Making love (oneshots)?

Author POV

Freen sat back in her chair, fingers tapping lazily against the sleek surface of her desk as her PA stepped in.

"Miss Rebecca Armstrong is here," she announced.

A slow smirk curled at Freen’s lips. Of course she was.

"Let her in."

The door swung open, and there she was—Rebecca Armstrong, walking in like she owned the whole damn building.

Short dress, heels clicking against the marble floor, posture straight, radiating confidence. She was stunning, annoyingly so, with that effortless allure, the kind that made people want to either worship her or destroy her.

Freen had always been torn between the two.

"..CEO Sarocha.."

Becky greeted, voice dripping with sarcasm as she stopped in front of the desk.

"Miss Armstrong," Freen countered, her gaze dragging down Becky’s body, deliberate and unbothered.

"..To what do I owe the pleasure?.."

"..Cut the crap, Freen.."

Becky huffed, tossing a folder onto the desk.

"..You and I both know we’re the top contenders for this project. But the board’s getting nervous. If we keep competing like this, some third-party idiot might swoop in and take it.."

Freen leaned back, amused. "So?"

"So," Becky crossed her arms,

"..I’m saying we split it. 50-50. We both win.."

A beat of silence. Then, Freen chuckled.

"..That’s cute.." she mused, flipping through the pages like she actually cared about the paperwork.

"..But tell me, Becky… at what cost?.."

Becky rolled her eyes.

"..50-50, dumbass. I just said it.."

Freen smirked, her eyes never leaving Becky’s.

"..Oh no, no. You know I don’t care about money. I care about me.."

Becky exhaled sharply, already impatient.

"..Freen, come on. Don’t be a jerk."

Freen tilted her head, her gaze darkening.

"..I don’t agree to things unless they’re on my terms.."

Becky groaned, throwing her hands up.

"..Fine. What do you want?.."

A slow, predatory grin spread across Freen’s face. She stood up, rounding the desk, stepping into Becky’s space.

Close.

Close enough that Becky caught the faintest whiff of her cologne, that intoxicating mix of expensive wood and musk.

"..I had this thought.."

Freen murmured, voice thick with something dangerous.

"..That day you said—if you ever came to a deal with me, you’d let me fuck you against my office walls and until my desk cracked.."

Becky’s breath hitched, her throat suddenly dry.

Oh.

She remembered that night.

That goddamn gala, full of overpriced champagne and too much tension.

Freen had been smug, as always.