CEO'S OBSESSION

CEO'S OBSESSION

Dominic

I never ask for names.

Not in hotel rooms like this, where secrets sweat through expensive sheets and pleasure is transactional, clean, and without consequences. That’s the rule. The boundary. My protection.

And tonight was supposed to be no different.

Until her.

She walked in like a storm in red lipstick and black silk. Legs longer than my self-control and eyes that didn’t flinch when they met mine. Not even for a second. I’d barely taken a sip of my scotch before she’d closed the space between us, her perfume wrapping around me like a slow burn—vanilla and vengeance.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t ask for small talk or flirtation. She simply stared at me like I was something she’d waited years to devour.

I was intrigued. Drawn in. Caught like prey that didn’t realize it was bleeding.

Her hand grazed my chest, slow, calculated. I caught her wrist.

“You sure?” I asked, voice low.

Her response was a breath against my lips. “Don’t speak. Just… take.”

My pulse jumped. That should’ve been the first red flag.

But I’ve never been good at walking away from things that smell like danger and look like sin.

The moment our lips met, the air changed. There was no foreplay—only fire. Her kiss was hot, messy, and demanding, like she already owned every inch of me and just came to collect. My hands found her waist, her ass, her thighs, pulling her against me so hard she gasped—but even that sounded like a dare.

Clothes fell like dominoes. Her dress slipped off her shoulders, slow, elegant, as if she wanted to savor the look in my eyes. Lace underneath. Black, barely-there, and meant to be peeled away.

“Bed,” she whispered.

“No,” I muttered. “Right here.”

I lifted her, pushed her against the floor-to-ceiling glass window. The city twinkled behind her—cold and distant. But in here, it was heat and friction and a rhythm that felt too familiar.

She wrapped her legs around me like she knew me. Her body responded like muscle memory, her nails scoring my back, her breath hot against my neck.

It wasn’t just sex. It was something else. A silent storm, a message my body couldn’t decode.

She moved like she’d imagined this moment a thousand times—but not as fantasy. As punishment.

I drove into her with everything I had, chasing the high, the silence, the release.

Her moans weren’t soft. They were war cries. Victorious. Broken.

And when she finally came, trembling and gasping my name, I swear I felt her shatter. Not from pleasure. From something deeper.

“Dominic…”

The way she said it—too slow, too deliberate—should’ve rung every alarm in my head.

But I was too far gone.

Consumed by the scent of her skin.

By the strange ache crawling up my spine.

We collapsed together, tangled in sweat and sheets. I barely blinked before sleep stole me, heavy and dreamless.

When I woke, she was gone.

No note. No trace. Just the faint warmth on the pillow beside mine.

I sat up, rubbing my temples. The air felt too quiet. Too still. Like something had been stolen from me in the night.

It’s not unusual. Women come and go. One-night stands don’t bother with thank-you's.

But something about her… lingered.

I searched for her name in the hotel system. Nothing. She wasn’t even registered under a room. She had slipped in like a shadow and disappeared like smoke.

For weeks, I tried to shake it. Buried myself in work. In meetings. In meaningless sex that tasted like ash. But every night, I saw her. Felt her.

And I hated that I craved it.

I hated that I kept going back to that night in my mind, rewinding it, trying to understand the look in her eyes. Not hunger. Not lust.

Hurt.

And something more dangerous.

Knowledge.

She knew who I was. That much I was sure of now. But I didn’t know her. Not even her name.

Until two months later.

When the new executive assistant walked into my office—flawless, composed, unreadable—and smiled like she’d never tasted me, never whispered my name, never disappeared without a trace.

And I realized…

She hadn’t left me behind.

She was just getting started.

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