( After two months)
Two months had passed since that night on the cliff, and nothing about Akon had changed — not his obsession, not the way he claimed her without words, not the way she craved him even when she tried to resist.
The villa felt like home now, though she would never admit it aloud. And yet, stepping into the sleek boardroom of Akon's family enterprise, she felt like a stranger again — a small, fragile intruder in a world ruled by power, money, and unspoken hierarchies.
Akon stood at the head of the table, commanding the room as effortlessly as he commanded her heart. His sharp suit did nothing to soften the edges of him; if anything, it made him more dangerous. He looked at her as she entered, a slow, calculating smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Sharon," he said, voice low, meant only for her, "you've been missed."
Her pulse quickened, and she clenched her fists at her sides. "I've been busy," she murmured, though her voice betrayed the flutter of excitement she refused to name.
"You've been learning the ropes," he said, stepping closer, the heat from his body brushing her arm. "Good. I like a woman who understands the rules… before breaking them."
Her stomach twisted at the double meaning.
Watching her navigate the room, his chest tightened. Sharon in a business suit, hair pulled back, sharp eyes scanning contracts and reports — it was intoxicating. The intelligence, the confidence… and the subtle ways her body betrayed her desire every time he stepped near.
He wanted her. Not just in fleeting nights on the balcony, but here, now, in the quiet thrill of proximity, in the tension of public restraint. He leaned close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath. "Two months," he whispered, "and I still crave you the way I did the first night."
She swallowed, lips parting slightly. "And I… I can't pretend I don't."
That admission made something dark and fierce roar inside him. He had been patient, restrained. But now… it was time to remind her, in every glance, every brush of skin, what waiting had done to him.
Meetings blurred into moments of stolen glances and subtle touches — the press of his hand against hers when passing documents, the way he leaned over her shoulder, chest warm, scent intoxicating, whispering clarifications into her ear that made her heart stutter. Every professional setting became a battlefield of desire and discipline.
Later, when the last executive left, Akon finally closed the doors behind them. His suit jacket fell to the floor as he crossed the room with predator-like grace, eyes dark with intent.
"You've been far too patient," he murmured. "Two months. And every time I see you in a boardroom, in my office… I imagine this…"
He captured her lips with his, urgent, demanding, claiming. Sharon's hands went to his chest, feeling the tension beneath the crisp shirt. Desire roared through her, and for once she didn't resist.
His hands roamed over her body with a hunger tempered by reverence, tracing curves she hadn't let anyone see, touching places that made her breath shatter and knees weaken.
"You're mine," he growled, pressing her against the polished mahogany desk. "Not because I demand it… but because you can't deny it."
Sharon gasped, letting herself succumb to the heat between them. Here, in the silence of the boardroom, they were both rebels and prisoners, lovers and conspirators.
He loved the contrast — her composed, intelligent exterior and the fire he could ignite beneath it. Every moan, every tremble of her hands on his shoulders, was a victory and a gift.
"Say it," he whispered, teeth grazing her ear. "Say you want me."
"I… want you," she breathed, and the words, fragile and bold at once, set him ablaze.
They gave themselves to each other with a desperate, simmering passion — careful to balance desire and restraint, lust and love. Every kiss, every touch, was a declaration: two months of tension, longing, and unspoken obsession exploding into heat and intimacy that neither had fully anticipated.