Chapter 156 Knotting the CEO -3

Julian’s POV

The worst part wasn’t the silence that fell between us after that night; it was the proximity.

Working together meant there was no escaping him. My office floor felt smaller, the glass walls thinner, and every routine interaction suddenly carried the weight of a live wire.

I had spent three days hiding behind a wall of strict professionalism, speaking to David only in curt, clipped sentences during morning stand-ups and keeping my eyes firmly locked on my screen whenever he entered my office.

I thought I could manage it. I thought setting the boundary would reset the dynamic.

I was wrong.

It was 4:30 PM on Thursday when the printer in the main archive alcove jammed.

It was a narrow, windowless room hidden behind the breakroom - a space barely wide enough for two people to stand shoulder-to-shoulder.

I went in to pull the jammed paper tray from the bottom feeder, crouching down to clear the gears.

I didn’t hear the door open. I only felt the sudden shift in airflow, followed by the heavy, unmistakable scent of his cologne.

"Here, let me," David’s voice hit the shell of my ear, low and smooth.

Before I could stand up or object, he was right there.

He didn’t take a step back to give me room. Instead, he leaned over me, one arm reaching right past my head to support himself against the machine, trapping me between his chest and the metal frame of the printer.

The heat radiating off him was immediate, searing through the thin cotton of my shirt.

"David, move," I rasped, trying to push myself up, but my back hit his chest. The solid weight of his frame kept me firmly pinned in place.

"You’re struggling with the alignment tray, Julian," he murmured.

His tone was entirely calm on the surface, but the steady, deliberate pressure of his hips against my back told a completely different story.

"Just trying to be helpful."

His free hand reached down, his fingers deliberate and slow as they brushed right over mine to grab the plastic latch.

The contact sent a sharp, electric jolt straight up my spine. He didn’t hurry. He let his thumb rest over my knuckles, pressing just enough to remind me of the grip he’d had on my neck three nights ago.

My breath caught in my throat. The archive room had no glass walls, no eyes watching, no buffer. Just the low hum of the fluorescent bulb overhead and the suffocating closeness of his body wrapping around mine from behind.

"This isn’t... you need to step back," I said, but the words lacked any real power, coming out as a strained, breathless whisper.

"Is it wrong to help my supervisor?" he asked, his voice dropping into that dark, heavy register that made my thighs go weak.

He slid the tray into place with a firm click, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned down further, his cheek almost brushing mine, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of my neck.

I could feel the deliberate, firm ridge of his already hard cock pressing flush against my lower back, asserting a control that completely dismantled my executive composure.

I clamped my eyes shut, my hands gripping the edge of the printer paper tray so hard my knuckles turned white.

My body was betraying me again - aching to lean back into him, to feel those strong hands turn me around and push me against the wall right here in the dark.

"David... please," I choked out, a mix of panic and desperate restraint.

"Tomorrow’s the project review," David whispered, his lips so close to my ear that I felt the movement of his mouth against my skin.

He lingered for one long, agonizing second, letting me feel every inch of the pressure he was applying, before he finally stepped back.

The cold air of the room hit me instantly as he released me.

"I’ll have the files on your desk by nine, Boss," he added softly.

He turned and walked out, leaving the archive door swinging quietly behind him, while I stood alone in the small room, my heart hammering against my ribs and my hands shaking too hard to pick up the paper.

---

The narrow archive room had set a dangerous precedent, but the real test came late Friday evening during the final project review.

Everyone else had left for the weekend. The main office floor was dark, the only light spilling from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of my corner office.

Rain tapped rhythmically against the glass, masking the heavy, expectant quiet that settled between us.

I was sitting behind my desk, reviewing the final budget binder. David stood directly beside my leather chair, leaning over to point at a line item on the page.

He was so close I could feel the heat radiating off his thigh against my shoulder.

Every time he spoke, his breath brushed the side of my neck, sending deliberate shudders down my spine.

"The margin on this section needs your sign-off," David said smoothly, his voice dropping an octave lower than normal.

"I... I see it," I managed, trying to keep my eyes fixed on the numbers. But my hands were trembling.

David’s hand moved off the desk, sliding down to rest lightly on my shoulder.

His fingers squeezed, firm and possessing, massaging the tight knot of tension in my neck before his hand began a slow, deliberate descent down my chest.

"David, don’t," I choked out, but the protest was entirely devoid of force.

He didn’t listen. He moved behind my chair, turning it slightly so I was forced to look up at him.

His eyes were dark, burning with a quiet, commanding focus that pinned me in place.

Before I could scramble up, he stepped into the notch between my knees, taking complete control of the space.

"You’ve been distracted all day, Julian," he murmured, his voice was steady and low.

"Let me help you relax."