My Dad's Bestfriend (Evelyn and Jacob) novel Chapter 263

Sienna

"I believe a few days of absence made you forget what I said before, huh?"

He stepped closer, and I found myself gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles white, breath quickening, heart hammering in my chest.

I wasn't exactly in a safe spot right now.

On his desk. In his office. With him standing right between my legs.

And worse? He was mad. Utterly, terrifyingly mad.

So what else was I supposed to do except run?

And stupidly—that's exactly what I tried. But before my feet even touched the ground, he caught me like I weighed nothing, lifting me effortlessly and placing me back on the desk. Right where I'd been. Trapped. Caged under his control, under his dominance.

"Whatever happened that night was a mistake, huh?" he murmured, voice low, almost amused. His hands settled on my hips—and tightened.

I couldn't move. I didn't know whether I physically couldn't... or if I didn't dare to. Because those eyes—God, those eyes—burned with something feral. And I had a gut feeling that if I even tried to push him away, he'd burn me alive and I'd be too far gone to care.

Alexander Grayson had an unhealthy amount of control over my body—hell, over my soul—and I'd been stupid enough to hand him the keys. Voluntarily. God, I was so damn stupid.

"What are you—" I tried to speak, but froze when he leaned in closer. He wasn't just looking at me—he was studying me. Every blink. Every breath. Every tremor under my skin.

His hand moved, brushing my collarbone as his fingers toyed with the pendant at my neck. His touch was light, almost lazy, but it sent shivers racing down my spine.

He never failed to remind me who held the upper hand.

And I doubted he planned on showing mercy tonight.

"Tell me," he whispered, voice calm, dangerously calm. "What part of that night was a mistake, Flower?"

He said it softly—too softly—but the possessive edge in his tone said everything else. I'd pushed him. Hard. And now, I was in his territory, dancing on a line I shouldn't have crossed.

"Um—" I tried, voice shaking, "leaving the kitchen?"

He chuckled. Low. Throaty. The kind of laugh that carried danger under every note. It wasn't his usual amused one—it was darker. Controlled. Just like him.

And the fact that I couldn't read what was going on behind that calm, unreadable face made every inch of this room feel suffocating. Tight. Strained with tension.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with something halfway between amusement and warning, "You really do enjoy testing limits, don't you?" His hand came up—gripping onto my neck—not cruel, just enough to make my pulse jump—as his fingers tightened around my neck, making me see white. "One day, Flower," he murmured, voice low, "you'll push too far."

Before I could answer, he tugged me off balance, guiding me back onto the desk, making me lay bent on the desk. The move was sudden enough that a startled breath escaped me, my palms splaying against the polished surface.

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