The dinner at The Sterling Club stretched late into the evening, the air thick with rich laughter, expensive scotch, and the heavy, invisible thread of Tom’s absolute dominance.
By the time Ethan paid our portion of the bill and we stepped out into the crisp Manhattan air, my nerves were frayed to a delicate thread.
“That was an incredible night,” Ethan said, wrapping his arm securely around my shoulders as we waited for the valet to bring our sedan.
He looked over at Eric and Joe, who were engaged in a spirited debate about a vintage car auction.
“We definitely need to do this more often.” “Count me in,” Joe grinned, tossing a charming, flirty wink in my direction.
“Rain, if you ever need a break from designing for Eric’s demanding tastes, my penthouse offer still stands!” “Don’t listen to him, Rain,” Eric laughed, giving Joe a playful shove.
“He just wants free interior consulting.
Drive home safely, you two.” Tom stood slightly apart from the group near the granite pillars of the entrance, looking imposing, cool, and immaculate in his tuxedo.
His hands rested casually in his pockets, his dark eyes fixed on me with that signature, unbothered smirk.
“Goodnight, Rain,” Tom murmured softly as Ethan guided me toward the passenger side of our car.
His low, velvety baritone hit my skin like a physical stroke.
“I’ll see you at the studio on Thursday to inspect those software updates.” “Goodnight, Tom,” I replied, keeping my tone smooth, polite, and completely devoid of the chaotic pulse hammering behind my collar.
Thursday afternoon arrived with a heavy, overcast sky that draped Brooklyn in a subdued, silvery mist.
Inside the studio, the atmosphere was quiet.
I had sent Susan home early to handle administrative tasks remotely, leaving the vast, open-plan workspace bathed in soft, natural light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling glass.
I stood at my drafting table, pretending to adjust a set of CAD schematics, but my eyes kept drifting toward the heavy glass entrance doors.
At exactly two o’clock, the entrance chime sounded.
Tom stepped inside.
He wore a crisp, tailored navy suit without a tie, the top two buttons of his white shirt undone, giving him a relaxed yet intensely formidable aura.
He held a leather portfolio under his arm, moving with that effortless, military-grade grace that made every room feel suddenly smaller.
He didn’t say a word as he locked the front glass door behind him with a quiet, decisive click.
He turned the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’ with absolute, unhurried composure.
My heart did a violent, terrifying thud against my ribs.
I held my chin high, leaning my hip against the drafting table to keep my posture rigid and elegant.
“The studio is closed to the public today, Tom,” I said, my voice smooth and level, though my pulse was humming wildly in my throat.
Tom took three slow, deliberate steps toward me, his polished shoes silent against the hardwood floor.
His dark eyes swept over my fitted cream sweater and tailored trousers before locking into mine with an icy, dangerous intensity.
“I am not the public, Rain,” Tom murmured softly, his low voice a rich, intoxicating purr.
“I am the security detail your husband hired to protect your most vulnerable access points.” He set his leather portfolio on the island beside my blueprints, closing the distance between us until he stood right in front of me.
The rich scent of dark cedar, expensive leather, and pure heat wrapped around my senses, completely overriding my rational thought.
“You’re escalating this,” I breathed out, my breath hitching as he reached out with effortless precision.
His broad, warm palm rested gently against the side of my neck, his long fingers curling behind my ear.
His thumb pressed lightly against my racing pulse point, feeling the wild, frantic rhythm of my heart beneath my skin.
“I am not escalating anything, Rain,” Tom whispered, leaning down until his lips were an inch from mine, his dark eyes burning with absolute, unwavering dominance.
“I am simply taking what you’ve been offering me since the moment we met in Eric’s study.
You try so hard to hide behind your marriage, your talent, your quiet demeanor…
but the moment I touch you, you belong to me.” “Tom…
please—” Before the plea could fully form, Tom captured my lips in a deep, commanding kiss that wiped away every remaining shred of my resistance.
His free arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me effortlessly until I was seated on the edge of the high drafting table, my legs parting to accommodate his broad frame as he pulled me flush against his chest.
The contrast was dizzying—the cold, pristine glass of my professional sanctuary surrounding us, while Tom’s burning hands and ruthless presence completely consumed me.
My hands, which had intended to push him away, betrayed me completely, sliding up his chest to grip the lapels of his navy jacket as a quiet shudder ran straight down my spine.
When he slowly lifted his head, his breathing was calm, cool, and steady, while mine was ragged and shallow.
He looked down at me with that wicked, unbothered smirk playing on his lips, his thumb giving my swollen lip a slow, possessive stroke.
“Your husband thinks your studio is safe now, Rain,” Tom whispered against my skin, his deep voice vibrating through my chest.
“He has no idea that the man he trusts to protect you is the one holding you captive in your own sanctuary.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, sleek silver key, placing it quietly on the blueprints beside me.
“What is that?” I gasped out softly, looking at the key.
“A key to the private estate cottage at the Lawrence property,” Tom murmured, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding command.
“Eric is hosting a weekend retreat for the firm next month.
Ethan will be playing golf with Joe.
And you…
you will meet me at the cottage.” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispered his final, chilling command: “Don’t keep me waiting, Rain.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Patel_Palace “If you’re enjoying the story, please add it to your Library/Collection!”