I built walls around everything I wanted but could never name, and then Gemma's rebellious spark started chipping at them during every late-night strategy session. Her defiant remarks across the polished table, city lights framing her lithe form, turned our asset control battle into something far more dangerous.
The more she pushed, the stronger my need grew to enforce the structure she pretended not to crave. It was professional suicide to cross this line, yet I couldn't stop imagining my palm meeting her skin in answer to that teasing mouth.
When her last sarcastic challenge hung in the air, I gave the order. "Hands on the table." The room went still, and I held my breath waiting for her to decide whether to obey.
