The ballroom glittered with light, crystal chandeliers scattering gold across polished glass and perfectly tailored suits. Alison moved through the crowd like she owned it, the kind of woman who drew eyes without ever asking for them. Tonight, her dress was a shade between midnight and ink, clinging in ways that left little to the imagination, her lipstick a deliberate flash of red against the swirl of champagne flutes and hushed conversation.

She felt him before she saw him. That tightening at the back of her neck, that flicker of awareness that made her spine lengthen, her steps sharpen. When she finally lifted her gaze, there he was—across the room, talking to someone he clearly wasn’t listening to, because his eyes were fixed on her. Not the polite, fleeting glance she was used to at these launches. This was something heavier, warmer, a gaze that lingered like fingers brushing along bare skin.

Alison didn’t look away. She took a slow sip of her drink, let her lips close around the rim of the glass just a fraction more deliberately than usual. His eyes followed. She let herself smile, not wide, not friendly—something closer to a dare.

The speeches began, and the crowd shifted, murmuring and clapping as the host took the stage. Alison drifted into the edge of a circle, standing among executives who were all nods and practiced grins. She pretended to be listening, but she could feel him nearby, the same way one feels the sun even when facing the other way. A heat against her skin. She stole a glance.

Closer now. Too close to be coincidence.

She felt a thrill rise in her chest, that mix of danger and delight. Most men disguised their interest in her—stolen peeks, careful timing, plausible deniability. Not him. His focus was unapologetic, a direct line that pressed into her and refused to lift.

By the time the first applause rippled through the room, Alison’s lips curved in a small, private smile. She had seen that look before, but not with this kind of intensity. Not with that heat. And suddenly the launch, the speeches, the endless chatter about innovation and strategy—none of it mattered. She had a new project.

By the time the first applause rippled through the room, Alison’s lips curved in a small, private smile. She had seen that look before, but not with this kind of intensity. Not with that heat.

She turned her head just enough to catch his gaze fully, to let him know she wasn’t pretending not to notice. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away—just inclined his head in the smallest, most deliberate of acknowledgments.

Frederick.

Someone had murmured his name earlier in passing, a whisper attached to a handshake and a title she hadn’t cared to catch. Now it was etched in her, a name wrapped in a stare that promised trouble.

The speeches dragged on, full of numbers and buzzwords, a dull hum beneath the sharper rhythm that had begun to pulse between Alison and Frederick. She shifted her weight, letting her dress slide against the curve of her thigh, aware that his eyes followed the smallest motion.

When the applause broke again, she felt him before she saw him. A presence at her side, his shoulder grazing hers—just enough to be felt, too deliberate to be an accident. Alison didn’t move away. Instead, she tilted her glass, as if to catch the light, savouring the awareness that he had chosen proximity over pretence.

“Beautiful work,” he said smoothly, nodding toward the stage, though his gaze never left her.

Alison’s lips curved, not in gratitude, but in invitation. “It’s only as beautiful as the attention it gets.”

Frederick’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. He leaned closer, his voice lowering into something intimate. “I wasn’t talking about the prototype.”

The words brushed against her skin like fingertips, and Alison’s pulse quickened. She turned her head slowly, meeting his eyes head-on. Dark, steady, unflinching.

She let silence hang between them, a taut string pulled tight, before answering with the faintest tilt of her head. “Then I hope you’re a man who knows how to give proper attention.”

His laugh was low, almost hidden. “Why don’t you test me?”

A waiter passed with a tray of champagne, breaking the tension for anyone watching. But Alison felt the heat where his arm pressed against hers, the whisper of his breath near her ear. She didn’t need to look at him to know the game had begun.

The crowd shifted as the next presenter took the stage, and Alison used the lull to slip away. Her heels clicked softly against marble as she moved toward the quieter edges of the ballroom, into a corridor half-lit by wall sconces. She told herself she needed air, space—but she already knew who would follow.

Frederick didn’t disappoint. The sound of his steps fell into rhythm with hers, unhurried, purposeful. When she glanced back, he was there, jacket open, tie loosened, eyes locked on her as if nothing else in the building existed.

She stopped beneath a gilt-framed mirror, letting the soft shadows curl around her, and turned. “Persistent,” she said, voice velvet and sharp.

He closed the space between them, slow, deliberate. “Determined.”

Her back brushed the wall, not because he forced it but because she didn’t step away. His hand lifted, fingertips grazing the fabric at her shoulder, trailing down to the curve of her arm. The touch was light, but it seared.

“You’re bold,” she murmured, tilting her chin, lips parting just enough to tempt.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering there. “You knew that the moment you saw me watching.”

Alison’s laugh was soft, throaty. “You weren’t subtle.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

The honesty of it made her pulse race. And then he was closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. She should have turned her head, created distance—but instead, she closed it. Their mouths collided in a kiss that was sharp and hot, not polite, not exploratory. It was possession, ignition, obsession made physical.

His hand slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her fingers tangled in his jacket, clutching, holding him there. The kiss deepened, urgent, almost reckless, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, breath stolen.

Alison broke away first, lips swollen, eyes dark with heat. She steadied herself with a hand against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat fierce beneath her palm.

“You shouldn’t,” she whispered, though her smile betrayed her.

His voice was rougher now, laced with hunger. “And you don’t want me to stop.”

Her answer was only a glance, sly and molten, before she slipped from his grip and started back toward the ballroom, leaving him in the shadows with the taste of her still burning on his lips.

The speeches droned on behind the ballroom doors, muffled by thick walls. Alison slipped into the private corridor that led to the restrooms, her stride unhurried, though her pulse betrayed her. She didn’t check if Frederick followed. She didn’t need to.

Inside the marble-walled lounge, she leaned against the counter, adjusting the strap of her dress, pretending composure. Her reflection in the mirror looked flushed, lips still swollen from the stolen kiss. A thrill coiled low in her stomach. She wanted him here—no, she needed him.

The door opened, and Frederick stepped in, shutting it behind him with deliberate finality. The lock clicked.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Alison said, though her tone carried none of the warning her words suggested.

He moved closer, his eyes blazing with the kind of hunger that made her legs weaken. “You wanted me to be.”

Before she could deny it, his hand was in her hair, tilting her head back. His mouth crashed onto hers with raw, consuming force. She met him with equal fervor, fingers clawing at his shirt, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush, the heat between them undeniable.

The kiss deepened, messy and hungry, his tongue sliding against hers as though claiming territory. Her nails dragged down his chest, and he groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating against her lips. His hands explored without hesitation—waist, hips, the small of her back—each touch making her ache for more.

She broke the kiss only to gasp as his mouth moved to her neck, hot breath ghosting over sensitive skin before teeth grazed her collarbone. “Frederick—” His name escaped in a breathless plea she hadn’t meant to give him, but it made his grip tighten, made his movements rougher.

He pressed her back against the cool marble counter, one hand anchoring her there, the other sliding down her thigh. The silk of her dress hiked up beneath his fingers as he teased the edge, skimming higher, higher, until she parted her legs without thought. The boldness of it made her dizzy.

“You’re mine right now,” he murmured against her ear, voice thick with possession.

Her only answer was a gasp as his fingers pressed exactly where she needed him most. Desire surged through her, sharp and unrelenting, her body responding as though it had been waiting for this, for him.

The room filled with the ragged sound of their breathing, the low hum of need spilling into desperate touches and unrestrained kisses. His mouth claimed hers again, slower now, deeper, as if to taste every ounce of her surrender. She clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, arching against his touch, letting herself be consumed by the sheer intensity of wanting and being wanted.

When she finally broke away for air, her lips brushed against his ear as she whispered, “This is only the beginning.”

And though the world outside carried on in polite applause and polite speeches, in here, nothing existed except their obsession—two people who knew they should stop, yet had no intention of doing so.

The restroom was too risky, too small for what they both wanted. Alison pulled away first, breath ragged, lipstick smeared in the most delicious way. She met Frederick’s eyes in the mirror, both of them caught between restraint and ruin.

“Not here,” she whispered, though her hand refused to let go of his shirt.

He understood instantly. Without another word, he led her out, down the quiet corridor, past locked doors and storage rooms. Finally, he found it—an empty office tucked away from the glow of the gala. He pulled her inside and shut the door hard enough to rattle the frame. This time, there was no pause, no hesitation.

His mouth was on hers before the lock even turned. She moaned into the kiss as his hands roamed, urgent and greedy, pushing her dress higher until the silk bunched around her hips. When his fingers brushed bare skin, his control snapped.

Frederick lifted her onto the desk, scattering papers and pens to the floor. Alison gasped at the cold surface against her thighs, then arched into him, her heels digging into his back to bring him closer.

“Tell me you want this,” he growled against her throat, even as his hands were already tugging at his belt.

Her eyes burned with obsession, her voice low but steady. “I don’t just want it. I need it.”

That was all it took. He thrust inside her with one hard, claiming stroke, and both of them groaned at the sharp, overwhelming sensation. She clutched at his shoulders, nails biting through fabric, every nerve in her body lit alive.

He moved fast, relentless, every motion fueled by weeks of stolen glances and restrained hunger. The desk creaked beneath them as he drove deeper, harder, each thrust punctuated by her ragged cries and his low curses against her skin.

Alison met him with equal force, hips rising to meet his, every movement desperate, frantic, like she couldn’t get close enough. Their lips found each other again—wet, breathless, half-kisses that dissolved into panting gasps.

“Frederick—God,” she moaned, voice breaking as pleasure surged through her.

He gritted his teeth, jaw tight as he fought for control, but the sight of her—head thrown back, hair spilling wild, lips parted in pure abandon—nearly undid him. “You drive me insane,” he rasped, thrusting harder. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her answer came in the form of her body tightening around him, pulling him deeper, demanding more. Their rhythm turned fevered, a blur of skin and heat and breath, the room filled with the sounds of their obsession made flesh.

It was reckless. It was forbidden. It was everything they couldn’t admit out loud—yet here, in the dark, with no one watching, they gave it to each other without restraint.

And for the first time that night, Alison didn’t think about the gala, or the prototype, or anything beyond this: Frederick’s body inside hers, his desire consuming her, and the terrifying, intoxicating realization that she never wanted it to stop.

Her legs locked around him, trapping him deeper, harder, as if she couldn’t bear even an inch of distance. Frederick braced his palms on either side of her, driving into her with a pace that rattled the desk beneath them. Every thrust dragged a cry from her lips, every movement proof of how badly she needed him—how badly she wanted him.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way her breasts rose and fell with every shuddering breath, the smear of lipstick across her cheek, the thin sheen of sweat that made her glow like she was lit from within—it all twisted inside him, a coil wound so tight he could barely breathe.

Alison’s nails carved down his back, dragging fabric with them, her head tipping back as she gasped, “Harder… don’t stop—”

And he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. He was lost in her, in the way she clenched around him, in the way she cried out his name like a prayer laced with sin. He pulled out only to slam back in, her body taking him, drawing him deeper, demanding everything.

Then she pushed against his chest suddenly, breathless, eyes blazing. “Down.”

For a split second he hesitated, then he obeyed, letting her shove him back into the chair behind the desk. Alison climbed onto him with a grace that was half feral, half divine, straddling his lap with her dress hitched up around her waist. She sank down onto him in one smooth, devastating motion, and Frederick’s vision nearly went white.

“Fuck—Alison,” he groaned, his hands flying to her hips.

She rode him with wild, unrestrained rhythm, her body moving like it had always belonged to his. Every bounce, every roll of her hips made his grip tighten, made his teeth clench as he fought the rising tide inside him. She was watching him, eyes locked on his, daring him to lose control.

“You feel that?” she whispered, her voice low and wrecked. “That’s obsession, Frederick. That’s what you do to me.”

Her words shattered whatever threads of restraint he had left. He thrust up to meet her, their bodies colliding in perfect, brutal rhythm. She gasped, moaned, her cries echoing in the small room, and the sight of her coming undone on top of him drove him past the edge.

The coil snapped. He clutched her to him, burying his face against her neck as his release ripped through him, fierce and overwhelming. Her own climax followed like fire catching dry kindling, her body convulsing around him as she cried his name so loud he feared the whole gala might hear.

They clung to each other as the waves tore through them, sweat-slick and shaking, their breaths tangled in the dark. Every nerve in Frederick’s body screamed with the aftershocks, yet even as they slowed, even as reality crept back in, he knew one thing with terrifying clarity:

This wasn’t a one-time mistake. This wasn’t just lust.

It was obsession. And it had only just begun.

The room was still humming with the echoes of them—shallow breaths, the faint creak of furniture, the sticky heat of bodies that refused to separate. Alison sagged against Frederick’s chest, hair damp against his jaw, her heartbeat fluttering wild and fast beneath her skin.

He slid his hands slowly down her back, palms heavy, unwilling to let her go. Her skin was hot to the touch, slick from their exertion, but he didn’t care. He wanted to memorize the shape of her like this—wrecked, trembling, yet still somehow in control.

“You’re…” His voice was rough, almost unrecognizable, words scraped raw by what they’d just done. He kissed her temple instead, letting the unfinished thought hang in the air.

Alison shifted, lifting her head just enough for their eyes to meet. Her lipstick was smeared, mascara faintly blurred, but she’d never looked more devastating. Her smile was slow, lazy, but her eyes—those eyes—burned with something far darker.

“Addicted already?” she teased, though her tone carried no real lightness.

He swallowed hard, fingers digging into her hips. “More than you know.”

Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, “Good. Because I’m not done with you.”

The words sent a fresh shiver down his spine. He was still inside her, softening slowly, yet the hunger sparked again with just that one promise. She rolled her hips slightly, just enough to make him bite back a groan, and he realized with brutal certainty that he’d follow her anywhere for more of this.

The gala outside might have gone on, speeches wrapping up, champagne glasses clinking—but here, in the dim silence of the office, time felt fractured.

She leaned back finally, smoothing her dress with careless hands, though she didn’t bother fixing the straps that had slipped from her shoulders. Watching her, Frederick felt a possessiveness coil inside him, something primal that both terrified and thrilled him.

Alison noticed, of course. She always noticed. And she gave him that smile again, sharp and knowing, before leaning in for one last kiss—slow, deep, claiming.

When she pulled away, her lips lingered at the corner of his mouth as she murmured, “This isn’t over, Frederick. Not until I’ve had my fill.”

And with that, she slid off his lap, leaving him wrecked, aching, and absolutely certain he’d never have enough.