Chapter 4

Claire's POV

Daniel’s hands hesitated at the waistband of his briefs, his blue-gray eyes locked on mine, burning with a mix of defiance and something darker. “You sure about this, Ms. Stanton?” he asked, his voice low, rough, almost daring me to back down.

I didn’t flinch, though my pulse hammered in my throat. “I’m giving you a chance to walk away, Daniel. Say no, and we’re done here.” My words were steady, but inside, my mind churned. I didn’t want him to stop, not really. I wanted to see how far he’d go, how far I could push him.

He didn’t move for a long moment, his jaw tight, the muscles in his neck straining. Then, with a sharp exhale, he shoved the briefs down, letting them fall to the floor. My breath caught as I took him in—his body fully exposed, the dark hair at his base thick, his length hanging heavy even in its softness. It swayed slightly as he shifted his weight, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away. But more than that, it was the hard line of his jaw, the way his face tightened with barely contained emotion, that gripped me. His size was one thing; his raw, restrained intensity was another.

“Happy now?” he snapped, his voice cutting through the silence, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His chest rose and fell quickly, the scars on his torso catching the dim light from my desk lamp.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs under the desk, my Chanel skirt brushing against my thighs. I forced a smirk, though my mouth felt dry. “Turn around. Let me see all of you.”

His eyes flashed with anger, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “What is this, some kind of sick show for you?” he growled, but he did it anyway, pivoting slowly, his movements stiff. I watched the play of muscle across his back, the faded scars crisscrossing his skin—marks of battles I couldn’t even imagine. My fingers twitched, itching to trace those lines, to feel the history under them, but I curled them into my palm instead.

“Good,” I said, keeping my tone light, almost mocking. “Now, touch yourself. Make yourself finish.”

His head whipped around, his stare piercing, filled with raw fury. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What the hell do you want, Claire?” His voice was a harsh rasp, his hands balling tighter, knuckles white.

I tilted my head, meeting his gaze without blinking. “I want to know you’ll do what it takes. For Sarah. So, go on. Prove it.” My words were cold, calculated, but inside, my stomach twisted. I hated how much I wanted to see him break, how much I needed to feel that control over him.

He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, a sharp knock cut through the tension. My heart jolted, and Daniel froze, his eyes darting to the door like a predator ready to strike. His body tensed, every muscle coiled, as if he’d pounce at the slightest threat.

“Ms. Stanton, is everything okay?” Emily’s voice came through, hesitant, from the other side.

I cleared my throat, forcing calm into my tone. “It’s fine, Emily. Just a heated discussion. Go back to your desk.” My eyes never left Daniel, watching the way his shoulders stayed rigid, his gaze still locked on the door.

There was a pause, then the faint sound of footsteps retreating. I exhaled quietly, the tightness in my chest easing just a fraction. Daniel turned back to me, his expression darker now, a storm brewing behind those eyes.

“Get on with it,” I said, nodding toward him, my voice softer but no less firm. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

He swallowed hard, his throat working as he fought down whatever he felt. Then, with a curse under his breath, he gripped himself, his rough, calloused hand moving with quick, angry strokes. The friction sounded harsh in the quiet room, the scars on his knuckles stark under the light. I watched, unable to look away, my own breathing shallow. The air smelled faintly of him now—sweat and something raw, masculine, that made my skin prickle.

“You’re doing it wrong,” I said after a moment, my voice cutting in, almost casual. “At this rate, you’ll be here until dawn and still not get anywhere.”

His hand stilled, his chest heaving, and he glared at me, sweat beading at his temple. “What do you know about it?” he bit out, his words dripping with resentment.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk, my fingers steepled. “Need a hand, Sentinel Security’s finest?” My tone was teasing, but my heart pounded so loud I was sure he’d hear it. I didn’t know why I said it, why I pushed, but the words were out before I could stop them.

His eyes widened for a split second, shock and something hotter flashing through them. His grip tightened, and I saw the reaction in his body, the way he hardened further under his own touch. My throat went tight, heat pooling low in my belly despite myself.

“Looks like you don’t,” I added, my voice barely above a whisper, my gaze flicking down to where his hand moved again, faster now. I shifted in my seat, aware of my own legs pressed together, the fabric of my skirt suddenly too constricting. My eyes drifted to his face, catching the way his jaw clenched, the way his gaze dropped to my crossed thighs, lingering on the sliver of skin exposed where my skirt rode up.

“You staring at my legs, Daniel?” I asked, sharp and direct, watching his reaction.

His eyes snapped back to mine, a flush creeping up his neck, but before he could answer, his body shuddered. A low groan escaped him, and then it happened—hot, thick streaks shot out, some hitting the edge of my desk, but a few landing on me. I froze as warmth splattered across my chest, soaking through my Burberry blouse, sticking to my skin. A drop hit my cheek, another at the corner of my mouth, sliding along the seam of my lips. Instinctively, my tongue darted out, and the taste—salty, earthy, intense—filled my mouth. My breath hitched, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer volume, the evidence of how long it must have been for him.

I didn’t move for a moment, the silence deafening as I reached for a tissue from the box on my desk. I wiped my face slowly, methodically, feeling the damp fabric of my shirt cling to me. My skin felt too hot, too tight, but I kept my face blank, refusing to show how rattled I was.

Daniel stood there, chest heaving, his face a mix of shame and barely contained rage. “Can we be done now, Ms. Stanton?” he asked, his voice rough, almost broken, as he yanked his briefs back on with jerky movements.

I picked up my tablet, checking the video I’d recorded, ensuring every detail was clear. “Almost,” I said, my tone cool as I set the device down. “This isn’t personal, Daniel. It’s just business. A way to make sure we’re on the same page.”

His hands clenched again, but he said nothing, just pulled on the rest of his clothes with quick, angry motions. I watched him, my mind racing. Part of me felt sick for doing this, for pushing him to this edge. But another part—a louder, colder part—felt satisfied. I had him now. He couldn’t walk away.

I pressed the intercom button on my desk. “Emily, get in touch with the hospital. Arrange to cover all of Sarah Brown’s medical expenses immediately. Full payment.”

Daniel’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing, but he didn’t speak. He just grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on, the weight of humiliation still heavy in his stance. As he turned to leave, his hand on the door, I spoke one last time.

“Wait. I have another idea for Sarah. Something better. A way to get her the absolute best care possible.”

He stopped, his back to me, every line of his body tense. I waited, the silence stretching, knowing I’d just thrown another hook into the water. And deep down, I knew he’d bite.