Page 7 of His to Command (Obsessed #7)

six

. . .

Hudson

I haven't slept. How could I, with the scent of her still on my skin, the taste of her still on my tongue?

I've had countless women—beautiful, willing, skilled.

None of them lingered in my mind past sunrise.

But Robin Hastings has colonized my thoughts, taken over territories I never allowed anyone to touch.

I pace my penthouse as dawn breaks, remembering the sounds she made when I was inside her, the way she gasped my name, the flutter of her body around mine when she came.

Mine. The word beats in time with my pulse.

Mine. It's no longer a desire but a fact—as immutable as gravity, as essential as breathing.

I shower, dress, arrive at the office before 6 AM. There's work to do before she arrives. Changes to implement. Robin thinks last night was a mistake, a moment of weakness. She's wrong. It was inevitable—the first step on a path I've already mapped out for us.

Gregory is at his desk, preparing my day. The sight irritates me. He's not Robin.

"Cancel my morning appointments," I instruct. "And call HR. I need paperwork prepared."

His eyebrows lift slightly but he knows better than to question me. "Yes, sir. What kind of paperwork?"

"A promotion. Robin Hastings is being moved to Special Projects Director, reporting directly to me."

"Sir, that position doesn't?—"

"It does now." I enter my office, leaving no room for discussion.

By 9 AM, everything is arranged. The office adjacent to mine—previously a small conference room—has been transformed. A new desk, new computer, new nameplate: Robin Hastings, Special Projects Director. The connecting door between our offices has a lock. On my side.

Her salary has been tripled. Her employee access upgraded to executive level. The personnel changes have been announced company-wide in a memo emphasizing her "exceptional contributions" that caught my attention.

All that remains is to tell Robin herself.

She arrives at 9:08, perfectly on time for her usual schedule.

I watch through the glass as she approaches her desk, hesitating when she sees Gregory still there.

They exchange words I can't hear. She glances toward my office, and even through the glass, I feel the impact of those hazel eyes.

Her cheeks flush. She remembers everything about last night. Good.

I press the intercom. "Robin. My office."

She enters cautiously, stopping just inside the door. She's dressed differently today—a dark blue dress that still conceals her curves but hints at them more than her usual shapeless clothing. Her hair is down, falling in waves around her shoulders. For me? The thought pleases me immensely.

"Close the door," I instruct.

She does, but remains standing near it. A safe distance. Pointless.

"About last night," she begins, voice steady despite the blush deepening on her cheeks.

"You've been promoted," I interrupt, standing and moving around my desk. "Special Projects Director. Reporting directly to me."

She blinks, thrown off-balance. "What?"

"Your new office is through there." I gesture to the door in the wall that previously led to the small conference room. "Your salary has been adjusted accordingly. The position comes with additional stock options and benefits that HR will explain."

She stares at me, those expressive eyes cycling through confusion, suspicion, and something darker. "Hudson, you can't just?—"

"I can. I have." I step closer, into her space. "This isn't because of last night, if that's what you're thinking. This is because you're brilliant and underutilized. The sex is...a separate benefit."

Her eyes narrow. "The sex was a mistake."

"No." The word emerges as a growl. "It wasn't."

"Hudson, I'm your employee. There are rules?—"

"You report directly to me now. No intermediate managers. No HR oversight." I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, gratified when she shivers at the contact. "No one to tell us no."

She steps back. "That's not how this works. You can't just rearrange the entire company because we...because last night happened."

"I can." I close the distance between us again. "And if last night was just 'something that happened,' why are you wearing your hair down today? Why the new dress?"

Her flush deepens, confirming my suspicion. She thought about me this morning while getting dressed. Wanted to look good for me.

"This isn't appropriate," she says, but her breathing has quickened.

"I don't care." I reach for her, hand sliding around the nape of her neck. "Last night wasn't a mistake or an accident. It was the beginning."

Before she can argue further, I capture her mouth with mine. For a moment she remains stiff, resistant. Then, with a small sound of surrender, she melts against me, lips parting, body softening. I deepen the kiss, walking her backward until she's pressed against the door.

"Hudson," she gasps when I release her mouth to trail kisses down her neck. "Someone could see?—"

"Let them." I nip at her pulse point, feeling it race beneath my lips. "Let them all see who you belong to."

Her hands push against my chest, creating space between us. "I don't belong to anyone."

I allow her the illusion of control, stepping back. "Your new office awaits, Director Hastings."

She straightens her dress, visibly collecting herself. "This conversation isn't over."

"I hope not." I smile, watching her eyes darken in response. "We have a budget meeting in twenty minutes. Don't be late."

She turns and leaves through the connecting door, closing it firmly behind her. I give her exactly thirty seconds before following. She's standing in the middle of the spacious office, taking in the changes—the executive desk, the plush seating area, the view rivaling my own.

"This is insane," she says without turning around. "I'm not qualified for this position."

"You're exactly what I need." I step closer, and she turns to face me. "Someone who sees patterns others miss. Someone who challenges me. Someone unafraid to tell the truth."

"Is that what you think I am?"

"I know it is." I brush my knuckles along her jawline. "Last night proved it."

Her eyes flash. "Last night proved I have terrible judgment when it comes to you."

"Or perfect judgment." I smile as her pulse visibly jumps at my touch. "Get settled. I'll see you in the budget meeting."

The morning passes in a haze of routine business, but my awareness of Robin never fades.

In the budget meeting, she sits three seats away, taking notes, occasionally offering insights that impress even the hardened CFO.

I watch her interaction with others—professional, competent, but still with that hint of reservation, that instinct to deflect attention.

Except with me. With me, her eyes hold challenge, heat, awareness.

Each time our gazes connect across the table, electricity crackles between us.

Each time she speaks, I imagine those lips forming my name in ecstasy.

Each time she shifts in her seat, I remember the feel of her beneath me, around me.

The meeting breaks for lunch. I'm pulled into a conversation with the CFO about quarterly projections while Robin gathers her materials. From the corner of my eye, I see Cameron Davis, VP of Sales, approach her. Young, conventionally handsome, with the easy charm of a salesman.

"That was impressive analysis on the European market expansion," he says, standing too close to her. "I'd love to hear more about your projections over lunch."

Something dark and primitive surges through me—a territorial rage I've never experienced before. Mine. The word pounds in my head as I watch Robin smile politely at Davis.

"Thank you, but I have plans," she demurs.

"Another time then." Davis grins, touching her arm casually. "I've been meaning to introduce myself since you joined the executive team. Maybe drinks after work?"

Before she can respond, I'm there, sliding a possessive hand to the small of her back. "Robin has a dinner meeting with me tonight," I say, voice deceptively calm. "Davis, I need those Q3 projections on my desk by 3."

Davis's smile falters as he registers my hand on Robin's back, my tone. "Of course, Mr. Roth. I'll get right on that."

Robin stiffens beneath my touch but doesn't pull away. Not until Davis retreats down the hallway.

"What was that?" she hisses, stepping away from me.

"He was asking you out." The words taste bitter on my tongue.

"So? I was handling it."

"You're mine." The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me.

Her eyes flash. "I'm not property, Hudson."

"No." I grip her elbow, steering her toward a private alcove. "You're essential."

The word silences her momentarily. We stand in the secluded corner, tension vibrating between us.

"You can't do this," she says finally. "You can't promote me to keep me close, intimidate men who talk to me, treat me like I'm yours to control."

"I can," I counter. "I will. Unless you look me in the eye and tell me you don't want this. Want me."

She opens her mouth, closes it. The truth hangs between us—she can't deny it any more than I can.

"This isn't healthy," she whispers.

"I don't care about healthy." I step closer, backing her against the wall. "I care about having you."

Her eyes darken, pupils dilating. Desire wars with resistance on her expressive face. "Hudson, we're at work?—"

"Your office. Now." I release her, stepping back. "Or tell me no, Robin. Tell me to stop, and I will."

She stares at me, conflict raging behind those remarkable eyes. Then, without a word, she turns and walks toward her new office. I follow, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume, far enough to maintain the illusion of professionalism to anyone watching.

Inside her office, she turns to face me. "This has to stop," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.

I lock the door behind me. "You don't want it to stop."

"What I want doesn't matter! There are rules, boundaries?—"

"Rules are for people who need them." I move closer, watching her breath catch. "Do we need them, Robin? Do we need artificial constraints when what's between us is stronger than any regulation?"

"Yes," she insists, even as she backs up until her legs hit the desk. "Because without them, this gets out of control."

"It's already out of control." I cage her against the desk, hands planted on either side of her hips. "It was out of control the moment I saw you in that boardroom."

Her eyes search mine, looking for something—reassurance? Understanding? "What is this, Hudson? What are we doing?"

"Everything," I murmur, closing the final distance between us. "We're doing everything."

This time when I kiss her, there's no resistance. Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer. I lift her onto the desk, hands already pushing her dress up her thighs. Her fingers fumble with my belt, urgent, needy.

"Need you," she gasps against my mouth. "Now."

I tear her underwear away, too impatient for finesse. She's already wet, ready for me. The sight of her spread across her executive desk, flushed and wanting, nearly undoes me.

"Mine," I growl, freeing myself from my pants. "Say it."

Her eyes lock with mine, defiant even in surrender. "Make me believe it."

The challenge ignites something primal in me. I thrust into her without preamble, claiming her with a force that makes us both cry out. Her legs wrap around my waist, heels digging into my back, urging me deeper.

"Hudson," she moans, head falling back as I establish a punishing rhythm. "Oh God?—"

"Look at me," I demand, one hand tangling in her hair to bring her gaze back to mine. "See who's inside you. Who you belong to."

Her eyes, heavy-lidded with pleasure, lock with mine. "You," she gasps. "You, Hudson."

Satisfaction roars through me, as powerful as the physical pleasure. I drive into her harder, deeper, one hand sliding between us to where we're joined. Her body tightens around me as I stroke her, bringing her closer to the edge.

"That's it," I encourage, watching the pleasure build on her face. "Let go. Come for me, Robin. Only for me."

She shatters with a cry, back arching, inner muscles clenching around me. The sight of her coming undone, the knowledge that I've done this to her, pushes me over the edge. I follow her into oblivion, my release tearing a guttural sound from my throat.

For long moments, we remain tangled together, breathing hard, her forehead pressed to my shoulder. Gradually, reality reasserts itself—we're in her office, in the middle of a workday, half-clothed and completely unprofessional.

But I can't bring myself to care.

I ease away from her reluctantly, helping her down from the desk. Her dress is wrinkled, her hair a tousled mess, her lips swollen from my kisses. She's never looked more beautiful.

"This is madness," she whispers, smoothing her dress with shaking hands.

"No." I capture her hands in mine. "This is clarity."

Her eyes meet mine, searching. "Why me, Hudson? You could have anyone."

The question catches me off guard. Why her? What is it about this woman that's broken through defenses that have stood impenetrable for decades?

"Because you see me," I admit, the truth emerging unbidden. "Not the CEO, not the billionaire. Me."

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, wonder, a softening. "And what about me? What do you see?"

"Everything," I tell her, cupping her face between my palms. "Everything you try to hide. Everything you could be, if you'd let yourself."

A vulnerability I've never shown anyone before, but with Robin, it feels necessary. Right.

She leans into my touch, eyes closing briefly. "This can't last," she says, but there's less conviction in her voice now.

"It will." I press a kiss to her forehead, gentler than any touch I've given her before. "I've never wanted anything—anyone—the way I want you. And I always get what I want, Robin."

"Hudson—"

"Get cleaned up," I interrupt, not ready for whatever objection she's about to raise. "We have the executive committee in thirty minutes."

I leave her standing there, returning to my office through the connecting door. Alone, I allow myself a moment of unfamiliar introspection. This obsession with Robin isn't just sexual, though God knows I want her body with an intensity that staggers me. It's deeper, more complex.

I've spent my life building walls, keeping people at precisely calculated distances. Robin somehow slipped through. Saw past the power and wealth to the man beneath. And rather than running from what she saw, she challenged it. Matched it with her own strength.

She's not mine yet—not completely. She's still fighting it, still clinging to conventional boundaries and expectations. But I can be patient when the prize is worth it.

And Robin Hastings is worth everything.