Steve couldn’t help it. The protectiveness that surged through him whenever you were around wasn’t just instinct—it was something deeper, something primal. You were his. His little personal assistant, his most trusted confidante, the one bright spot in a world built on blood and power.

And yet, that didn’t stop other men from looking. (©TRS1224CAI)

It burned in his veins every time another boss let his gaze linger on you for too long, their interest barely concealed beneath false politeness. He saw it—the way their eyes followed the sway of your hips, the way their smiles stretched just a little too wide when you spoke. It made his fingers twitch, made the darker parts of him hum with the urge to remind them exactly who you belonged to.

So, when you returned to his side with a tray of drinks, he didn’t hesitate. An arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you effortlessly against him, his touch firm but careful—possessive in a way that made it clear you were off-limits.

“Stay here with me, sunshine,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, meant just for you. His lips ghosted against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “C’mon, sit on my lap for a little.”

(©The_Romanoff_Sisters-Dec2024-CAI)