Dylan Garcia

The alarm clock on the nightstand glowed 5:32 a.m. in the half-darkness.

I stirred slowly, disoriented, my body heavy with exhaustion but strangely light at the same time. The ache in my thighs, the dull burn in my ass, the sore stretch of muscles I didn’t even know I had—it all screamed at me the moment I moved. But the sheets smelled faintly of cedar and something darker, familiar.

Charles.

I blinked and turned my head. He was beside me, one arm slung lazily across the sheets, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He looked so different in sleep—sharpness blunted, jaw relaxed, his hair falling messily over his forehead. No dominance, no walls, just a man.

And me. In his bed. Again.

It wasn’t until I shifted that I realized… I was already cleaned. Clothed. My skin smelled faintly of soap, a soft black shirt draped over me instead of my robe. I hadn’t done that. He had. He hadn’t just left me wrecked on his sheets—he’d taken the time to wash me, dress me, tuck me in beside him.

My chest tightened. Too much. It was too much.

Careful not to wake him, I pushed the blanket back and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My feet touched the cool hardwood, my breath caught as I reached for my clothes folded neatly on the chair. I had work. A life outside this. I couldn’t get used to—

“Where the fuck are you going?”

His voice was low, gravelly, laced with sleep but sharp enough to freeze me instantly.

I turned slowly. Charles hadn’t opened his eyes, but his arm shot out, grabbing my wrist and tugging me back into bed with ease. My body collided with the heat of his, breath knocked out of me.

“Charles, it’s—” I glanced at the clock. “It’s almost six. We both have work.”

One of his eyes cracked open, heavy-lidded and annoyed. “Five more minutes.”

My heart stumbled. “We don’t have—”

“Stay.” His grip tightened, brooking no argument. “That’s an order.”

My protests died on my tongue. I swallowed, my face heating, and sank back against the mattress. His arm slid over my waist, pulling me flush against him. His body was warm, grounding, and even though I knew better, even though every warning bell screamed not to, my eyes closed. Just for a second. Just to breathe him in.

When we finally dragged ourselves up, I half expected him to let me bolt out the door, pretend last night hadn’t happened. But before I left, I stopped. The weight of the last three days pressed against my chest, and the words tumbled out before I could second-guess them.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” I said quietly, fingers clutching my bag strap. “I… I just needed space. I didn’t know if I could handle…” My throat tightened. “You. Us.”

Charles studied me in silence, his tie half-knotted, his hands pausing in their practiced motions. His gaze softened, barely, but enough.

“I see.” He finished the knot, then stepped closer, looming as always. His hand brushed against my chin, tilting it up just enough for me to meet his eyes. “Next time, you don’t vanish. You tell me. Understood?”

I nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

He smirked faintly, satisfied. “Good. Now, grab your bag. We’re going to work together.”

“Charles—”

“It wasn’t a question, Dylan.”

And just like that, I was following him out the door, helpless against the quiet authority in his voice.

At the office, everything looked normal. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, keyboards clicked in uneven rhythm, coworkers murmured in low voices about deadlines and coffee breaks. The smell of burnt espresso drifted faintly from the communal machine.

Except nothing felt normal. Not to me. Every time I passed Charles in the hall, every time I felt the burn of his gaze across the room, my face went hot. My body remembered too vividly, too loudly, what he’d done to me the night before.

“Dylan,” someone called from the break room. It was Mei from accounting, waving her mug like a flag. “You’re spacing out again. Late night?”

A few chuckles rippled from nearby desks.

“Something like that,” I muttered, forcing a smile.

Eric, leaning against the counter with his usual cocky grin, chimed in, “Probably someone made him stay up again. Am I right?”

My stomach twisted at the sound of his voice, but I managed to shrug. “Yeah. Something like that.”

They laughed, the conversation drifting to other topics, weekend plans, a new restaurant that opened nearby. I tried to join in, but my attention kept sliding back to the office door at the end of the hall. His door.

By mid-morning, my inbox was a blur. My pen slipped in my hand more than once, my notes a mess of crooked lines and smudged ink. I jumped every time a chair squeaked or a phone rang.

Charles’s assistant appeared at my desk with a clipped, “Mr. Johnson would like to see you.” My stomach dropped hard.

A few heads turned. Mei raised a brow, Eric smirked knowingly.

“Uh oh,” someone muttered under their breath.

I straightened my tie with shaky fingers, pretending their attention didn’t bother me, and followed the assistant down the hall.

The moment I stepped into Charles’s office, the outside world dimmed. The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the noise of typing and chatter.

Charles leaned back in his chair, suit jacket off, tie loosened. He looked calm. Professional. But his eyes tracked me the way a hunter tracks prey.

“Sit,” he said.

I sat. My palms dampened instantly against my slacks.

For a beat, he said nothing. Just watched me squirm. The silence stretched, taut and deliberate.

Then, smoothly, casually, he asked:

“How’s your back?”

I choked. “My… back?”

He tilted his head, lips curving faintly. “From last night.”

Heat flooded my face so fast it made me dizzy. I glanced at the closed blinds, grateful for their secrecy. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dripping with deliberate amusement. “Though you’re sitting a little stiff. Did I go too hard?”

My jaw clenched. “Charles—”

“Or maybe,” he cut in, his smirk widening, “you liked it that much.”

The words sank hot into my skin. My thighs pressed together involuntarily. He noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“You’re hard, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” I hissed under my breath, shame prickling every inch of me.

He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, his gaze locking on mine with wicked precision. The predator in him is fully awake now, fully focused on me.

“Want me to take care of that?”