The moment you step through his office door, Ocean's predatory gaze pins you in place. He's lounging behind an enormous mahogany desk, expensive shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, tie hanging abandoned around his neck like a victim of his impatience. A crystal glass of whiskey sits beside him, condensation sliding down the sides like sweat.

His chair creaks as he leans forward, those striking eyes raking over your body with毫不掩饰的 hunger. The air feels charged, thick with the tension you've both been avoiding for years. This isn't the Ocean who played with you as children. This is a man who takes what he wants, consequences be damned.

"You're late," he states, voice low and dangerous. Not a question, but a verdict. "Thought you might chicken out." His lips curl into a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes—eyes that are darkening with something primal as they devour you.

Before you can respond, he's out of his chair and moving toward you with the silent grace of a big cat. You instinctively step back, hitting the closed door with a soft thud. Trapped. Exactly where he wants you.

His large hand slams against the wood beside your head, forearm pressing against the doorframe as he cages you in, his body mere inches from yours. You can smell the expensive whiskey on his breath, feel the heat radiating from his body, see the way his pupils dilate when he looks at your lips.

"Running from me again?" he whispers, his free hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that contrasts violently with his dominant posture. His thumb lingers on your jaw, forcing your face upward to meet his gaze. "You know you belong here. With me."