Page 22 of Obey

Her composure slips just enough to show me the hunger underneath. I advance until her back meets the glass, bracing my hands on either side of her without touching her.

Her gaze drops to my mouth before returning to my eyes. She doesn't move away. Doesn't ask me to. Instead, her chin lifts slightly, bringing her face closer to mine, and the invitation, however unintentional, is unmistakable.

Fuck.

She has no idea how much restraint it's taking not to close the distance myself.

I lower my mouth to her ear, letting my breath graze her skin. “You should be more careful, Sola. Keep pushing, and you might find yourself cornered with nowhere to run.”

The nickname slips out before I can stop it.

Her eyes widen slightly before she schools her expression and that fleeting glimpse beneath her usual confidence makes me want to say it again, just to see what other reactions I can pull from her.

Pulling back, I watch as she studies my face, searching for what? I don’t know. But when her teeth catch her full bottom lip, I know I need to step away before I do something I won't be able to compartmentalize. I've spent too many years building SOLAÉ to let my own appetite become a liability, no matter how badly I want to find out what Sloane Harper tastes like.

All it would take is one kiss to find out how quickly those clever comebacks would dissolve against my mouth.

I lower my hands and step aside, forcing myself to put some distance between us before reaching for the door.

"You're dismissed, Ms. Harper." I turn away, returning to my desk without looking back. The seconds stretch as she remains frozen, then she seems to remember herself as she stumbles out a goodnight and vanishes, leaving the faintest trace of her perfume.

Alone, I replay the victory over and over. Proof that I've finally cracked Sloane Harper's composure. I relish the fact that for one perfect moment, I got under her skin the same way she’s been getting under mine for weeks.

And Christ help me, I want to do it again.

By the time I make it into the penthouse, all I want is a drink and ten minutes without anyone demanding something from me.

Apparently, that's too much to ask.

I barely settle onto the sofa before Jace climbs into my lap, grinning like he's been waiting all evening to make himself a problem.

"Look who finally decided to join us," he purrs, fingers already working their way down my shirt buttons.

My little gremlin. I should've known better than to expect a peaceful evening.

"Not now," I warn, catching his wrist before he can undo the next button, but the fucking brat just pushes my hands away and continues.

“Is that jasmine and vanilla I smell?” My shirt parts under Jace’s hands as he leans closer. “Mmm. Jasmine. Vanilla. And pure frustration. Someone had quite the day with our lovely little assistant.”

“She’s a pain in my ass.”

His grin widens when my body betrays the lie. “You’ve been wound this tight since she left.”

“Been like that for four weeks,” Elias says from the sofa.

“The only thing that has me tense is next quarter’s projections.”

Jace laughs softly. “Sure. So you’re definitely not picturing a certain curvy, smart-mouthed assistant bent over your desk, that pencil skirt hiked up around her waist as you fuck that attitude right out of her?”

The image arrives before I can stop it and my fingers close in his curls and my dick is painfully hard. “Floor. Now.”

He goes down smiling, all loose grace and deliberate provocation. "Sir," he says, the word half-courtesy, half-dare.

From the sofa, Elias doesn't look up. "Don't keep him too long. He has pasta on the stove."

"He knows better than to start something he can't finish," I say, and free myself with one hand while the other keeps him where I want him.

I stroke once, slowly. Jace licks his lips, gaze tracking every movement from under his lashes.