HHWM | Chapter 12: What I Can’t Afford to Lose

Saya lay sprawled across the long leather sofa, her body coiled in a feverish, agonizing tension. Her thighs were anchored tightly around Greg’s waist, her lips swollen and slick from a relentless collision of mouths and muffled moans. Reason had abandoned her. Decorum was a discarded relic. Her boss—the man she had spent years deifying in her darkest fantasies—was now driving into her with a rhythmic, punishing depth that seemed to spear through every shred of morality she possessed.

“Sir…” she gasped, her voice thinning into a ragged thread of air.

Greg’s eyes were dark, predatory, and hollow with hunger. This was not the stoic figure who commanded boardroom meetings with measured silence. This was a feral creature, a man stripped of his civility and driven by a primal need to consume. Saya realized she had underestimated the potency of whatever she had slipped into his coffee, but the reaction was far more visceral than she had dared to hope.

He was moving with a violence that felt like it might break her.

Greg caught her face in his hands—the gesture was paradoxically tender yet bruising. His thumbs traced the line of her jaw up to her cheeks, as if measuring the desire reflected in her glassy eyes. Before she could speak, he hauled her upward.

He bit her lower lip—softly at first, then with a sharp, possessive pressure that left a promise of pain behind. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a territorial claim.

“This is what you wanted?” he growled, his voice a low vibration that she felt more than heard between their frantic breaths.

Without waiting for an answer, he withdrew just enough to watch her features crumble, then surged back in—a deep, deliberate thrust fueled by a terrifying amount of control.

Saya’s back arched violently, her body struggling to accommodate the sheer weight and length of him. Her nails dug into the expensive fabric of his shirt at his shoulders, her frame trembling under the impact.

“You want me to ruin you…” Greg whispered, his forehead pressing against hers. His hips continued their slow, brutal cadence—a rhythm that felt like both an assault and an act of worship. He was making her pay, yet he was tending to her hunger with a dark, focused intensity.

“You want to destroy me?” Saya breathed, her words punctuated by sharp exhales, a challenging smile flickering on her bruised lips. “Then do it right.”

Greg’s gaze darkened. He gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him as his pace turned savage. The heat between them was a trapped fire within the glass and mahogany walls of the office.

“Don’t ask for mercy,” Saya added, closing her eyes as the pleasure turned blinding. “Whatever you have, I’ll take it all.”

Greg’s smile was cold, powerful, and lethal. “Then I hope you’re ready to lose yourself.”

He proceeded to dismantle her—not through haste, but through a calculated destruction of her composure. Every thrust, every bite, every time he whispered her name into the crook of her neck was a seal on her fate.

He lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing, and turned her on the sofa. He forced her down, her knees digging into the leather, her body angled to receive him from behind. Without a word of warning, he claimed her again.

“Tell me how it feels,” he commanded, his chest colliding with her back.

“Good… so good…” she sobbed, the sound muffled by the cushions.

The sound of their bodies meeting was louder than the hum of the air conditioning. Every second, Saya felt herself dissolving.

Minutes later, he dragged her from the sofa to the glass coffee table. The contrast was a shock to her system—the freezing glass against her spine and the scorching heat of Greg above her. He pinned her wrists over her head, his grip like iron.

“Take it,” he whispered with absolute authority, each inch of his entry felt like he was carving his name into her very core. “I’ll fuck you everywhere in this office until you’re satisfied.”

Saya gasped, her body vibrating against the glass. The table where she had placed his coffee every morning for years was now something unrecognizable. She was being poured out, offered up to his relentless appetite.

He stood her up, dragging her toward the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that overlooked the sprawling, neon-lit city. He pressed her against the cool pane, forcing her to look at their reflection. There she was—disheveled, breathless, a secretary turned into a plaything—while Greg stood behind her, dark and imposing, taking her completely.

“Do you like seeing yourself like this?” he asked, his hands bruising her hips.

Saya bit her lip, shivering at the sight of her own submission. She looked like a stranger. She looked like his possession. And the realization was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

In every movement, Greg was venting more than just lust. It was frustration. It was the guilt he couldn’t outrun. He was digging into her, trying to find absolution in the heat of her body, trying to bury his sins inside her.

He didn’t know who he was anymore.

But Saya’s body was the answer to every question—warm, open, and willing to carry every burden he threw at her.

“Greg…” she moaned, a sound that was half-plea and half-drowning. Her legs were shaking, the depth of him reaching places that made her feel faint, but she didn’t want the end to come.

When the release shattered them, it was a silent explosion. The air left the room. Time ceased to exist.

As they stood there in the aftermath, lungs burning and hearts racing, the silence was heavier than the act itself. A mark had been made. A wound had been opened. A seal had been placed on something that could never be undone.

The sweetness of the pleasure was already being tainted by the cold reality of the morning. They both knew it.

There was no going back.

The line has been crossed, and Saya now holds more than just Greg’s schedule—she holds his undoing.