Page 15 of Under His Control
Her blouse skims unapologetic curves; the black skirt grips her hips like obedience.
And yes—earlier in that elevator—I wanted her. The second I saw a stranger’s hand on her hip, something cold snapped loose in me.
It took everything I had not to put that man through the doors and drop him twelve floors. I cracked my knuckles and gave him one sentence and a choice.
He chose correctly.
It wasn’t chivalry.
It was possession I had no right to feel for a woman I barely know.
She hesitates for half a second, fiddling with the badge clasped to her work blazer, before stepping inside the elevator, a determined set to her jaw.
Interesting.
It’s not unusual for me to watch the staff while I’m on the casino floor, but catching them in my private elevator is something new. My mind scans through interactions I’ve had with Taylor—she’s quiet but ambitious, always impeccably professional, always polite.
I’ve clocked her from across the bustling floor more times than I can count. She tries not to stare, and whenever I look at her, she flushes, as if I’ve just discovered a secret.
Fuck. I find that response invigorating.
I shouldn’t enjoy that, but I do.
It’s a rare thing to see genuine emotion instead of practiced cordiality.
Now she’s heading to my office. Without an appointment.
Normally, that alone would irritate me, but my curiosity outweighs my annoyance. What is so important that Ms. Jenson would risk barging into my domain without asking?
The camera feed is silent, and I watch as Mrs. Belova’s expression tightens, as she all but scowls at Taylor.
Most people with any sense would back away, stammering apologies.
Taylor doesn’t.
She stands her ground—posture firm, shoulders squared, chin tilted in defiance. But it’s not just her boldness that grabs me by the throat—it’s her. All of her. That curvy body, long legs, full hips…an hourglass figure I’ve caught myself staring at more times than I care to admit.
And her face, that mouth. Full lips set in a determined line. Brown eyes wide, burning with fear she’s trying like hell to hide. Dimples I’ve only ever seen from a distance when she’s laughing with staff, now locked behind resolve.
She’s standing there, looking like she’s ready to go to war.
And fuck me, I’m turned on like I haven’t been in years.
I grit my teeth. I shouldn’t want her, but I do.
In the elevator I wanted to push her back against the panel and taste the shock on her mouth; instead I counted my breaths and kept my hands at my sides.
I don’t touch what doesn’t ask for me. But desire doesn’t take orders.
I push the thoughts out of my head as best I can.
With a flick of my thumb, I switch on the audio feed. Normally, I prefer not to spy on private conversations, but this is my floor, my office, my staff. If Ms. Jenson is about to cause a scene, I want to know what it’s about. Her voice filters through.
“—not leaving until I speak to him,” she says, polite but resolute.
Mrs. B is not a woman who tolerates defiance. “I’ll have security escort you out, and you’ll lose your job.”
A bit of concern sparks in my chest; this is something serious. Ms. Jenson has just been told her job is on the line. Still, she doesn’t budge.
