Nate

Three years. Three fascinating, sexually frustrated years. That’s how long I’ve worked with the enigmatic Domino Thorne and not acted on my impulse to make her mine. She obliterates my thoughts every time she walks into a room. I want to unravel her. Chip away at her practiced exterior of strength and confidence and expose the soft femininity hiding underneath. I want her open to me. Her thighs. Her body. Her mind. I want her writhing and shivering in front of me while her deepest secrets are out on display.

But a torrid office affair is the last thing I need. Not when the eyes of the world are on me and my company.

“Mr. Wellington?” Dom’s low voice interrupts my thoughts—warm and rich, like bourbon and chocolate drizzled in caramel and bound in silk.

I stand near the floor to ceiling windows in my conference room, hands in my pockets, attention on the street below rather than the room full of people waiting for me to speak. Snow filters down from gray skies. Pedestrians march down the sidewalks, chins tucked into their coat collars and scarves. Yellow cabs clog the street. A mess of people in a hurry to be late. Smartphones in hands. Importance on their faces.

When I started my company—a startup I called Technocrat—I was young and optimistic. Determined to run my business as a collaboration of great minds doing great things. I envisioned us sitting at a huge round table throwing ideas around with wild eyes and frantic hair. Hands gesturing. People pacing. Spewing brilliance like sunshine from the horizon at dawn.

Reality proved different from fantasy, as it tends to do. As the years progressed, I realized people prefer to be told what to do—which works for me because I prefer to be the one giving orders. I gave up my roundtable idea in favor of a weekly Monday Meeting of Minds, inviting only the people whose quick wit and intellect intrigue me the most. Some people have waited a decade for an invitation. Dom got hers after her first month with the company, at the age of twenty-four.

“Let’s get started.” I give my focus to the people waiting for my attention. Most of them are fidgeting, uncomfortable in the quiet. Not Dom. She meets my gaze head on. Chin lifted, eyes focused. Impenetrable.

“Give it to me straight,” I say with a smile. “I want the good, the bad, and all the possible ways to get better.” I pull out my chair and sit. “Notice I didn’t ask to hear about the ugly because we all know there’s no room for that here.” People chuckle and shuffle papers. “It’s a new year. Let’s dominate.”

The meeting passes in a slew of data and numbers and ideas ranging from impressive to ridiculous. Throughout it all, I never once lose awareness of Dom. Even when she’s not speaking, I keep tabs on what she’s doing, noticing tiny shifts in her posture or attentiveness. She’s in everything I do now. A portion of my thoughts are always allocated to her. My desire for her has blossomed into an obsession, a war between my need to have her and my need to avoid scandal, but she’s the only thing I can remember wanting and not taking.

“Mr. Wellington.” Dom squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. “I have a thought.” She licks her lips and her gaze drifts to my mouth.

What I would do with my mouth on that body…

“Hit me with it.” I lean back in my seat and tuck my hands behind my head. The leather creaks beneath my weight.

Dom waits until all eyes are on her. “Devices are our future.” She smiles, showing a neat row of white teeth. “Phones. Tablets.” Her pale blue eyes light up and she sits even straighter. “Technocrat has dominated the online space for years now, but there’s no growth opportunity for us there anymore. But.” She holds up a finger. “If we take the elements you’ve implemented in your browser and search engine—anonymity, control, and simplicity—into handheld devices? You’ve demonstrated there’s a market there. People are tired of sacrificing their privacy and personal data to big corporations. Just imagine how they would react to an entire line of devices built around the same principles.” She flares her hands, a question on her face, and waits for the information to sink in.

Conversation buzzes around the table, some of it positive, some of it uncertain, but all of it surprised.

“Devices,” I say. The table quiets as I purse my lips and steeple my fingers, mulling the thought over in my head. “Interesting.”

It’s more than interesting. I had the idea myself six months ago and haven’t been able to get the thought out of my head since. It’s fucking brilliant.

The corner of Dom’s lips curl into a smile. “It’s the next logical step. And one we can make without too much effort.” Her gaze sharpens. She leans back, letting her hands drape over the arms of her chair.

She looks at me like she can see through me to all the wicked thoughts in my head. Thoughts of her lips parting, her body quivering. My mouth at her neck, my teeth on her skin. The woman exudes sensuality and wears confidence like a perfume. Even leaning back in her chair, her posture is straight and confident, her head delicately balanced over her shoulders. Her dress is perfectly appropriate, the neckline meeting her collarbones and covering her shoulders, but she wears it like lingerie.

The meeting ends and she stands, towering over everyone but me in her four-inch heels. She gathers her things as people meander out of the conference room. Taking her time. Stalling until we’re the only ones in the room.

“Mr. Wellington.” She stands close enough that I’m aware of the space between us as if it has a life of its own.

“Ms. Thorne.”

“My idea is good. It is our next logical step.” She smiles again, confidence and composure oozing from every pore. “I want to spearhead the project.”

I smile as I fight images of that blonde hair tumbling free from her tight updo. Of it spread across my pillow as her lips part around a moan and her back arches while I bury myself in her. We’d come undone together. Bodies raging like the sea against the rocks.

I nod. “It is a good idea. One worth considering. Well done, Dom.”

She beams and I’d do anything to keep that look on her face all the time. “Thank you. I have data and ideas if you’d like to take a look at them. We can create a game plan and have things moving sooner than you think.”

“Wonderful. Get a meeting set up and we’ll discuss things.” My phone pings for the hundredth time this hour. I ignore it.

Dom raises an eyebrow. “Already done. We have a meeting at nine am next Monday.”

As if that wasn’t bold enough, Dom turns on her heel and walks away without waiting for me to respond. I stare after her, my gaze traveling down her back to her swaying hips and straight to the seams traveling up the back of her tights. Tights I just know are held up by garters.

Dom’s sexuality is a power play, a way to control the people around her. It’s the same reason I keep my suits impeccably tailored, my hair gelled to perfection, and just the right amount of five o’clock shadow peppering my face. Everything in this world comes down to sex. Except sex. That’s all about power.

I’ve built my whole world around that idea. Obviously, Domino has, too.

The two of us will be explosive together.

Denying myself the things I want is against my nature. The fact that I’ve wanted Dom for three years and not done anything about it confounds me. It’s time to put my worries about work and scandal aside. Life gets boring when you play by the rules.