19
Mateo’s leg twitched again—only this time, he didn't jolt or flinch.
He kicked Silas.
Hard enough to make him back off. Not too hard to raise suspicion.
Silas jerked slightly under the table. Mateo didn’t even look down. He kept his face blank—stone cold—even as his jaw clenched and his belt hung open beneath the polished oak table.
“Right,” Mateo said, voice clipped. “We’ll wrap this up here.”
The executives blinked in confusion.
“Sir?” one of them asked, brows raised. “We still have three more items on the agenda—”
“I said we’re done.” Mateo stood up. His voice left no room for argument. “You can email the rest.”
The room fell silent for a beat. Some exchanged glances, but no one dared challenge him.
One of them finally cleared his throat. “Alright then… meeting adjourned.”
Chairs shuffled, papers gathered, footsteps faded.
Mateo didn’t move.
He waited until the last man walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Then he ran a hand down his face, exhaled sharply, and muttered under his breath—
“…Someone’s getting punished.”
He looked down.
Silas was still on his knees.
Mateo smirked. “Get up.”
Mateo shut the door behind him with a soft click.
Silas was still kneeling near the bar, shirt slightly rumpled, lips swollen with mischief.
Mateo leaned back on the table edge, crossed his arms, and let out a low breath—one of those quiet, dangerous ones.
His voice dropped. Smooth. Deep. Laced with that slow-burning heat.
“So… little bodyguard,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “what were you doing under the bar table?”
Silas looked up, innocent eyes betraying nothing but desire.
Mateo tilted his head. “Thought I told you it was a confidential meeting.”
Silas stood slowly. A button popped open.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured, voice soft and hoarse, like he was saying something shameful. “I had to follow you… and do what I’ve been thinking about all week.”
Another button. His chest peeked through now.
Mateo raised a brow, silent.
Silas stepped closer, gaze never breaking.
“I swear, boss…” he whispered, unbuttoning another, letting the shirt hang low, “I only wanted to please you.”
Mateo gave a short breath of laughter. Dry. Dangerous.
“You’re lying,” he said.
Silas blinked, but his lips curved up like sin.
Mateo stepped in close—real close—until their breaths mixed.
“But damn,” he muttered, “you lie so well.”
Mateo didn’t even wait. His hand shot out—grabbed Silas by the collar.
“You think you can distract me during a meeting?” His voice was low. Raspy. Breathy like he was already drunk off the heat between them. “You’re insane.”
Silas grinned, wild. “Then take it out on me.”
Mateo didn’t hesitate.
He shoved Silas against the wall, lips crashing down, all fire and teeth. Buttons popped. Clothes rustled. Their bodies pressed like they were trying to burn through each other.
Silas moaned into the kiss, clutching Mateo’s shirt like his life depended on it. “Fk, boss—”
Mateo pulled back, breathing hard, eyes dark.
“You want to play dirty under my damn table? Fine,” he growled, fingers already yanking Silas’s shirt open completely. “Let’s both get dirty.”
Silas was gasping now, head tilted back as Mateo’s mouth found his neck—biting. Claiming.
He laughed, breathless. “Knew you’d break.”
Mateo’s hand slid down—gripped his thigh hard.
“I’m not breaking,” he muttered darkly. “I’m about to ruin you.”
Silas barely had time to breathe before Mateo gripped his wrist and dragged him toward the desk.
“Turn around,” Mateo growled, voice so low it could shatter glass.
Silas didn’t move fast enough.
Mateo spun him around himself—palms flat on the desk, chest heaving, shirt halfway off.
“Damn it, Silas,” he muttered, pressing close. “You’ve been asking for this since the day you wore that stupid tight suit.”
Silas chuckled, breath shaky. “You noticed?”
Mateo’s fingers dug into his waist. “I noticed everything.”
He leaned down, lips brushing his ear.
“And now you’re going to feel it.”
Silas gasped as Mateo’s hands roamed—hot, rough, possessive. Every button. Every line. Every breath felt like a match being lit on skin.
“I can’t focus when you’re near,” Mateo muttered, grinding against him. “Can’t think. Can’t breathe.”
Silas moaned. “Then don’t think. Just ruin me.”
Mateo didn’t need to hear it twice.
The desk shuddered beneath them, papers flying, pen holders crashing to the floor.
And neither of them cared.
They were breathless. Sweaty. Feral.
Silas’s hands clutched the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Mateo’s voice was ragged in his ear. “You think I’m done with you? No. You’re not walking tomorrow.”
Silas just laughed, wrecked. “Good. I don’t wanna walk. I just wanna feel you.”
And so Mateo gave him everything.
Hard.
Deep.
Until the only sound in the room was the creak of the desk, their shaky breaths—and the whispered promise in Mateo’s mouth:
“You’re mine. And I don’t share.”
Silas’s fingers clutched at the edge of the desk, knuckles white, body trembling. His voice cracked as he whined out, “Boss… can we stop…? It’s been an hour…”
He sounded wrecked.
Mateo didn’t even flinch. He straightened, brushing his thumb along Silas’s sweaty spine, then grabbed his discarded tie from the floor like nothing had happened.
“Get up,” Mateo said coldly, already buttoning his shirt. His tone was back to that same old heartless executive—sharp, collected, like Silas wasn’t still dripping and limp over the desk.
Silas blinked, trying to lift his head. “Huh?”
Mateo tightened his cuffs. “You said you wanted to work under me, right?”
Silas’s heart stuttered.
Mateo leaned in just a little, voice like a knife wrapped in silk. “Then don’t complain when it gets intense.”
He walked off like it was nothing.
Didn’t even help Silas up.
Just left him there—half-naked, breathless, ruined on the mahogany desk—with his pride scattered in pieces.
Silas groaned. “Oh my God… I hate you.”
Mateo’s voice came from the door, smooth as hell.
“No, you don’t.”
Then the door clicked shut.
Silas lay there for a second, totally dazed.
Then he laughed—low, breathless, ruined. “Fk…”
He wiped his mouth, still smiling like an idiot. “I loved every damn thing…”
That was when his comms—long forgotten, disconnected and shoved somewhere in his jacket—crackled back to life.
“Agent Reeds, we lost connection. Is everything okay?”
Silas froze, then groaned and fumbled to grab it. He brought it to his lips, trying to sound put-together even though he was very much not.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “No suspicious movement. The meeting was… normal.”
He coughed.
“Very… quiet.”
His lips twitched. God, he was such a liar.
But whatever. He’d done what he had to do.
And he’d do it again.