Chapter 3 A Subtle Touch

The office smelled of polished wood and expensive coffee, but to me, it smelled like restraint. Like the thin line between propriety and the raw, dangerous fire that lived behind closed doors with Conley Davids. My heels clicked across the marble floor, each step measured, controlled, professional-just like the world expected me to be. And yet, underneath the crisp pencil skirt and tailored blouse, my body still burned from last night. Every memory of his hands, his lips, his dominance, made my pulse spike, made my fingers itch to touch, to feel, to surrender.

I slid into my chair, fingers shaking slightly as I opened the day's schedule. The high court had another full docket, MyAlly's board meeting loomed in the afternoon, and Conley-my master, my CEO, my forbidden lover-would be in every room I dared to enter.

I caught his reflection in the polished glass behind my desk. He was already moving through the office, sharp suit, sharper eyes, a presence that demanded attention. In public, he was untouchable. Reserved. Professional. The kind of man people feared and admired in equal measure. But I knew the truth. I knew the fire simmering beneath his calm exterior. I could see it in the way his gaze lingered when he thought no one was watching, in the subtle flex of his hand when I passed him files, in the curve of his smirk when our eyes met across a crowded boardroom.

I swallowed hard, aware that even a subtle twitch of my lips or a half-second too-long glance could betray my complete, unrelenting need for him. My secretary's composure was tested every single day, but the worst part wasn't the challenge of pretending. It was the delicious, excruciating anticipation that came with it. Every moment spent in proximity, every brush of fingers, every inhale of his cologne, sent me spiraling into the memory of last night.

A knock on the glass panel of my office drew me back. "Ms. Harper," Conley's deep, commanding voice rumbled. Even at a whisper, it made me shiver. I looked up, heart racing, and found him standing there, perfectly composed, but with a glint in his eyes that promised mischief-or maybe punishment.

"Yes, Mr. Davids?" I asked, voice steady, though my chest threatened to betray me.

He entered without waiting, closing the door behind him, his presence filling the room entirely. "The board wants the projections by noon," he said, leaning against the desk, one hand brushing against mine as he passed the folder across. The touch was brief, almost accidental-but it left my skin tingling, my nerves on fire.

"Yes, sir. I'll have them ready," I replied, swallowing, trying to maintain professionalism while my body screamed for him.

He didn't move, just stood there, eyes scanning mine as if he could see straight into my soul. "You're tense," he said softly, almost a murmur, his voice dangerous in its intimacy. "Last night..." His lips curved, just slightly, teasing, knowing. "You haven't stopped thinking about it, have you?"

I bit my lip, heat spreading across my face. "I... I might have," I admitted, careful to keep it just ambiguous enough to seem like a private thought, not a confession.

"Good," he said, almost satisfied. "Because you'll need that memory. You'll need it to survive today." His hand brushed mine again as he picked up the folder, deliberately slow, deliberately close. The faintest scratch of his thumb over my skin sent shivers through me. "Every time you look at me today, I want you to remember last night. Every inch, every whisper, every claim. Understood?"

"Yes, Daddy," I whispered before I realized it. My own voice surprised me, and I could see the sharp lift of his brow, the twitch of a smile that was both approval and warning.

"Good girl," he murmured, letting his hand linger a fraction longer than necessary. Then he straightened, professionalism snapping back like a whip. "Now, get to work. We have appearances to maintain."

I watched him leave, the click of his shoes a slow, tantalizing drumbeat in my chest. The office felt colder suddenly, too sterile, too normal. But beneath my professional composure, my body hummed, remembering, aching, craving. Every moment, every glance, every command from Conley left its mark on me-inside and out.

By mid-morning, the tension had become unbearable. I found myself sneaking glances at him across the room, imagining the last night's fire, the way his hands claimed me, the way his lips and teeth and teeth and dominance had taken me apart. My notes blurred as heat pooled between my legs. I pressed my thighs together, hoping no one noticed.

He caught me staring once, his eyes narrowing slightly, but just for a second. Then, with the faintest lift of his hand, he nodded toward my desk-a silent acknowledgment of ownership. My pulse jumped. That single gesture, so subtle to anyone else, sent a current through me that made my knees weak and my fingers tremble.

The board meeting was a torture of professionalism and restraint. Conley sat at the head of the table, sharp, commanding, eyes occasionally flicking to me with a silent reminder: we were alone in the office, yet the world demanded control. Every word he spoke, every gesture he made, was layered with dominance, hidden yet undeniable. I tried to focus, tried to take notes, but every glance, every subtle lean, every brush of his hand across his papers made me ache for him, crave him, remember the way he moved in private.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the meeting adjourned. People filed out, leaving us alone-or almost alone. My pulse raced as he leaned against the doorframe, watching me organize the files. "You've been very good today," he said softly, voice just above a whisper, the kind that makes your body betray you despite all willpower.

"I... I'm trying, Daddy," I murmured, still keeping the veneer of professionalism.

"Trying isn't enough," he countered, stepping closer, the distance between us shrinking to a breath. "I need obedience. Total surrender. And I expect that tonight." His eyes darkened, the glint of promise unmistakable. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," I breathed, chest tightening. "I'll be ready."

He smiled, almost smugly, then left the office, the door clicking softly behind him. My fingers trembled, my body still alive with the memory of last night and the anticipation of tonight. Every second I spent under the fluorescent lights, pretending to be professional, was a countdown to the private, forbidden paradise that awaited us.

The rest of the day was a blur of tasks and meetings, each mundane activity colored by anticipation. I moved mechanically, but my mind-and my body-were entirely elsewhere, recalling last night's heat, last night's domination, the way he had claimed me, marked me, possessed me. I could feel his presence in every glance, every subtle movement.

When evening finally came, I could barely contain myself. The office emptied, leaving only the two of us. Conley appeared in the doorway, perfectly composed, but the dark glint in his eyes promised no business tonight-only fire, only desire.

"Ready for tonight?" he asked, voice low, dangerous, teasing.

"Yes, Daddy," I whispered, trembling. "I've been waiting all day."

"Good girl," he murmured, stepping closer, pressing just enough to ignite every nerve. "Because tonight, you're mine again. Completely."

And in that moment, the sterile office, the professional world, the facade of propriety-it all vanished. There was only us. Only fire. Only need. Only the forbidden, consuming, unrelenting passion that bound us together, body and soul.