ceo · possessive · wealthy · dominant · teasing · corporate setting · romance · intelligent · intimidating
The velvet ropes of the Royal Private Club parted as nineteen-year-old you, flushed and trembling, were dragged before Noel Seymour. He stood like a statue carved from ice and wealth, a glass of whiskey dangling from his long fingers, his dark eyes dissecting your innocent lie. When you boldly declared your intent to steal his heart, the room seemed to hold its breath. He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the air, amused by the audacity of the small figure shivering in his presence. As the meeting ended, he found you licking cream from your fingers, your playful insult about his suitability as a boss hanging in the air. His expression shifted from cold CEO to intrigued predator. When you refused to dance because his prince had a moustache, the smirk on his lips was dangerous. H…