Chapter 154 Knotting the CEO -1

David’s POV

The worst part of working on the fourth floor wasn’t the endless stream of quarterly reports or the erratic AC unit that turned the north corner into a freezer.

It was the clear glass partition separating my desk from Julian’s office.

Julian Vance - my supervisor, my boss, and the primary reason my focus had plummeted over the past six months.

It was 6:45 PM. Most of the floor had cleared out, leaving only the soft hum of the fluorescent lights and the rhythmic tap of my fingers against the keyboard.

Through the glass, I watched him. He had his jacket off, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his forearms, revealing the dark line of a wristwatch against his skin.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back into his leather chair with a faint, exhausted sigh.

My chest tightened. Every detail about him felt magnified when the office went quiet: the precise way he parted his hair, the sharp angle of his jawline when he turned to look at a second monitor, the subtle scent of sandalwood that lingered in the hallway whenever he walked past my desk.

"David?"

His voice cut through the quiet, coming from the doorway of his office. I snapped my head up, praying the warmth I felt creeping up my neck wasn’t visible.

"Yeah, Julian?" I asked, keeping my tone strictly professional - or trying to, anyway.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. The posture pulled the fabric of his shirt tight across his chest and shoulders. "Are you almost finished with the Q3 projections? I don’t want you staying past seven."

"Just wrapping up the final summary," I said, glancing down at my screen before looking back up at him.

He smiled, a small, rare expression that shifted his usual stern demeanor into something disarmingly warm.

"Good. You’ve been working too hard lately."

As he turned to head back to his desk, my mind unraveled. I pictured what it would take to break through that composed exterior - how it would feel to walk into his office, close the blinds, and turn the lock.

I imagined walking around his desk, catching his eye, and placing a hand firmly on his shoulder until that calm authority dissolved into something completely unraveled under my control.

I shook my head slightly, forcing my eyes back to the spreadsheet in front of me. The thought was a dangerous distraction, especially considering he was the one approving my performance reviews.

"David," Julian called out again, his voice lower this time as he gathered his coat. "Let’s grab a coffee before we head out. My treat."

I closed my laptop, my heart doing a familiar, frustrating flip in my chest. "Sounds good, Julian. Lead the way."

The soft click of the office door closing behind us as the rest of the floor emptied out was always the signal.

That was when the air in the room changed, turning thick and heavy with everything I had to keep bottled up during nine-to-five hours.

Julian was standing near the whiteboard, his back to me as he capped a black marker. The movement pulled his tailored shirt tight across his back and shoulders, accentuating every line of his frame.

My gaze tracked down to his waist, then to his hands - strong, precise hands that usually held fountain pens or managed budget sheets.

My pulse hammered in my ears.

The urge to close the distance between us was almost physical, a pull so sharp it made my palm itch to reach out and grab his shirt, to pull him back against me until he couldn’t pretend this was just a normal working late session.

I wanted to shatter that effortless composure he wore like armor. I wanted to see what happened to all that cool, executive authority if I took control - if I pushed him back against that mahogany desk, trapped him between my arms, and forced him to look at me without the buffer of HR policies or corporate hierarchy.

The thought of him leaning back under my weight, breathless and completely at my mercy, sent a sudden spike of heat straight through my chest.

He turned around slowly, catching me mid-stare.

For a second, neither of us said anything. His eyes locked onto mine, searching, and for one terrifying, thrill-filled second, I wondered if he could read every dirty, completely inappropriate thought running through my head.

"David?" Julian’s voice was lower now, stripped of its usual crisp, meeting-room tone.

"You’re looking at me like you have something to say."

I swallowed hard, stepping around my desk, deliberately closing half the space between us. "Maybe I do, Julian."

The distance between us shrank to a single stride, and the quiet in the office stretched thin, like a wire about to snap.

Julian didn’t step back. That was the thing about him - he was used to holding his ground, used to being the most powerful presence in any room he walked into.

But standing this close, I could see the tiny flicker of uncertainty in his dark eyes, the slight rise and fall of his chest as his breathing shifted.

My mind was racing, completely untethered from common sense. I was done imagining it from behind a computer screen.

I wanted to take that composed, authoritative man and completely unravel him. I wanted to grip his wrists, pin them against the edge of his mahogany desk, and watch the exact moment his cool executive persona cracked open under my hands, leaving him breathless and looking up at me for direction.

"David," he repeated, his voice dropping into a register so low it hit me like a physical touch. He tried to maintain that calm, boss-to-employee cadence, but the hesitation gave him away.

"If this is about the project extension..."

"It’s not about the project, Julian," I interrupted, my voice steady, leaving no room for him to pivot back to business.

I took the final half-step forward. My body was practically brushing against his now, close enough that the scent of his sandalwood cologne filled every breath I took. I let my gaze drop deliberate and slow - from his eyes, down to his mouth, and then down to the top button of his collared shirt that had come undone.

He swallowed hard, his throat moving against the open collar. His hands twitched slightly at his sides, but he didn’t pull away.

"You’ve been watching me all evening," he murmured, his tone hovering right on the edge between a warning and an invitation.

"I’ve been watching you all month," I corrected softly, stepping fully into his space until the desk was pressed against his back, trapping him neatly between the dark wood and me. I leaned in just close enough that my breath fanned across his jawline.

"And right now, I’m thinking about all the things you can’t put in an email."

Julian didn’t move. He didn’t push me back, and he didn’t pull away, even though the mahogany desk was pressed flush against his thighs, leaving him zero room to retreat. His composure was hanging by a single thread, and we both knew it.

The silence in the office was suffocating, heavy with the sharp contrast of who we were supposed to be versus what was actually happening. He was the one who ran this department. He was the one who signed off on my salary, who issued directives, who walked through these hallways with an unspoken authority that made everyone else straighten up. But right here, trapped between the heavy wood and my body, all of that power was slipping straight through his fingers.

My hands hovered just inches from his waist, every muscle in my arms coiled tight with the impulse to grab his belt, to lift him slightly and set him right onto the edge of that desk.

I wanted to see the control wash right out of his face. I wanted to hear that smooth, practiced voice lose its cadence and turn into ragged, uneven gasps while I took over completely.

"David," he breathed out, his hands gripping the edge of the desk behind him. His knuckles were turning white.

"You have no idea the line you’re crossing right now."

He tried to sound firm, tried to summon that supervisor edge he used in boardrooms, but his voice cracked on the last word. His eyes were wide, dark, and completely locked onto mine, tracking the slight tilt of my head as I leaned in closer.

"I know exactly which line it is, Julian," I murmured, dropping my voice until it was barely a whisper against his neck.

"And I think you’ve been waiting for me to cross it."

I brought one hand up, deliberate and unhurried, letting the flat of my palm rest against his chest. I could feel his heart hammering wildly beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, fast and frantic, completely betraying the calm front he always put on.

Julian’s head tilted back slightly against the glass wall behind his desk, a quiet, involuntary shudder running through his shoulders as my fingers slowly traced the line of his collar down to his sternum.

"Tell me to stop," I said softly, my thumb brushing against the warm skin exposed at his neck, asserting control over every inch of space between us.

"Tell me to go back to my desk, and I will."

He swallowed hard, his chest heaving against my hand, but the words didn’t come.