The CEO Above My Desk (Mckenzie Shinabery) novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91

Expensive.

71

Probably costs more than my old rent.

And I don’t care.

The first sob hits me before I can stop it.

Then another.

I turn into him without thinking, pressing my face against his chest.

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t shush me. He doesn’t command me. He just holds me.

One hand steady at my back.

The other sliding up to cradle the back of my head.

Careful.

Fragile.

Like I might shatter.

Theo clears his throat softly and looks out the window.

Camille wipes at her own eyes.

Devin remains silent, but I can feel the weight of his awareness.

Rowan ignores them all.

“You don’t have to go back there,” he says into my hair. “Not today. Not until he’s gone.”

I shake my head against him, crying harder.

“I just wanted something to be mine,” I whisper. “My house. My space.”

“I know.”

“I can’t lose everything.”

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Chapter 91

“You won’t,” he says immediately.

“How do you know?”

“Because I won’t let you.”

His voice isn’t arrogant.

It’s factual.

His hand moves in slow circles between my shoulder blades.

Steady.

Measured.

He isn’t embarrassed. He isn’t defensive. He isn’t trying to prove anything. He’s just… there.

Holding me like I’m something precious.

And something inside me shifts.

Slowly. Dangerously.

Mift my head.

My face is probably a mess, blotchy, tear–streaked, swollen, and I should care. But I don’t.

He’s already looking at me. Not concerned. Not pitying. Hungry.

Not the kind of hunger that strips.

The kind that claims.

His thumb brushes beneath my eye, catching a tear before it falls.

“You don’t get to disappear on me,” he says quietly.

The words aren’t loud.

But they land like a vow.

“I’m not yours,” I whisper, but it sounds weak. Uncertain.

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Chapter 91

His jaw tightens.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

My pulse spikes.

The car feels smaller.

The air heavier.

Theo clears his throat again, very deliberately looking anywhere but at us. Camille mutters something about giving us a second. I don’t even register when the privacy divider slides halfway up.

It’s just us now.

Rowan’s hand slides from my back to my jaw.

Firm.

Warm.

His thumb presses lightly beneath my chin, tilting my face up.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” he asks.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to outrun me.”

I swallow.

“I’m not-”

His mouth crashes into mine.

It isn’t gentle.

It isn’t hesitant.

It’s messy.

Desperate.

Controlled chaos.

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His hand tightens at the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me. His other arm locks around my waist, anchoring me to him like I might try to float away.

I gasp against his mouth, but he doesn’t slow down.

He kisses me like he’s been holding it back for weeks.

Like he’s been swallowing it down every time I argued with him.

Every time I defied him.

Every time I walked away.

There’s grief in it.

And anger.

And something darker.

Ownership.

His lips move against mine with brutal certainty. No question. No permission.

And the terrifying part?

I kiss him back.

My hands slide up into his shirt, fisting into the fabric. I feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the tension coiled

beneath his skin.

The world outside the car ceases to exist.

It’s just heat.

And breath.

And the taste of salt from my tears mixing with him.

He slows only slightly, just enough to deepen it, to drag it out instead of devour it.

My chest tightens.

Not from lack of air.

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From realization.

He isn’t just kissing me.

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He’s staking ground.

His forehead presses against mine when he finally pulls back.

His breathing is controlled.

Mine isn’t.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

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