Page 14

14

I 'm alone in the reception area, finishing up the month's appointment logs, when the front door swings open, letting in a blast of cold air that cuts straight through the facility's usual warmth. I glance up automatically, professional smile already in place, but the sight that meets me stalls it on my lips. A minotaur I've never seen before steps inside, towering even by their standards, with sleek black fur polished to a mirror shine and horns capped with what looks like platinum. His tailored suit screams wealth and precision, but it's the cold, calculated gleam in his ice blue eyes that sets every instinct I have on edge.

"May I help you?" I ask, slipping smoothly into my trained front-desk voice even as something uneasy prickles along the back of my neck.

The minotaur doesn't move closer, simply studies me as if weighing my existence and finding it irrelevant. "Terrence Blackwood," he says, the words clipped, his presence radiating the kind of entitled authority that makes my skin crawl. "I'm here to see Sterling."

I don't move, don't flinch, even though everything about this man sets off silent alarms inside me. "Do you have an appointment, Mr. Blackwood?" I ask, careful to keep my voice perfectly neutral.

"I don't need one." His nostrils flare slightly as he scents the air, the invasive gesture only deepening my discomfort. "Tell Sterling that Blackwood Biological is here. He'll make time."

The name clicks instantly—Blackwood Biological. Sterling's biggest competitor. I remember the disdain in Sterling's voice when he first mentioned them during my first week here, how he described their cutthroat tactics and soulless efficiency. My stomach tightens.

"One moment," I say, reaching for the phone. Sterling answers on the first ring. The moment I mention Blackwood's name, there is a pause, a long, tense beat before he sighs.

"Send him back," Sterling says at last, voice clipped and weary. "And Hank? Stay on high alert. Terrence never shows up unannounced unless he's planning something."

I hang up and turn back to Blackwood with a practiced smile, even though my heart has started to beat a little faster. "Mr. Johnson will see you now. His office is?—"

"I know where it is," Blackwood cuts me off without even glancing my way. He strides past the desk with a heavy, deliberate grace that feels more like a predator stalking prey than a businessman visiting a rival.

I watch him disappear down the hallway, tension knotting between my shoulder blades so tightly it hurts. Something about this feels wrong. Very wrong. I try to focus on my work, but after five minutes of staring blankly at the computer screen, I can't take it anymore.

The coffee pot in the break room just happens to be empty, and Sterling's office just happens to be on the way. If I walk very slowly past his slightly open door with an empty carafe in my hands, that's no one's business but mine.

As I approach, Blackwood's voice carries clearly into the hallway, smooth and oiled with the kind of confidence that comes from too much power and too little conscience.

"—just being practical, Sterling," he is saying. "Your little operation is charming, but the industry is changing. It's time to consider the offer."

I slow even further, heart thudding heavily in my chest.

"My answer remains the same as it was six months ago," Sterling replies, his voice sharp and colder than I have ever heard it. "Sterling's Pride is not for sale."

"The offer has increased by fifteen percent," Blackwood says, as though Sterling hasn't spoken at all. "That's more than generous, given the... complications that have arisen."

The knot in my stomach twists violently.

"What complications?" Sterling demands, suspicion edging every word.

Blackwood chuckles—a low, smug sound that makes my skin crawl. "Come now," he says. "Did you think it wouldn't get noticed? The human employee you're fucking? That's quite the liability you've created."

I nearly drop the carafe. The world tilts under my feet. My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure they can hear it through the door.

How? How could he know? We have been so careful.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sterling says, but there's a new tightness in his voice now, a tension that wasn't there before.

"Please." Blackwood's tone is thick with condescension. "I have three separate sources confirming after-hours visits. Collection rooms being used for... purposes beyond their intended function. Very unprofessional, Sterling. I wonder what your clients would think if they knew."

I stand frozen in the hallway, every nerve screaming, the carafe digging painfully into my palm. This is bad. This is exactly what Helena warned us about.

"Are you threatening me?" Sterling's voice has dropped into a low, dangerous rumble, full of restrained violence.

"I'm offering you an exit strategy," Blackwood says smoothly, his words sliding like a knife between ribs. "Take the deal. Walk away with your reputation intact. And your little human toy can finish his internship somewhere more... appropriate."

The breath punches out of me. I stumble forward blindly, forcing my feet to carry me to the break room before either of them can see the devastation written all over my face. They know. Someone has been watching us. Reporting back to Blackwood. And now our relationship—the thing we have protected so fiercely, the thing that has come to mean more to me than anything—could destroy everything Sterling has built.

And worst of all, deep down, I know exactly who they will blame.

* * *

The rest of the day passes in a blur of anxiety. Sterling remains locked in his office after Blackwood leaves, canceling his afternoon appointments without explanation. When I text him, asking if he's okay, the only reply I get is one word: Later.

By closing time, I'm a wreck. My nerves are frayed to the breaking point, my stomach twisted into knots, and every footstep down the hallway sounds like it might be Sterling coming to deliver some final, devastating verdict. When the last client leaves and Marina disappears out the door with a cheerful wave I can barely return, Sterling finally emerges from his office.

"My place. Twenty minutes," he says, voice flat and neutral as he passes my desk without slowing. The drive to Sterling's house feels endless. Every red light stretches into forever. Every mile drags like an accusation.

When I finally arrive, I find him in the kitchen, a glass of something dark and amber in his massive hand, his expression thunderous.

"How much did you hear?" he asks without preamble, not even turning to look at me.

"Enough," I say, stepping into the kitchen but keeping a careful distance. "Blackwood knows about us. He's using it as leverage."

Sterling drains the glass in one long pull, setting it down with a controlled thud that makes the granite counter vibrate. "Three sources," he says grimly. "Three people inside my facility, reporting our activities. People I trusted."

"Who?" I ask, even though I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.

"I have suspicions," Sterling says. "But no proof."

I step closer, reaching out, desperate for any kind of contact—but Sterling moves away before I can touch him, putting deliberate space between us. The rejection hits harder than a slap.

"You're ending this," I say, the words scraping out of my throat like broken glass. "Aren't you?"

"It's the logical solution," Sterling says stiffly, staring somewhere over my shoulder. "The internship ends in six weeks. You'll receive an exemplary recommendation. We part ways professionally. The rumors die without new evidence to feed them."

His clinical assessment of what we have—what we are—hits like a physical blow.

"That's it?" I say, voice cracking. "After everything?"

"It's the responsible choice," he says, still refusing to meet my eyes.

"Fuck responsibility!" The words explode out of me louder than I intend, sharp and furious. "You're going to let Blackwood win? Let him manipulate you with threats?"

Sterling's nostrils flare, and for a second, I think I see something raw flash across his face before he shoves it down again.

"This isn't about winning," he says tightly. "It's about protecting what's important."

"And I'm not important?" I ask, hating the way the vulnerability bleeds into my voice, hating how small it makes me sound.

"You have a career ahead of you, Hank," Sterling says, finally looking at me, his amber eyes burning with something I can't name. "A reputation to build. Being known as the intern who slept with his minotaur boss isn't going to help."

"I don't care about that!" I shoot back, stepping closer, not giving him room to retreat again.

"You should," he says, jaw tight. "This was always temporary. A mistake I allowed to continue too long."

The word mistake cuts deeper than anything else he could have said.

"You don't mean that," I say, my voice low, furious, desperate.

"It's the truth," Sterling says, turning away, his massive shoulders rigid. "I crossed lines I shouldn't have crossed. Let desire override professional judgment. It ends now, before further damage occurs."

"No," I say, stepping in front of him, refusing to let him hide behind logic and professionalism and fear. "No. Look me in the eye. Tell me you don't care about me. Tell me that what we've shared meant nothing. Say it to my face."

Sterling's jaw tightens so hard I can see the muscles flex in his neck. His fists clench at his sides. For a long moment, he says nothing.

And then, quietly, he says, "What I feel is irrelevant."

"It's the only thing that matters!" I shout, the dam finally breaking. "Blackwood can threaten whatever he wants. Your clients trust you because of you, Sterling, not because of some bullshit illusion of moral superiority. They're not going to leave because of rumors. They come because you care. Because you built something real."

"You underestimate how fast a reputation can be destroyed," Sterling says, but his voice is strained now, cracking under the weight of everything he's trying so hard not to feel.

"And you underestimate how much what we have is worth fighting for!" I shout back. "At least I think it is. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's just been convenient physical release for you all along."

The accusation lands like a spark in a powder keg. Sterling rounds on me so fast I take a step back on instinct, amber eyes blazing with furious, helpless hunger.

"Convenient?" he growls, voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that still makes my whole body react even now. "You think these months of careful restraint—of risking everything—were about convenience?"

"Then what were they about?" I demand, chest heaving, refusing to back down even as he looms over me like a thundercloud ready to break.

Sterling's control—the icy, careful wall he's kept between us since Blackwood's visit—shatters visibly, falling away piece by piece.

"They were about wanting you so badly I couldn't think straight," he snarls. "About lying awake every fucking night, imagining all the ways I want to claim you. About sitting through meetings, through client appointments, through every goddamn normal moment of my life fighting the urge to bend you over the nearest surface and show everyone exactly who you belong to."

His raw honesty steals the breath from my lungs, steals the strength from my legs. This is the real Sterling. Not the polished business owner. Not the careful professional.

"Then do it," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

For a beat, the world holds its breath.

Sterling stares at me, war raging behind his eyes, every muscle in his massive frame trembling with the effort of holding himself back. And then—with a low, broken growl that sounds more animal than man—he closes the distance between us in a single, devastating step.

His mouth crashes against mine with bruising force, massive hands gripping my waist hard enough to leave marks. I respond instantly, throwing my arms around his thick neck, pouring months of pent-up emotion into the kiss. Sterling lifts me effortlessly, turning to press me against the nearest wall. The impact knocks a framed photo askew, but neither of us cares. His body pins me there, all heat and strength and desperate hunger, as his mouth devours mine with a reckless urgency that steals the breath from my lungs.

"This solves nothing," he growls against my lips, even as his hips grind against mine in a slow, brutal rhythm that makes logic a distant memory.

"I don't need solutions right now," I gasp, matching his movements, arching into him shamelessly. "I need you to stop thinking for five fucking minutes and just feel."

Something in my words shatters the last threads of his restraint. Sterling's eyes darken, molten gold and wild, as he captures my mouth again, one massive hand gripping my ass, the other cradling the back of my neck like he can't decide whether to pull me closer or crush me entirely.

He scoops me up and carries me through the house effortlessly, kicking the door of his office open with enough force to make the hinges rattle. With one sweep of his huge arm, he clears the desk—papers, a laptop, an expensive-looking tablet crashing to the floor in a clatter we both ignore. He sets me down on the empty surface, his massive frame crowding mine, his breathing ragged.

"These pants," he growls, fingers curling into the waistband of my khakis, "have been tormenting me all fucking day."

Before I can even make a sound, he tears the fabric apart with terrifying ease. The rip of the material echoes in the room, and cool air hits my exposed skin a second later, making me gasp.

"Sterling—those were?—"

"I'll buy you new ones," he snarls, jerking off my boxers and dropping to his knees between my legs. "Right now I need to taste you."

His mouth closes over me without warning, hot and greedy, and I cry out, hands flying to his horns to brace myself as he takes me all the way to the base in one devastating stroke. I arch helplessly against the desk, overwhelmed by the sheer suddenness of it, the hunger in him swallowing me whole.

"Fuck," I choke out, half in pleasure, half in shock. "Sterling, wait—I can't?—"

He pulls back just enough to snarl, "You wanted me to stop thinking. This is what happens when I stop."

Then he's on me again, relentless, ruthless, wrecking me. There's no careful teasing, no slow seduction—just pure animal hunger, devouring rather than savoring, like he's been starved for me.

It's too much, too fast, and within seconds I'm right there on the edge, my whole body trembling, my orgasm building with terrifying speed. Sterling must feel it—the frantic tension, the way I tug weakly at his horns—because he only sucks harder, dragging filthy sounds from me that I can't control.

"Sterling," I gasp, voice breaking. "I'm gonna?—"

"Do it," he commands, the vibration of his voice sending me flying. "Give it to me. Now."

The orgasm slams into me with a violence that leaves me sobbing his name, my body convulsing helplessly as Sterling swallows every shuddering pulse. I collapse back against the desk, boneless, panting, every nerve still ringing from the force of it.

When he finally rises, his mouth glistening, his amber eyes are still burning with undiminished hunger.

"Get dressed," he says, voice thick with promise as he snatches his car keys from the floor. "I'm taking you home."

Confusion cuts through the haze of afterglow. "What? But you didn't?—"

"This isn't over," Sterling interrupts, rough and low, but not with dismissal—with promise. "If you stay here tonight, we'll do things we're not ready for. I need time to think. To plan."

"Plan what?" I ask, awkwardly gathering the shredded remains of my pants.

Sterling tosses me a pair of sweatpants from a drawer—comically large on me, but better than nothing.

"How to destroy Terrence Blackwood without destroying us in the process."

The fierce declaration makes my heart stutter. "Then you're not ending this?"

Sterling steps close, cupping my face in one massive hand, his touch almost reverent. "I tried to convince myself it was the rational choice," he says, the roughness in his voice gutting me. "But when it comes to you, rationality is out of reach."

I lean into his palm, blinking back sudden, stupid tears. "We'll figure it out," I promise. "Together."

Sterling nods, but there's a grimness in his eyes. "We have six weeks until your internship concludes. Six weeks to neutralize Blackwood's threat without giving him more ammunition."

"And after those six weeks?" I ask, needing to hear him say it.

A slow, dangerous smile curves Sterling's mouth, and that primal hunger flares back into his eyes. "After that," he says, voice dropping to a growl, "you won't be my intern anymore. You'll just be mine."

The promise in those words sends a fresh wave of heat through me, sharp and sweet, and despite everything—despite the fear, the uncertainty, the war looming ahead—I feel something bloom fierce and unstoppable in my chest. Hope. Real hope.

The drive to my apartment is quiet, heavy with everything left unsaid. When we pull up to the curb, Sterling turns to me, his expression serious, his hand covering mine, massive and warm and unshakable.

"Be careful," he says. "Blackwood has eyes in the facility. Until we know who they are, trust no one."

I nod, understanding the gravity of it, feeling the weight settle squarely on my shoulders. "What about us?" I ask, barely above a whisper. "Do we... pause things?"

Sterling's hand tightens over mine.

"In public," he says, voice all steel, "we're nothing but professional. No mistakes. No tells."

"And in private?" I ask, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

"In private," Sterling says, and his voice drops into that filthy, devastating register that makes my toes curl, "I'm going to fuck you senseless whenever possible. Just with more discretion than before."

The crude promise makes my body flush all over again. I lean over the console and kiss him, savoring the lingering taste of myself on his lips, the sure, solid reality of him.

"Be ready tomorrow," Sterling murmurs against my mouth. "Meet me at The Golden Hoof after work. Room 212. We have planning to do."

The Golden Hoof—the upscale hotel across town where Sterling's more discreet business meetings sometimes happen. He's never invited me there before.

"I'll be there," I whisper, pulling away reluctantly.

As I watch Sterling's SUV disappear into the night, I realize we've crossed another threshold—one Blackwood never intended us to survive. Instead of breaking us, he's forced us to choose. To fight.