Page 32 of Double Standards

“In case I’m busy?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he prowls the edge of my office like he owns the place. His eyes linger on the frames on the walls, the photos of me and Lexie, my degree, motivational bullshit that suddenly feels too soft for the energy he brings into the room.

His gaze sharpens. “Busy withwho, exactly?”

“What?” I blink, dumbfounded.

“Don’t play dumb. Who else would be in here with you?”

There’s a shift. A possessiveness leaking into his voice like oil into water. He turns, and when I don’t answer fast enough, he moves. It’s so quick that in two strides our chests are nearlytouching. He tips my chin up with a rough gentleness that steals the air from my lungs.

“Axel…” His name comes out like a warning—or maybe a prayer.

“Tell me.” His voice scrapes low, a dark rasp that threatens and tempts in equal measure.

“Clients,” I whisper, cursing myself immediately.Where the hell is last week’s fire?

Axel grins, slow and wicked, like he’s tasting the fear and liking it. “See… I think you misunderstood when I told you who you belong to.”

“What?”

“You won’t have other clients.” It isn’t a suggestion. It’s a command.

“Youcan’tdo that. You don’t?—”

“Own you?” he cuts me off. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

My stomach drops.

How is it possible for someone to be this dangerous, this twisted—and yet I still want to climb into his lap and beg for more?

Axel stalks around my desk, his hands trailing along the surface like he’s about to claim it—and maybe me—with one brutal motion. His movements are deliberate, predatory. The tailored slacks hug every inch of power and control.

I bite down on my lip so hard I taste copper.

“Ever been fucked on this desk?” he asks so casually it’s like he’s inquiring about the weather.

My mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

He sinks into my chair, kicking his feet up onto the desk, and smirking like a king. His eyes eat up my reaction, daring me to challenge him.

Whatever spell he has me under, I snap out of it, storming forward to shove his feet off the desk. “Axel, that’s none of your?—”

“I’ll take that as a no,” he interrupts, standing up abruptlyand closing the distance between us. His fingers brush the desk one last time before he moves in.

“Why are you here?” I demand. “I told you to call.”

“You think I’d give you a heads-up like some fuckin’ golden retriever?” he growls.

I huff, placing my hands on my hips. “Would’ve beendecent.”

His eyes darken. “Then clearly, you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with.”

Clearly.

I take another step back, needing space, air—anything that isn’thimswallowing me whole.

“You never told me why you became a lawyer,” he muses, his voice now dripping in something low and intimate. His gaze stays fixed, predatory, tracking every backward step I take.