Legally Not Yours

Giving In

POV: Leah

Mr. Connors pitted us against each other like it was a sport.

Every meeting, every report, every revised document, Jared and I fought for the spotlight. For control. For validation. I wasn’t sure what the prize was anymore.

A job? Respect? Survival? Or just proving I could beat him, and still breathe after.

“Your summary is weak,” I snapped, highlighting a section on the shared screen.

“Your formatting is worse,” Jared said smoothly, not even looking up. “Maybe next time, don’t structure it like a high school essay.”

Carlson, sitting just behind us, chuckled. “Should I grab popcorn, or do you two need gloves?”

I ignored him, but I felt his eyes on me.

* * *

Jared and I stayed late that night to polish a final training deck before Jeff’s Monday review.

Everyone else had gone. The lights were low. The silence between us, thick as syrup. He leaned over the table, shirt sleeves rolled, hair slightly messy.

I hated how good he looked and hated that I kept noticing.

“You know,” he muttered, highlighting something with a little too much pressure, “for someone who acts like she knows everything, you sure miss a lot of details.”

“And for someone who thinks he’s untouchable,” I shot back, “you sure get defensive when I’m right.”

We bickered for another fifteen minutes.

Sharp words. Low mutters. Long glares. By the time we hit ‘send’ on the final draft, my throat was dry from snapping and my skin was hot from just being near him.

I stood up fast, grabbing my bag. “Finally done. Good. I need air.”

He followed, but the door didn’t open. He tried the handle again. Nothing.

“What the—” he muttered.

From the hallway, we heard the soft whir of the vacuum. Then a loud click from the far door.

The cleaning crew. The lock. They’d thought the room was empty.

“Wait—” I rushed to the glass, knocked. “Hey! We’re still—!” No answer.

Jared exhaled, slow and deadly. “We’re locked in.”

“No. No, no. Someone will come—”

“It’s after midnight,” he said. “No one’s coming.”

My heart pounded. He turned slowly to face me. The air thickened.

“You okay in here with me?” he asked, voice low.

“Unfortunately.”

The silence stretched, filling the room with tension. Jared perched on the edge of the table, legs crossed, eyes locked onto me.

I paced once, twice, then leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. We didn’t utter a word, but our gazes burned into one another. Breaths uneven, chests rising and falling rapidly with anticipation.

His eyes never left me. His stare was heavy, assessing, as though he could see through all my defenses and straight into the mess I was trying to hide.

The air felt molten. Like the space between us had become a live wire.

“Something on your mind, or are you just admiring the view?” he sneered, crossing his arms in return.

“Thinking of ways on how to kill you without getting caught,” I snapped.

“You’re really good at lying, Rosewood. Should have got that degree,” he mocked me and I let out a sarcastic laugh.

“What part of it is a lie?”

“Come on, Leah. You and I both know that you’re lying,” he continued. “Is it your time of the month? Ovulating, sweetheart?”

“That’s your big move?” I couldn’t help the scoff that escaped my lips. “Really?”

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “What, you think I don’t know when you’re full of shit?”

“Maybe I just enjoy watching you get all riled up,” I shot back, not backing down.

His expression hardened, the playful edge in his voice replaced with something darker. He stepped closer, the space between us closing with every word.

“You like getting me riled up, huh? Is that it? You think I haven’t noticed how you look at me, how you challenge me, just to get a rise out of me?”

I didn’t answer right away, my heart pounding in my chest, but he wasn’t giving me a chance to back off. He was leaning in, his body almost flush with mine.

I opened my mouth to reply, but the words got stuck in my throat. His fingers brushed against my arm, sending a jolt of electricity through me, and in that moment, everything shifted.

“You’ve wanted this,” he said, his lips almost brushing against mine. “Haven’t you?”

The words, that challenge, hung in the air for a heartbeat, and I didn’t hesitate. I reached up, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into me. His mouth crashed into mine—fierce, demanding, with a hungry fervor, hands gripping my face as if he needed to possess it entirely.

Our lips and tongues tangled fiercely while our bodies pressed close together. Clothes were torn off in a frenzied sequence. Buttons flying, shoes kicked off wildly, we exposed each other's naked forms.

He spun me around and bent me over the table. His fingers traced the hem of my skirt before yanking it up around my waist. He slipped a finger beneath my panties and teased me before discarding them completely.

I let out a moan as his fingers brushed against my wetness, only to be met with a stinging slap on my ass. He growled in my ear as his hands continued to tease me relentlessly.

Our heated exchange continued as he flipped me back around and unbuttoned my shirt with urgency. Our mouths never broke apart as he slid off my bra and latched onto one nipple, darting his tongue firmly against it.

Pleasure coursed through me like electricity. My hands roved over his body in search of his zipper, eager to release him. His erection was straining against the fabric just as my desire strained against my body's limits.

“Be patient,” he commanded, his voice thick with desire when he plunged two fingers into my pussy, making me gasp and shiver with pleasure. He groaned with each thrust of his fingers, “God, you're so tight.”

“Please…” I whimpered in desperation.

“Please what?” He mimicked me.

“You know what I want.”

“Tell me.” His challenge hung heavy in the air; as if daring me to take control.

With a glare full of determination, I shoved him back and dropped to my knees, tugging down his pants. The sight of his throbbing dick sent my need into a frenzy.

I took him into my mouth, tasting every inch of him as he thrust between my lips. My hands reached down between my legs to ease the ache he left behind.

Finally unable to resist any longer, he pulled me up and bent me over before spreading my slick folds. With one powerful thrust, he entered me fully.

Overwhelmed by the sensation, our moans filled the room as he took me with unrestrained passion.

Each time we came together only served to fuel our desire further.

First time? Desperate and wild.

Second? Faster; our bodies slamming together like tidal waves.

Third? Slower, rougher; each movement deliberate and deep.

Our bodies refused to rest or relent. By the time we collapsed on the carpet, tangled and spent, he whispered gently against my neck:

“This was never hate.”

“No,” I breathed softly against his skin. “Just war with foreplay.”