Page 10 of Sexted By a Stranger

Luca

"Boss," Lennox's voice sounded beside me. "Miss Stella's onboarding paperwork is complete. Director Harrington from Design is asking if he should show Miss Stella around?"

"No need," I fastened my cufflinks. "I'll do it myself."

"Understood." He gently placed a new ID card and a folder bearing the company logo on the corner of my desk.

"She's here?"

"Waiting in the first-floor reception area."

I grabbed my suit jacket, casually tossing the port report back on the desk.

"Notify Design that I want the market analysis for Luminous Reverie by three this afternoon.

Also, I've signed the new quarter's haute couture supplier contracts—have Legal do one final review. I won't tolerate any loopholes."

"Yes."

The elevator descended. When the doors opened, the noisy lobby fell silent as if someone had hit mute.

I spotted her immediately.

Sheila stood by a six-foot fiddle-leaf fig, spine straight. White shirt tucked into silver-gray slacks, waistline clean and sharp. Her hair was twisted into a low bun, revealing the elegant line of her neck. She was studying the employee handbook with focused concentration.

I walked over.

Curious, probing gazes converged on us from all directions.

"Luca." Her voice was light as a test, gaze sweeping past Lennox behind me, hesitating half a second on how to address me.

"Morning, Sheila." I extended my hand, tone casual as if just passing by. "Welcome to éclat Lumière."

She quickly returned the handshake, passing me the document folder. "All my paperwork's here."

I handed it to Lennox. "File it with HR." Then I tilted my head. "Come with me. I'll walk you through the rest of the process."

"What?" She froze, ears quickly flushing red. "No need to trouble—" The corner of her eye caught the shocked expressions around us, making her more flustered.

"No trouble at all." I'd already turned toward the executive elevator. "Direct supervisors orient new hires. Company policy."

The elevator doors closed, metal walls reflecting our side-by-side silhouettes.

"Nervous?"

"A little," she admitted honestly with a breath.

"You'll get used to it." My tone was reassuring. "Design is on the nineteenth floor. Harrington's the director—industry authority, straightforward personality, not hard to work with."

She nodded lightly, but that nervousness was still impossible to hide.

The elevator stopped at the top floor.

"Martha, this is Sheila Stella, my personal assistant. Show her the daily procedures and set up her access."

"Yes, Mr. Bellomo," Martha responded immediately, smiling at Sheila. "Miss Stella, please follow me."

Sheila nodded at me and walked toward Martha, her steps already steadier than in the lobby.

I didn't return to my office immediately but stopped at the floor-to-ceiling windows. Watching Martha explain my work habits to Sheila, she listened carefully, nodding occasionally, asking one or two questions, speaking calmly with clear logic.

Ten minutes later, I took Sheila to Design.

Watching her among strangers, discussing topics completely unrelated to me—even though it was just ordinary work conversation—possessiveness still rippled through me.

This dissatisfaction peaked when a young, overly enthusiastic designer guy handed her his card and invited her to discuss design concepts.

The designer looked at Sheila with naked heat, full of appreciation and interest.

"Seems you're adapting well." I stepped forward. The designer who'd been trying to chat instantly fell silent, backing away awkwardly.

Sheila completely missed the subtle atmosphere, still wearing a faint blush on her face. "The atmosphere here is great. Thank you for showing me around, Luca."

"Part of the job."

I pulled back my gaze, sweeping over the young man now burying his head in blueprints with red-tipped ears. My tone was bland as I closed a file. "Let's go. To your workstation."

I settled her in a private cubicle separated from mine by just one wall.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Central Park spread out below. The interior's one-way glass brought my office entrance into her line of sight. On the desk, a new computer and office supplies were neatly arranged, even including a crystal vase with a fresh rose.

She was clearly surprised.

"Close to me," I pulled out her chair, knuckles tapping the smooth desktop. "Also convenient for me to find you anytime."

She looked up, about to speak but hesitating, ear tips quietly blooming with color. Fingertips brushing the rose, she said softly, "It's beautiful."

Watching her fingertips touch the petals, my throat inexplicably tightened. Those late-night intimate scenes—her passionate eyes beneath me, delicate gasps, that slender waist I'd held in my palms—all began gnawing at my rationality.

I forced my gaze away. "Look over the project materials first. Any questions, line one goes straight to my office." With that, I turned toward my own heavy wooden door, not looking back at her.

One more glance and that prized self-control would completely collapse.

Sheila adapted faster than expected. Even Harrington spoke of her with approval when reporting to me.

I didn't give her special treatment, but no matter how trivial the assigned tasks, she completed them meticulously, often working overtime voluntarily.

That bone-deep stubbornness and drive made me admire her while also feeling a twinge of heartache.

One week later.

"Sheila."

"Luca?"

"You're not in your office?"

"I'm in Design checking proposals."

"Bring over the project planning and new quarter haute couture material selection proposals now. Some details need deeper discussion."

"Okay, Luca, I'll be right there."

Seven whole days.

Connor's leftover mess, the exposed rat, the tug-of-war with New Jersey arms dealers, those old bastards in the family—every single thing I'd always handled with ease. But now, in every gap, I couldn't stop thinking of her.

Thinking of her clean soap scent, the flash of dependence when she looked up, that waist trembling slightly in my palms.

Desire fermented in separation, growing wild in the gaps between busy moments.

I downed a gulp of iced coffee, knuckles tapping out a low countdown on the desk.

Finally, the knock came.

"Come in."

The door opened. Sheila entered carrying two stacks of folders, shirt sleeves rolled to her elbows, revealing delicate white wrists. In that instant, all restraint shattered—I just wanted to pull her into my arms, hear her gasping with tears in her voice.

"Luca, the files you wanted."

She placed the materials on the desk, straightened, and began reporting. "About Luminous Reverie—"

"No rush." I interrupted, gaze sweeping the faint shadows under her eyes. "Tell me about you first. Still adjusting? Anyone giving you trouble?"

She paused, then shook her head. "Harrington has high standards, but he's fair. Colleagues are nice too."

After a pause, her brows habitually furrowed slightly. "Just some disagreement on market positioning..."

That little frown was exactly the same as when she'd desperately tightened her fingers beneath me that night.

Suppressed longing and desire breached reason's dam. Contracts, quotes—all became eyesores at this moment.

"Come here." My voice dropped low, gaze burning into her.

She was clearly startled, confusion flashing through those amber eyes. "Luca?"

"Come here," I repeated, the commanding tone brooking no refusal.

She hesitated but finally rounded the massive desk, walking toward me.

When she reached arm's length, I extended my hand, catching her wrist and yanking her hard against me.

"Ah." With a cry of surprise, she lost her balance and fell into my lap.

An electric shiver instantly shot through my limbs. The forbidden space of the office amplified this thrill infinitely, like sparks hitting hot oil, exploding instantly.

Sheila struggled futilely. "Luca. You... people could see us."

Her squirming only threw fuel on the fire, instantly igniting deeper desire.

I tightened my arms, locking her firmly in my embrace, chin resting against her soft hair, greedily inhaling that calming scent.

"Don't move." My fingers deftly unbuttoned her shirt, slipping inside to graze the smooth, slender curve of her waist.

Her breath hitched, sharp and quick.

I leaned down, my lips scorching against the tender skin of her neck, trailing slow, deliberate kisses until I reached her sensitive earlobe, capturing it gently between my lips.

Her body jolted, her ear flushing a deep crimson. She turned her head, trying to pull away, her voice trembling. "Y-you, let me go. The files—"

"Files?" I chuckled low, my hand's exploration no longer content with just her waist. It slid up her taut spine, finally cupping the soft, warm swell of her breast.

"Forget about them," I murmured, tightening my grip, savoring the maddening feel of her. "What matters is this… just you and me."

A stifled whimper escaped her, and her body melted, collapsing against me like all her strength had been sapped, turning to liquid in my arms.

Her surrender lit a fire in me.

I tightened my hold, and she turned her head, her amber eyes reflecting me clearly, shimmering with unshed tears. Her cheeks burned red, lips parted slightly, like rose petals begging to be plucked.

"Look at me, Sheila," I said, brushing my thumb over her soft lower lip, locking onto her dazed gaze. "Let's have some fun."

I didn't give her a chance to respond, crushing my lips against hers in a fierce kiss.

Scooping her up, I pressed her onto the wide desk. Papers and pens clattered to the floor. Before she could react, I pushed her down, her back meeting the cold surface with a soft thud. In one swift motion, I yanked off my tie, binding her wrists together above her head with a firm knot.

She gasped, her hazy eyes flaring with panic. "Luca. W-what are you doing?" She squirmed, but I caught her easily, pinning her in place.

My fingers traced the delicate skin of her inner wrists, feeling her tremble. "Shh…" I whispered, leaning close. "Let me show you what a tie's really for."

Her cheeks burned brighter, lips parted as she panted, her chest heaving with every breath.

Fuck, that's it. Vulnerable yet defiant. Pure yet intoxicating.

She was mine—my own breathtaking masterpiece.

I leaned over her, pinning her bound wrists above her head, her body open to my storm of kisses and touches.

Her whimpers and broken gasps wove together into the sweetest symphony.

Her deep chestnut hair spilled across the surface like fine silk, her eyes glassy, staring blankly at the ceiling, lost in sensation.