Chapter 13: He almost took me

~Lora’s POV~

The client meeting had been brutal—intense questions, tight deadlines, and me trying to sound professional while my mind kept drifting back to Chard’s lap two nights ago, the way he had held me while I cried like my whole broken past was pouring out of me.

My body still buzzed with leftover adrenaline and something darker, something that made my skin feel too tight and my thighs pressed together under the conference table.

By the time the last person cleared out, the office had gone quiet, lights dimmed in the open floor, and I needed printer paper like I needed air…just something normal to do with my hands before I lost what was left of my mind.

I slipped into the supply closet at the end of the hall, the door clicking shut behind me with a soft finality that sounded louder than it should.

The small room smelled like paper and fuzzy cleaning solution, shelves packed tight on both sides. I reached for the ream on the middle shelf, stretching up on my toes, when the door opened again.

Chard stepped in without a word.

He locked it behind him. The click echoed in the tiny space.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I turned, still holding the paper like a shield, but he was already moving—crowding me back until my spine hit the metal shelving.

His hands settled on my waist, firm and warm through my blouse, and he pressed his forehead to mine. Close. Too close.

His breath mixed with mine, hot and rough, and I could smell him….that dark cologne mixed with the soft salt of a long day.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he murmured, voice low and rough, like stone dragged over silk. “The way you felt in my lap the other night. How you let me hold you while you broke. How you cried for everything that bastard took from you… and still trusted me enough to fall apart in my arms. It’s driving me fucking insane, Lora.”

I swallowed hard.

My hair was down today—long brown waves loose over my shoulders for the first time since that angry kiss in his office. I had done it on purpose.

I told myself it was nothing, just easier after the shower this morning. But standing here with his body heat bleeding into mine, I knew the truth.

I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to notice.

He noticed.

His eyes flicked to the strands framing my face, then darkened. One hand slid up, fingers threading gently through the thick mass at the back of my head.

He fisted it—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to tug my head back, exposing the line of my throat. A soft whimper escaped me before I could stop it.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my skin. “You wore it down for me, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because his mouth was already on my neck—hot, open kisses that turned into slow, deliberate sucks, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks straight down between my legs.

My knees buckled.

He caught me, pressing me harder against the shelves, his thigh sliding between mine like he knew exactly where I needed pressure.

Then he kissed me.

Not soft. Not careful. Desperate and filthy, tongue pushing past my lips like he owned the right, teeth nipping at my bottom lip until I gasped and opened wider.

I kissed him back the same way—angry, hungry, months of tension exploding in the tight space. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer even as my brain screamed that this was dangerous, that anyone could walk by and hear us.

His hand roamed up, palming my breast through the thin fabric of my blouse. His thumb found my nipple, already tight and aching, and circled it slowly and roughly until I whined into his mouth, arching into the touch.

Heat pooled low and liquid between my thighs.

I ground down on his thigh without thinking, chasing the clash, feeling the hard frame of his cock pressing insistently against my stomach through his slacks….thick, hot, unmistakable.

“God, you’re soaked already,” he groaned against my lips when his other hand slipped under my skirt, fingers brushing the soaked edge of my panties.

He stroked there once, teasing, feeling how wet the lace was. “Feel that? This pussy is dripping for me. All because I held you while you cried.

Because you let me see the real you.”

I moaned—low and broken—hips rolling against his fingers as he pressed the fabric against my clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that made my vision blur.

“Chard… please…”

He kissed me harder, tongue fucking my mouth in time with the teasing pressure of his hand.

“I want to drop to my knees right here. Push these panties aside and taste how sweet you get when you’re desperate. I want to lick you until you’re shaking and coming on my tongue, whispering my name like a secret.”

His words hit like a drug—dark, possessive, wrapping around the ache inside me until I couldn’t breathe right.

I was grinding shamelessly now, chasing his fingers, my hands sliding down to grip his ass and pull him tighter against me. His cock throbbed against my belly, leaking enough that I could feel the wet spot through his slacks.

The thought of him losing control, of him finally snapping and fucking me right here against the shelves, sent another rush of wetness soaking my panties.

But then he stopped.

He pulled his hand away. Stepped back just enough that cool air rushed between us. His chest heaved, eyes black with hunger, jaw clenched like it physically hurt him to stop.

His lips were swollen from my teeth, hair messy where I had dragged my fingers through it.

“I won’t take you in a fucking supply closet,” he said, voice wrecked and raw. “Not like you’re some quick fuck I can hide. You’re more than that, Lora. You deserve better than shelves digging into your back while I lose control.”

I stood there trembling, lips swollen and tingling, hair a wild mess around my shoulders, thighs slick and aching with need that had nowhere to go.

My nipples were tight against my blouse, skirt rumpled, panties ruined. I could still taste him on my tongue, still feel the ghost of his fingers teasing where I needed him most.

He reached for the lock, fingers steady even though his whole body looked coiled tight enough to snap.

As the door started to open, I whispered, voice hoarse and shaking with frustration and something deeper, darker:

“Then where will you take me?”