[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 224: Unresolved

NOAH

The world outside the four walls of Cassian’s office had ceased to exist. There was no XUM, no legal disputes, no looming shadow of my brother, and no city traffic.

There was only the cool, polished mahogany of the desk beneath me and the staggering, heat-drenched reality of Cassian Wolfe between my knees.

The kiss hadn’t stopped; it had only evolved, growing deeper, more rhythmic, and far more dangerous.

My fingers were white-knuckled, buried in the expensive silk of his shirt, pulling him in as if I could physically drag him into my own skin.

Cassian was a solid, grounding weight, his presence absolute. One of his hands had migrated from my jaw to my hip, his thumb hooking into the waistband of my trousers with a possessive, deliberate pressure that made my breath hitch.

I wasn’t thinking. For the first time in my entire life, the frantic, buzzing hive of my brain was silent.

The boy who second-guessed every shadow and apologized for his own existence had been shoved into a dark corner, replaced by a raw, aching version of me that I barely recognized.

This version didn’t want safety; it wanted the friction of Cassian’s body against mine. It wanted the low, gutteral sound Cassian made against my mouth—a sound that wasn’t a performance, but a leak of genuine, unadulterated need.

Everything that had been building since the park, since the dinner, since the sofa, was finally finding a vent.

I pressed closer, my legs tightening around his waist, needing him to fill up the hollow, echoing spaces the weekend of silence had left behind.

When his mouth moved to the crook of my neck, nipping at the skin right where my pulse was thrumming like a trapped bird, my head fell back.

My eyes drifted shut, and the last shred of my professional dignity dissolved into the air.

Bzzz!

The first ring was a distant annoyance, a fly buzzing at the edge of a dream. I ignored it. Cassian ignored it. He didn’t slow down; his mouth stayed pressed to my skin, his breath hot and ragged.

The second ring was louder. It felt intrusive, a jagged edge cutting through the heat. I felt Cassian’s muscles stiffen slightly, the rhythm of his hands faltering.

By the third ring, the dream shattered.

Cassian pulled back, his chest heaving, his blue eyes dark and unfocused for a split second before the clarity returned. He didn’t look at me first; he looked at the phone on the desk.

I stayed where I was, flushed and trembling, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it was painful.

I watched his face change. It wasn’t a dramatic shift, but the stillness that arrived was worse... a sudden, glacial wall of focus that meant the world had officially come knocking.

He recognized the number. There was no name saved, but I could see the flash of recognition in the way his jaw set.

The rest of the room... the folders, the computer, the sunlight... seemed to rush back into his eyes, pushing me out.

"I have to take this," he said.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t apologize. He just walked away, and the space between my knees was suddenly, violently empty. The cold air hit my damp skin, and I felt a sharp, hollow ache of abandonment.

He moved toward the tall transparent window, turning his back to me. "Speak," he said. His voice was low, a sharp vibration that carried none of the warmth from seconds ago.

The call was short... less than a minute. I sat on the edge of the desk, trying to smooth my hair with shaking fingers, watching the rigid line of his shoulders.

I tried to read the set of his head, the way he held the phone, but Cassian was a vault once more. The man who had been murmuring against my neck was gone, replaced by the architect of a thousand secrets.

He hung up and turned back. I was still on the desk, my shirt rumpled, my lips feeling swollen and thoroughly used. I probably looked a mess, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I just felt... unfinished.

"Who was that?" I asked, trying for casual and landing somewhere near pathetic.

"I have to go," he said. No answer. Just a directive.

My stomach dropped, a clean, sickening plunge. "Is something wrong? Is it an emergency?"

"No," he said, his voice level again. "Just something I need to handle."

He started reaching for his suit, the professional armor sliding back into place. I felt the boldness of the kiss fading, replaced by that familiar, gnawing insecurity.

I reached out, a small, desperate gesture. "Can it wait?"

I knew the answer. I saw it in the way he didn’t even hesitate.

"No," he said. It wasn’t unkind, but it was final.

I went quiet. I didn’t have the energy to perform "fine" anymore.

The disappointment was a physical weight, settling into my lungs. I didn’t move from the desk; I just sat there and let him see exactly how much it hurt to be put back on the shelf the moment a nameless number called.

Cassian paused. He saw it... the slump of my shoulders, the way I wouldn’t meet his eyes. Something flickered across his face, a momentary crack in the steel.

He stepped back toward me, reaching out to tip my chin up with his thumb and forefinger. The contact was brief, but it was electric.

"I’ll be back by evening," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that demanded I listen. "Dinner. We’ll go somewhere. Somewhere quiet."

It wasn’t a request. It was an offering. It was the Cassian Wolfe version of an apology, a way of saying I’m not leaving you, I’m just being pulled.

"Okay," I whispered.

He didn’t stay to watch the mood lift. He was already moving... jacket on, phone pocketed, the assembled fact of him heading for the door. Then, he was gone.

The office was empty, but the air still tasted like him. I sat on the desk for a long time, staring at the closed door, my body still humming with a frantic, unresolved energy.

My lips felt sensitive, and the spot on my neck where his mouth had been was still warm, a phantom mark that made my skin prickle.

I was unresolved in the most frustrating way possible. My body was still screaming for the contact that had been cut off mid-sentence, and now that the silence had returned, my brain was finally waking up. And it was being a jerk.

You kissed him, my mind hissed. You grabbed his shirt like a common thief and begged him to stay. In the office. During work hours.

The realization hit me like a cold wave. I had initiated that. I had crossed the line because I was terrified of the distance growing between us. I had used my body as a bridge because I didn’t know how to use my words.

What are you even doing, Noah? I asked myself, sliding off the desk. My legs felt like jelly.

I was in this. I was so far past the point of being able to pretend this was just a "situation" or a "bargain." I was colonized.

Every thought, every nerve ending, every heartbeat was now tied to a man who answered calls from ghosts and kept his life in airtight compartments.

I tried to smooth my shirt, but my hands were still vibrating. I ran a hand through my hair, realizing I didn’t even have a mirror to check the damage. I felt the heat in my cheeks—a flush that refused to fade.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I flinched, then saw Mason’s name on the screen.

Mason: where are you??? It’s been like 2 hours. Did you get abducted. Also I’m starving please I’m begging.

Two hours.

I stared at the screen, the mundane reality of Mason’s hunger hitting me like a glass of ice water. I had promised him food. I had a job.

I had a life that didn’t involve being a permanent fixture on Cassian Wolfe’s mahogany furniture.

I smoothed my shirt one more time, more thoroughly this time, trying to erase the ghost of Cassian’s grip. I checked my collar, tucked in the edges of my shirt, and tried to breathe.

The professional world was waiting on the other side of that door, and I had to walk into it carrying the physical evidence of the last twenty minutes in my face.

I walked out of the office and into the corridor, my heart still doing that frantic, uneven thudding. I felt like everyone could see it—the used look of my mouth, the way I was walking. I stood at the elevator, pressing the button with a finger that still felt like it belonged to someone else.

As the metal doors slid open, I caught my reflection in the polished surface. Flushed. Hair slightly chaotic. The specific, undeniable look of someone who had been kissed until they forgot their own name, and then interrupted.

I stepped inside and leaned my head against the cool metal wall, letting out a heavy, ragged sigh.

"I need a hobby," I muttered to the empty elevator. "I really, really need a hobby."

Something that didn’t involve mahogany desks. Something that didn’t involve a man with no saved contacts. Something that wouldn’t leave me unresolved and breathless at two o’clock on a Monday afternoon.

But as the elevator descended, all I could think about was dinner. And the fact that he said he’d be back.