grade assault?" I ask.
Ignoring her comment. Obviously taunting her. Watching as she wrestles with her mind, trying to raise her chin high.
With her eyes filled with all determination she says. "She got in my face and I put her back in her place, Sir."
Fuck, this girl.
I want to laugh, I want to reprimand her, but Instead I smile. The kind of smile that creeps up when you're imagining a woman's moans against the desk she thinks she thought she owns.
My palms keep itching, as my breath fights in my lungs. Because now? I'm thinking about all the different ways I could fuck her. Bent over the desk? Or on her knees, skirt hiked, legs spread, lips red with every word she keeps spinning so perfectly well.
But I decide against it, lowering my hands but still smiling. She's turning me on, and she knows it. Because it's either that or my head is fucked.
"You don't really give a fuck do you?" I continue.
Her response only makes it worse. Cool. Sharp. Fire wrapped in glasses, skirt, and a blouse.
"You may leave now, Ms. Liach."
"Yes, Sir." She walks out.
This devilish little thing is going to make me break my reserve, one of these days, and she'll push me too far, that I'll stop pretending I'm in control.
*
Later that day I was with Marek in the office discussing some matters, "She's just a placeholder."
I say it with exactly the right edge, not bored, not cold. Just casual enough that she'll believe it, because I want her to hear it. She's eavesdropping I know it. I'd bet a 100 million-dollar arms deal she's sitting right outside this door with her spine too straight and her mouth in a thin line, listening to this conversation.
Marek still rattling off logistics. I barely listen to whatever he's saying, since my mind's already on her.
How will she look in a dress beside me? However she looks, it won't be too different from how she comes to work.
By the third night, I went to her residence to pick her up. I was working on a table when the car was open, accompanied by a soothing, relaxing aroma, and a beautiful lady. A lady that knows her place. A Blood-red silk dress, neckline very low, high slit revealing her thigh. Thigh that looks like they could crush a man's skull, and he'll beg for more.
Fuck! She's stunning. She's not a placeholder. She's a weapon. And a woman.
She steps into the car, before I even meet her eyes.
"Good evening, Mr. De Luna."
"Evening."
I could not speak. Because right now, I'm trying not to say every dirty thing that passes through my mind: how would she look in chains? How long could I keep her on her knees before she starts shaking? What would her voice sound like when I finally break her?
I adjust my cuffs and pretend I'm unaffected by what I'm seeing.
On getting to the Kastro estate, cameras flash.
Eyes turn.
As I offer her my arm. Her fingers wrap around my arm like she owns it, and I let her. I lead her inside.
When we're introduced, the CEO of Stylegenix clothing firm smile, asking who Liach is.
"Who's this?" He says.
I answer before she can."My assistant."
I didn't look at her, but I feel it—the shift in her spine, the calculating silence in her throat. She's pissed.
Good.
Then, I wait—meant for her. To see how she'd react.
"And date," I continue.
I hear her exhale softly, a breath I knew she held in.
Through every conversation, my gaze sweeps to her. For every slight movement, I touch her. My thumb circles slowly where her hip curves. God, the way the dress hugs that body. Her ass it's tempting.
My fingers graze her back. Her waist. Every brush is a whisper of what I want to do to her. I want to take her against one of these walls, my hand over her mouth, the other at her throat. watch as her thighs tremble from the inside. Over every Kastro dining table—shoving that blood-red gown to her waist and fucking her until she cries my name like a prayer and a curse.
But I don't. Not tonight, this night is about patience, about watching her burn in the heat, I'm creating.
She leans in, close enough for our shoulders to touch, and whispers.
"Touch me too long and you might be giving the wrong impression."
No, not the wrong impression, love. This is exactly what I want.
I smile as I wrap my entire arm around her waist, locking her in my space, restraining myself not to claim her lips here and now, and say, "This is exactly the impression I'm trying to convey." I whisper in her ears.
And that shuts her up.
Her pupils flare, but she says nothing.
A slight chuckle escapes me.
As the party continues, Liach never leaves my side, not once.
When we were halfway through the party, I notice she was shivering a little.
"Liach, it's time to leave."
"Yes, Sir."
Getting to the exit, Liach requests I let her go. I say nothing, but tighten my grip.
what? Are you having problems being in my arms? Or is that boyfriend of yours here?
By the time we get to the car, she pulls out of my grip. Which surprisingly makes me extremely angry. Before she can open the car door, I press her against the car in two strides, hovering over her, brushing my fingers across her jaw, wanting to hold her face firmly and ravage her lips. My body telling me to fuck her right here and now—outside, under the moonlight on top of this car, but my mind is restraining me to take it slow and not scare her away.
"You look exquisite tonight, Liach." Trailing my hand from her face to her collarbone, down her hip, placing my hand behind her on the car handle. I lean in further, bringing my face to her ear, between her neck, inhaling her pleasant aroma again.
"And you smell good too," I add, yanking the door open, slamming her into my body, then slide into the car, pressing down on my hard dick.
I know if should stay a little bit longer, I will do something I haven't made plans for.
When we get to her residence, I follow behind her, to ensure she gets to her apartment before I leave.
That's when I notice she sways her hips like a dare.
And a thought keeps echoing—Maybe I should've tie those thighs open and suck her for hours. Maybe I should have claimed her in the car before she even got home.
How will she take it?
Will she cry?