#ceo x secretary

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Shameless

a/n: Hello my lovelies. This scenario has been hiding in the back rooms for some time, so I thought I’d go ahead and get it out there. It’s a little shorter, but a beauty if I do say so myself. 

pairing: CEO!Billy Russo x fem!secretary!reader

CW +18 smut: swearing, tension, hickeys, oral (f!receiving)

word count: 2.5k

“Mr. Russo is not available right now, I’ll have him get back to you.” You sighed as you hung up the phone; that was their third call today. Couldn’t people take a hint? Your boss had been stressed beyond belief in recent days, and you, being the fantastic secretary you are, had been doing everything in your power to be sure he remained unbothered. This task had, however, proven harder than anticipated.

Your boss was a very attractive man; quite the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Those dark eyes of his rendered you unquestioningly obedient, yet not to a fault. You never failed to set him straight if you thought he was acting too rashly, and he always managed to complain about it. It was a strange relationship between the two of you.

“I need to see you in my office.” The sudden buzz of the intercom startled you, but you ignored the racing of your heart to tend to Mr. Russo’s needs. After all, that is what you’re paid for. Upon standing, you smoothed out your black pencil skirt and fixed the collar of your white button up, the click-clacking of your stilettos echoing around the marbled office building. With a quick knock, you entered Mr. Russo’s office, closing the door behind you.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” His head laid in his hands, lifting to face you only when you spoke. A heavy sigh escaped him, and he gestured to the chair opposite his own. You sat, rather hesitant internally, crossing your ankles and waiting for instructions.

“I need you to remind me of my meeting schedule for the day.” ‘Please’ was a word you had never heard the man utter, so you had come to stop expecting it. You didn’t mind, really, it was understandable to a point.

“Only one meeting today, sir, with the president of that prospective merger you’ve been considering.” He muttered a string of curses under his breath, clearly not looking forward to that appointment.

“Time?” Your eyes flickered to your lap as the answer appeared in your head.

“Fifteen minutes, sir.” He closed his eyes, seeming to be swallowing back a scolding. You hadn’t actually done anything wrong; in fact, you had reminded him of the meeting just yesterday, but you should’ve anticipated his anxious forgetfulness. “Shall I let you know when he arrives?” He merely nodded, leaving the room in silence once again. You took this as your cue to leave, making your way back to your desk once again.

After letting Mr. Russo know that the president of that merger had arrived, you decided to take your lunch break. Since the couch you ate at was sat quite close to Mr. Russo’s office, you could practically hear their whole conversation (not that the legal jargon was making much sense). It was only when you noticed your boss’s tone turning more agitated that you decided to step in.

With a swift knock, you cracked open the door and stuck your head in.

“Mr. Russo, sir, you’re needed upstairs.” He wasn’t needed, of course, but you thought a break might be helpful. You sensed a flash of relief behind his agitation, but he maintained his previously apparent expression for the benefit and ignorance of the merger president.

“Excuse me, John.” He muttered lowly, sliding on his suit jacket as he made his way to the elevator. You decided to do something to…relieve his tension, and followed behind him. Mr. Russo furrowed his brow in confusion as the doors slid shut and he saw you standing beside him; yep, definitely caught him off guard with this one.

“Don’t you have work to do, Miss-” You shook your head, interrupting his assumption. It wasn’t entirely incorrect, but it was an assumption.

“I’m on break, sir.” You clarified politely, subtly batting your lashes as you peered up at him. Billy’s eyes flickered over your face, taking in your appearance. He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to you, you were beautiful. But he tried his best not to show it, keeping his facial expression stoic.

“Ah, I see.”  He said simply, looking away from you and focusing on the elevator doors in front of them. The elevator began to move, the silence in the small space between you palpable. Billy remained painfully aware of your presence beside him.

“You seem stressed, sir.” You stepped closer, speaking in a quiet tone in an attempt to relax and soothe his anxiousness. It seemed to do the opposite, however, as Billy’s eyes widened slightly as you stepped closer, his gaze involuntarily sweeping down your figure. He took in the sight of your skirt and button up, the outfit hugging your curves perfectly. Despite his best efforts to remain indifferent, he couldn’t help the way his heart thumped slightly faster in his chest. He cleared his throat and looked away, his mind racing. 

“I’m fine.” In his attempt to sound casual, his voice wavered, betraying the facade he displayed to everyone else.

“Are you sure, Mr. Russo?” You prodded gently, placing a manicured hand on his forearm. The feeling of your hand on his arm sent sparks through his body. Your touch was intoxicating, it was driving him insane. He took a deep breath, still avoiding eye contact. He tried to keep his voice steady, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. 

“I said I’m fine.” He repeated, his tone a bit brusque. You pulled your hand away, momentarily questioning your original goal. The absence of your touch was like a jolt to his system. He missed the warmth of your hand on his arm. Despite his better judgement, he found himself wanting to pull you back towards him, to feel your touch again. But he resisted the urge, keeping his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know.” You pointed out, sharply breaking the tense silence. Billy closed his eyes, sighing deeply. He knew you were right, he shouldn't be pretending. But he had always been good at putting up a front, and he had never been good at letting people in. He opened his eyes again and looked at you, his expression softer than before. 

“I’m just…tired. I’ve been working non-stop and I feel like I’m about to snap.” He admitted softly. He leaned back against the wall of the elevator, letting his head fall back against the cool surface. He was exhausted. He had been pushing himself too hard, trying to juggle everything on his own. But he was so used to doing things alone, he didn’t know how to ask for help. Luckily, you could think of just the thing.

“Maybe you need to do something to...relax you.” You took a step toward him, fluttering your lashes again. You would get him this time. Billy raised an eyebrow at you, intrigued by your suggestion despite himself. He was well aware of the innuendo behind your words, and he surprisingly didn’t mind it.

“And what exactly do you suggest?” He asked, an uncharacteristic and playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, I am on break, sir…” I began, matching his expression. Billy’s smirk grew as he looked you up and down, taking in the sight of you in your short, tight skirt. He was getting more and more tempted by the second. He knew he should resist, it would be highly unprofessional. But he found it increasingly difficult to care about that fact.

“I suppose you are…” He said, his voice lowering to a huskier tone. He stepped closer to you, closing the distance between you. He was so close that you could feel his minty breath on your face as he let his gaze wander over your figure, taking in every curve and contour. He brought a hand up to your hip, his thumb rubbing small circles against your waist. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“You know, the elevator is currently stuck between floors.” He whispered, reaching back to push the ‘stop’ button as his fingers traced the edge of your skirt. You merely hummed in response, enjoying this.

“How unfortunate for us.” Yeah, very unfortunate. Billy chuckled softly, the raspy sound sending a wave of heat straight to your core. He brought his lips to your neck, peppering light kisses along your skin.

“What ever shall we do to pass the time?” He teased, his hand slowly trailing up your thigh.

“It seems to me like you have a few ideas, Mr. Russo.” You tilted your head to the side, granting him better access as you continued the arbitrary banter. Billy smirked against your neck, kissing his way up to your jawline. He brought up his other hand, cupping your chin and tilting your head up to look at him.

“Oh, I have plenty of ideas, darling.” He said with a low growl, his eyes darkening further with desire. Billy's gaze shifted even more as he took in the sight of you, your sultry look driving him wild. He couldn’t resist you any longer. With one swift move, he scooped you up into his arms and pressed you against the wall of the elevator, his lean body pinning you in place. He buried his face in your neck, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing up your skirt and exposing more of your skin.

As his lips trailed kisses down your neck and collarbone. His hands continued to explore your body, roaming over every inch of you. He cupped your ass, giving it a firm squeeze as he pressed himself closer to you. He could feel your breath hitch, which only fueled his desire even more.

“God, you’re stunning.” He murmured against your skin, his hands moving up to unbutton your blouse. You hummed, biting your lip as you assisted him in the removal of your top, leaving you in a white lacy bra. Kissing his neck, you rolled your hips into his, his prominent bulge poking into your hip. A low growl escaped him at the feel of you grinding against him, his lips returning to your neck. He nipped and sucked at your skin, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. He moved his hands back to the hem of your skirt, gathering up the material in his hands and tugging it up higher.

“You’re a lovely fucking woman, darling.” He rasped out, his voice gruff. You let out a gasp as he kneeled before you, the look in his eyes feral as he tugged the skirt above your hips. Now, the wet puddle between your legs would be quite clear to him. He tsked once or twice, rather feignedly condescendingly, shaking his head.

“Oh, love, you’ve ruined these already. They’ll have to go.” He didn’t wait for a response before virtually ripping off your poor panties, tossing them behind him somewhere. Cursing under his breath, he tugged your legs apart and began placing wet kisses along your inner thighs. You let out a deep sigh of contentment, threading your fingers through his hair and grasping onto it for stability. Without another word, Billy brought his mouth to your dripping center, his lips gently placing a kiss there. A low, appreciative moan left his lips before he looked back up at you.

“Fuck, princess, you taste divine.” He breathed against your throbbing pussy, his tongue slipping out to lick a long stripe up through your folds. A whimper of his name left your lips at the sensation, and your hold on his hair tightened. A strand of his perfectly gelled locks had fallen over his forehead, making him look impossibly more heavenly. 

He groaned against you as the taste of you hit his tongue, his head moving back and forth as he tried to get more of you. His hands gripped tighter at your hips, holding you firmly in place as his tongue worked to bring you ever closer to that edge, that high. You were almost to the point of dripping onto the floor, which would be quite embarrassing, but you found yourself not caring in the slightest as Billy continued to work you over with his expert tongue.

He took his time with you, not rushing in his actions. He wanted to take all the time in the world to savor you as best he could, his tongue and lips working to memorize every sensitive spot, figuring out what made you gasp and what made you moan. His hands gripped and caressed every inch of bare skin he could reach as his tongue fucked you mercilessly, shamelessly. A rather desperate-sounding groan left his lips, vibrating against your quivering folds as you felt another drop of cum leak out of your hole.

“Billy, m’close.” You moaned, fighting to keep your knees from buckling as the knot in your stomach grew with each lap of his tongue. The lewd sounds of Billy making out with your sopping cunt filled the small, confined space, drawing you that much closer to the edge. He didn’t even bother to respond with words, merely speeding up his actions, displaying how desperate he was to have your cum fill his mouth. His nose bumped your clit every so often, and when you decided you wanted more, you let your own hand travel downward to place small circles over the swollen bud. When Billy noticed this, he drew your hand away and replaced it with his own, demonstrating just how much better he was at this than you. You couldn’t contain your moans now, whimpering and gasping incessantly as you came to your peak.

“B-Billy, m’cumming, m’cumming…” You cried out, although you were sure he knew with the way his ministrations increased in urgency. He groaned lowly as your cum poured out of you, grasping your thighs tightly to keep you supported. Lapping up every last drop of your arousal, he gingerly worked you through your high, standing only when your breath slowed.

“You did so well f’me, princess.” He mumbled against your neck, placing a kiss or two down the side. “So fuckin’ pretty when you come.” You breathed deeply as you wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling softly as you looked into his eyes appreciatively.

“That was quite shameless of you, you know that?” You smirked as you teased him, absently dragging your nails along the nape of his neck. He snorted out an amused chuckle, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to your temple.“

What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

[suguwife]

Little intro peak to the oneshot I’m writing :))

[spades4cards]

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧

The hours passed with its all-consuming heaps of work, but all I could think about was my date with y/n. All I could ever think about in any situation was y/n. And when y/n left, all I could think about was how she would look like in the dress I sent for her. It was a navy blue slitted halter dress, which I had my stylist personally order from Chanel to make it one-of-a-kind. Would she even wear the dress?

"Mr. Harper," she looked... like a goddess.

The dark silk spread over her skin like a river, and the dress accentuated all of her features, making her look too beautiful for this earth—too beautiful for anyone to see. I owned many great paintings worth millions of dollars, but a price couldn't be placed on the piece of art she was.

Only I should be able to see her, no one else.

"I don't think you should call me that considering I'm taking you out."

"Christian, then," she hesitated calling me by my first name.

It's okay, she'll get used to it soon.

"You look stunning."

She blushed, "You don't look so bad yourself."

The conversation was so cliché, but I wouldn't want it any other way. I walked up to her and offered my arm which she took.

"We're going from the back, right? No one will see us?" She asked, her grip on my arm instinctively tightening.

I could see her worry from a mile away.

"No one will see us," I assured her.

And with that, we left.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

The setting was so cliché, if you told me that my boss and I transmigrated into a K-drama, I would've 100% believed you. What the hell was I thinking earlier, blushing like a schoolgirl and saying 'You don't look so bad yourself' to my fucking boss?! Why did I even come here, again? I paused for a moment... oh right, the food.

Or because you crave affection from your boss, a voice in my head sang.

I ignored it and swirled the wine in my glass, watching as it reached up the glass with its red liquid hands before pouring down in a graceful swoop. I betrayed him, and now I accepted his date at one of the fanciest restaurants I've ever seen.

"Y/n," Christian's smooth, inky voice drew me back to reality.

Look at me, paying attention to my wine glass instead of my mouth-watering, hot, sexy, rich date... and my boss.

"Mr. Har- I mean Christian. Sorry for being so distracted, it's just that..." I'm the traitor.

"It's just that wha-"

"Hello. Welcome to The Monarch. What can I get for you both?"

That waitress must've been sent by the gods to save me from Christian's question. I was a terrible liar, and he could've easily saw through me.

Before he could ask his question again, I said, "This restaurant is, er, very nice..." I'm pathetic.

He clearly noticed my attempts to block his question because he arched a brow before speaking, "It is 'er, very nice.'"

I blushed at his mocking, "You know I can talk better when in a work environment."

"And you lose your wit and fire when you're on a date?" Oh, that bitch.

"I don't lose it, but I was manipulated into going on this date," I said playfully with a smug grin.

"Manipulated? I remember bringing up how good the food was and you suddenly accepting," he bit back, watching smugly as pink started rising in my cheeks as I lost my grin.

I scoffed, "You brought up how nice the restaurant is, not how good the food is. What if I wanted to look at it from an architectural view?"

"It was implied."

We continued our playful banter until the food came (when I tried my best not to scarf down the delicious pasta and utterly failed) before we were suggested desserts by the waiter.

"So, what do you want for dessert? She said the crème brûlée was good."

"I don't like desserts or anything sweet, for that matter," my jaw dropped.

"Wait, wait, wait. What? What about chocolate or baklava or..." I recall the time I bought him a croissant, "Do you like croissants?"

His eyes flickered with amusement, "Nope. Nothing sweet, but I can tolerate some croissants."

My tongue danced in my mouth with the urge to ask if he liked the croissant I bought for him, but the question died on my tongue. The croissant I bought him was sweet, so of course he wouldn't like it. A small wave of disappointment washed over me.

"I tolerated your croissant, too," can he read my mind?

"Oh. that's good," a soft blush rose to my ears.

He stared at me, and I stared back, but it wasn't awkward. We dug into each other's eyes, searching for our memories, the fragile pieces that come together inextricably to make us us: our pure substance.

Then, the waitress came back and asked what we wanted for dessert, and the fragile string, woven intricately into that moment snapped as suddenly as it came.

"A crème brûlée for my lady, and one croissant for me." My lady.

The night wore on; casual talks, occasional laughs... and then, goodbye. We slowly walked out of the restaurant, stalling our time for as long as we could.

"This is where we part ways... heh." Please tell me to stay.

But he didn't tell me to stay, he didn't speak at all. I turned to leave, daydreaming about my bed but missing a certain musky scent lingering around me. Then, I felt a large, warm hand engulf my wrist. It was tentative, a carefully spoken thought, an unsure step to a new path, a ray of sunlight shyly peeking into a dark room. I turned around and gazed at those whiskey eyes bathed in the dim glow of the moon, those eyes I wanted to drink up every single goddamn time I saw them.

"Yes?" It was practically a gunshot in the tense silence.

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧

My date with y/n was good, great, too great; her presence was my drug, her body my oasis in a dry desert, her voice a medicine to all my wounds, so, yes, I didn't want the date to fucking end and yes, I did grab her wrist with nothing to say.

"Let me drop you home." Good excuse.

Her mouth did an adorable twitch before forming a small, warm smile, "Yes, please."

I led her to the sleek, black Rolls Royce glinting in the moonlight looking like a jaguar about to strike. I could tell she was impressed when we stepped inside; her hands idly roaming the plush seats and the luxurious features, her eyes shining with awe. God, she was so cute like this.

"Oh my god, it has massaging chairs!" She finally acknowledged me amid her new-found amazement for my car.

I looked at her and smirked as she stared at the moving seats massaging her legs, not being able to suppress a small chuckle. Focus on the road, I internally scolded myself, but I could feel her gaze burning into my side profile.

The ride eventually ended, the luxurious vehicle coming to a halt outside of The Mirage.

"Are you going inside?" Sometimes I forget we live in the same building.

Technically, I was supposed to go to a club opening, but... I looked at those lethal, pleading doe eyes. Fuck it.

"No, I'm going inside. I'll walk you to your apartment."

When I drove her here, she had her amazement from the car as an excuse to not talk to me, now she didn't have one. It was tense, our relationship as two people from a good first date slowly shifting back to our regular CEO-secretary dynamic. We got out of the elevator and walked to apartment 111, careful not to look in each other's direction. No one was in the hall.

No one was in the hall.

She grabbed her keys from her bag and looked up at me. She was going to say goodbye, but whatever she saw in my eyes made her swallow her words. I put my arm above her head, trapping her against the door. Slowly, like two canyons conjoining after years of being eroded, our lips met, and then it was over.

Our hands were all over each other as our tongues made a frenzied, hot dance. Her hands roamed my chest, mine roughly handling her hips. Then I remembered our last encounter had also ended in mindless lust.

I removed my body from hers. I wasn't going to reduce her to that.

She looked for an answer in my eyes, but I turned and walked away, my words tangling up into everything I wasn't supposed to say.

My steps slowly lost relevance as they walked away from her, along with our whole encounter.

Two steps forward, a marathon back.

[buckyalpine]

CEO Bucky takes his anger out on his secretary (ft smut)

Imagine CEO!Bucky accidently taking his anger out on his already stressed out secretary. He gets mean and you will deal with it because I wanted this angst turned smut to go from chest itching to stomach fluttering. 

-

Your stomach twisted in knots looking at the pile of papers you had stacked on your desk, the phone still ringing while new messages popped up in your email inbox every 5 minutes. The files had to be organized by the next meeting and the number on the phone display was one you couldn’t ignore. The back to back messages were from various investors, each person insisting they were a priority over the others. You kept the receiver between your ear and shoulder, your hands flying around your desk madly between papers and tapping your keyboard. 

You quickly added a few more meetings to the calendar before hurrying to your bosses office to remind him of one he had later that afternoon. You hesitated before knocking at the door, the closed doors indicating he was busy, but you knew he’d want a heads up about the meeting. 

“Mr. Barnes, you have a meeting with Stark Enterprises at 3:30-

“Didn’t I tell you to move this meeting to next week?” Bucky snapped, blue eyes glaring at you while you blinked in confusion. “Well?” 

“N-no” You shook your head, you’d never missed an email before and you’d always been on top of scheduling changes on time. Bucky mumbled something under his breath before waving you off, the shrill sound of his phone going off. 

“Barnes” Bucky grunted, answering the phone without looking back at you, leaving to you scramble away and figure out if you could rearrange the date with Tony Stark. 

Which was a mess in itself. 

You had to argue back and forth, pleading to no end for a different day with Starks assistant only reluctantly agreeing after nearly half an hour. 

“You really should be more responsible, can’t believe Barnes has the likes of you working under him” the woman on the phone clicked her tongue before slamming down the receiver, cutting the call. You sighed, taking in a deep breath to calm the tightness you felt in your throat, you didn’t have time to break down now. 

You printed the up coming contracts for Bucky to sign, organizing them by name and highlighting the places he had to sign so he didn’t have to bother finding the space for signatures. You scurried back into his office, dreading the tense click of his jaw, your nerves increasing even more. 

“Sir, these are your papers-” You stumbled over the corner of the rug, scattering the papers onto the floor, your heart hammering out of your chest when you saw Bucky irritatedly run his fingers through his hair. 

“For fucks sake, y/n, I’m already stressed, don’t screw more shit up!” He growled, eyes hardening at the sight of the papers strewn across the floor of his office while you stayed frozen on the spot. Your eyes glossed over, quickly scrambling to the floor to grab the documents, mumbling apologies over and over again, hoping none of your tears stained the paper. The sight of tears streaking down your face broke Bucky out of his frustrated state, instantly regretting the tone he’d used with you. 

“Fuck” Bucky cursed under his breath, getting out of his chair to help you but you’d already managed to pick everything up, immediately trying to scramble away.

“Y/n” 

You didn’t stop, unable to take more of Bucky’s wrath, continuing to hurry towards the door, desperately trying to hold down your sniffles and aggressively wiping your cheeks. 

“Y/n” 

Bucky sighed, gently reaching out to grab your arm and pulling you to face him, his feeling even worse when you kept your eyes trained on the floor, your arms wrapped around yourself. 

“I’m sorry, p-please d-on’t yell” You choked out, still trying to hold your composure together, fighting the way your body wanted to break down into sobs 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m sorry” his heart broke seeing the tears collecting in your lash line, his thumb swiping away the ones that spilled out. “M’sorry baby” he wasn’t sure where the pet name came from but he couldn’t help it, letting it naturally roll off his tongue. You were still rigid, refusing to look at him, nearly flinching when he pulled you closer, tilting your chin up to meet his steel blues. 

“Look at me” He spoke softly now, as if he were trying to coax a small animal out of hiding, his touch gentle, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you”

“It’s okay” you shrugged, slipping out of his hold, quickly wiping your face and going back to work as if nothing had happened. Even though he’d apologized, his words rang through your mind for the rest of the day. 

In fact, they stuck with you through the entire week. 

Bucky hated the way you didn’t even look at him anymore. He missed your soft good mornings and shy smile whenever he walked into his office. Now all you did was keep your head down, freezing in fear as soon as you heard his footsteps. And it was all his fault. 

He despised that he made you feel scared of him, his own anger being the cause of upsetting you when you had been nothing but sweet from the day he’d met you. You were also the best he’d ever had; no one else had ever come close to how brilliantly you worked; you never missed anything. He nearly spat out the coffee that was placed on his table, missing the perfect cup you made for him every morning. 

You only spoke 1-2 words, retreating from his office as soon as you got what you needed, your eyes always trained on the floor, looking away from him. He couldn’t take it anymore, feeling more guilty each day; he couldn’t go on any longer without your sweetness. 

You blinked at the baby pink roses that sat in a basket on your desk along with a little bear placed on top, a small hand made I’m Sorry heart sitting in its furry hands, clearly in Bucky’s handwriting. You traced over the soft teddy holding it in your hands before going to his office. Before you could say anything, Bucky was up and out of his seat, desperately hoping you’d hear him out. 

“M’sorry y/n” His soft eyes were filled with sadness and regret as he reached out to hold your hands in his, not wanting you to run off again, “I’m so sorry angel, there’s no excuse, I shouldn’t have yelled at you” 

“It’s fine” You whispered, still avoiding his gaze. 

“Hey, it’s not fine” Bucky shook his head, cupping your face to make you look at him, “It’s not baby, I shouldn’t have ever treated you that way. You do everything for me, I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you” 

“I shouldn’t have messed u-

“Don’t, absolutely not. You never do sweets, it was me who messed up. Never you. Will you forgive me, doll?” Bucky nervously bit his lip while you gave him a small nod, that adorable shy smile he loved so much making its way to your lips. 

“God, I missed this” He whispered, his thumb tracing over your lips, chuckling at the tiny confused pout you gave him after.

“What did you miss” 

“This little smile you always have whenever you’re around me” Bucky smirked at the way you grew more bashful, doe eyes darting about, “Do you have any idea how much I love when you look at me like that?” 

“Mr-Mr. Barnes” Your breath hitched in your throat as his hands slowly moved to hold your waist, pulling you closer. Your hands made their way to his chest to ground yourself, forgetting how to breathe as he pressed his lips against yours. It started off soft and slow; his sweet tongue turning sinful as he walked over to his chair, pulling you to straddle him without breaking apart once. You let out a needy whimper feeling him harden under you though Bucky was still focused on kissing your soft skin, his lips fluttering across every inch. 

You’d never been this close to Bucky before, the intoxicating scent of his cologne making your heart race, his calloused large hands roaming your body. You hadn’t even realized you were grinding down on his thick bulge until he let out a groan, stilling your hips. 

“Keep that up bunny and you’ll make me cum in my pants like a little boy” Bucky let out a strained chuckle, using every bit of his self restraint not to tear your clothes off. 

“Please?” You wiggled against him again, needing to be closer, Bucky’s resolve slowly crumbling. How could he hold back when you were practically humping your soaked needy cunt right on his erection. 

“Please what, sweets” 

“Need you Sir” your voice had melted in a whine and that was all it took. The sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor caused more arousal to dampen your panties, nearly drooling at the sight of his cock as he pulled it out. 

“Are-are you sure?” He checked with you once more, not wasting a second ripping your blouse off as soon as you nodded. He threw your bra off next before lifting your skirt up and pulling your panties to the, rubbing his fingers through your folds. 

“Sir, pleasee” 

“I got you, I got you baby. Wanted to make love for our first time angel, give you a bed with rose petals n’ champagne over ice” He whispered, recounting every fantasy he’d thought of from the day he’d met you, “Wanted to make you feel good baby, throw your legs over my shoulders and nurse off this little clit”

He rubbed your sensitive bundle of nerves, continuing. 

“N’ then you’d be my sweet pillow princess. I’d let you lie down all night while I fuck your soul angel. I’d give you my cum all night, pump you full of my cream” 

“Need you now” You whimpered, clutching onto the lapels of his blazer, not that you didn’t want everything he was telling you but you couldn't wait. 

“Alright baby, c’mere” He pulled you closer, your bare chest pressed against his as he rubbed his swollen cockhead to gather your slick before breeching your tight hole, his hips gently pushing up till he was buried to the hilt, “That’s it, shhh take all of me” 

Bucky gave you a second to adjust to his size, his wide hands splayed across your body to hold you in place as he began to thrust up. You gasped in pleasure, your voice melting into a moan as he picked you up and placed you on his desk, pushing your thighs to hit your chest, hitting an even deeper angel. 

“OH GOD-MR-BARNES” You wailed as he fucked you harder, his heard thrown back, tie loosened, tightening the grip he had on your legs, keeping you spread out wide open. He groaned at the sight of his thick cock disappearing in and out of you while you moaned and sobbed on his desk, taking everything he gave you. 

“That’s right baby, say my name, let everyone know who makes you feel this good” He grunted through gritted teeth, holding off his orgasm while bringing his thumb to rub your clit again. 

“I-I’m gonna-OH-GOD-PLEASEE

“Fuck you sound perfect” Bucky moaned feeling you choke his length, fluttering and pulling him deeper as your orgasm washed over you, his own release dangerously close. “God you feel so fuckin’ good when you cum baby. One more angel, just one more” Bucky practically pleaded with you, speeding up his fingers till he saw your eyes roll back, silent screams leaving your mouth as your juices soaked his balls. 

“Fuck m’cumming so hard for you baby” He groaned, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before stilling and spilling ropes of cum into you. He kept his cock inside while bending down to pick you up and sit back in his chair again. He sat with you for a while, petting your hair and kissing you, whispering sweet nothings. 

“Ready to go?” He whispered, looking down to see if you’d fallen asleep while you snuggled into him with your eyes closed. 

“Too tired sir” You pouted, nuzzling into his chest, refusing to move, your body too fucked out to even stand. 

“I got you baby” Bucky smiled, shrugging off his blazer and wrapping you up before carrying you away in his arms, ready to take you home, right where you belonged “Gonna make love to my pretty girl” 

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 the good girl . • ° 　 .　 *　:.　the introduction (1)

synopsis -- Rafe is infatuated with you, his new secretary; something about a trip to Morocco. Rafe is in debt and wants you to pick up a bag of cocaine from Barry for him.

warnings: 18+ mdni mostly through Rafe's (perverted) pov, cursing, ward is still alive, smut but through fantasies, angst, Slight Dark! Rafe, drug/alcohol usage

a/n: I don't know anything about real estate so please don't take the buisness portions in this series seriously.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter | word count: 3.2k

You and Rafe had four scheduled meetings together before noon, each one dragging on with the monotonous drone of old men discussing business.

Rafe, easily bored, found his attention drifting away from the discussions and towards you. He couldn't help but notice the delicate beauty marks scattered across your smooth crossed legs, a detail he had committed to memory by the third meeting.

He longed for your soft voice as he listened to the sound of flapping cheeks and tedious numbers being tossed back and forth. Every now and then, just to hear it, he would interrupt with a simple question in your ear: "You got that down?"

And in response, you would always give a respectful "Yes sir" or a subtle hum on quieter days.

Rafe would watch you intently as you quickly scribbled down notes about whatever mundane topic was being discussed by the mortgage broker--so you can recite to him later.

Despite the dullness of the meetings, he found himself amused by your presence and secretly looked forward to these moments shared between just the two of you.

And then, like clockwork, that smart ass Pope Hayward would lean in and whisper something in your ear, too, ruining everything for Rafe.

Hayward had worked for R&P, the mortgage brokers for Cameron Development, and would often attend their meetings. He always sat beside you, on the opposite side of Rafe, where he was conveniently hidden behind your body and out of Rafe's line of sight.

Rafe thinks this is a sneaky move on Hayward's part since Rafe had suspicions that Hayward may have a crush on you, which only fueled his anger towards Hayward and the meetings.

If Rafe ever discovered Heyward's true feelings for you, he wouldn't hesitate to resurrect the violence of their teenage years. He'd make you watch as he reminded Heyward exactly who you belonged to, letting Heyward's blood stain his thousand-dollar leather shoes. After all, what better way to prove his love than marking his expensive Italian leather with the consequences of wanting what's his? Some men send flowers – Rafe Cameron sends messages written in bruises and blood.

The boardroom felt thick with tension as Rafe's attention ping-ponged between the financial reports and the way Heyward kept leaning toward you. His knuckles turned white around his Mont Blanc pen every time Heyward whispered something in your ear, every time you smiled politely in response.

The irony wasn't lost on him – Heyward's own secretary sat barely three feet away, yet here he was, hovering over what belonged to Rafe. His secretary. His territory.

By the fourth meeting, Rafe found  himself on the brink of madness, his father, Ward Cameron, drawling tone grating on his nerves. 

Mentally detached, he fantasized about indulging in a line of cocaine to awaken his senses, only to have his mind wander to envisioning himself ravishing you right atop the conference table in full view of everyone. 

His imagination spiraled further, picturing the new maintenance girl he saw a couple nights ago, pleasuring you while you, upside down like a flipped turtle, sucking his cock. 

A sudden pang of guilt hit Rafe as he remembered that he needed to order another batch of his "special" supplies from Barry.

He wondered if you, his new secretary, would be willing to make the call for him. His former assistant would have handled it without question, but she was long gone now.

Rafe resumed thinking about you, him, and the maintenance girl having a very sexy threesome on the conference table; he's jolted back to the present as his father's voice rings out, drawing his attention to the press room, where every man's gaze is fixed on him. 

The gentle touch of your hand on the padded sleeve of his suit stirs him, and he feels like popping a boner from your warm touch. 

He asks Ward to repeat himself.

Ward's voice was agitated, his tone indicating his impatience with his son. "Rafe, I want you to deal with the Morocco situation," he repeated firmly.

Later on, Rafe fumed over his father's request in his newly personalized office. Rafe's response was harsh and tense as he spat at his father, "How fair is it to dump all of this on me?!"

He had initially been planning for a sleek, earthy-toned with a black and brown look for his office. But when you mentioned your preference for dark blue and white, Rafe couldn't resist. After all, he always looked delectable in those colors, you told him (and yes, delectable was the exact word you used). So Rafe dropped his original design and went with a nautical theme instead.

"Well, son," Ward's voice cut through the air like ice, "if you could tear your eyes away from your secretary for five minutes, you might understand why the Morocco deal is crucial for this company's future."

Rafe's jaw clenched. "I wasn't--"

"Save it," Ward interrupted, his calm facade cracking. "I've seen this before, Rafe. The way you look at her, how you've redecorated your entire office to her taste. Just like all the others." He leaned forward, voice dropping. "How many secretaries have we lost because of you? How many NDAs have I had to sign?"

The accusation hung heavy in the air. Rafe's hands curled into fists, his cerulean eyes darkening with something dangerous. "This one's different," he growled.

"That's what you said about the last one." Ward's laugh was bitter. "And the one before that. Face it, son - you're becoming predictable. By this time next month, I'll be interviewing replacements. Again."

"Look," Ward's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, but Rafe wasn't about to let him finish that thought.

"No, you look," he spits at his father. "You're always pulling this crap on me - sending me off to do your dirty work like some kind of expendable pawn. 'Send Rafe to northwest Africa for two months, with our worst fucking clients' " Rafe said, fake laughing and clapping all the while." Well the joke's on me, isn't it?" Rafe's eyes blaze with anger and bitterness as years of resentment bubble to the surface.

The words flew out of Rafe's mouth like venomous arrows, each one stinging with a sharp and bitter rage. "You wouldn't dare do this to Sarah, dad--your perfect little princess. But me? I'm just the expendable son, right? Send me on a ten hour flight, unpaid, to fix someone else's mistakes!" His voice dripped with disdain as he imitated his father's words in a mocking tone.

But Ward was not cowed by his son's outburst. "Rafe, please just calm down and listen--"

Rafe's words were sharp as he cut Ward off. "Don't play dumb with me, Dad. I know exactly why you're sending me to South Africa - it's a punishment, a way to get rid of me." The tension in the office was thick and palpable as Ward yelled back, their argument echoing off the walls for all to hear.

But amidst the chaos, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity and nosiness. You had been waiting outside Rafe's office, ready to deliver an urgent message about his 3 o'clock lunch meeting with another Mortgage Broker, Dennis Rutherford.

As time ticked by and Rafe's chauffeured car waited impatiently outside, you knew you had to intervene before it was too late.

Bursting into the office uninvited, you were greeted with the sight of father and son locked in a heated battle, their words laced with anger and resentment. This was not just another work disagreement - this was a deep-rooted family conflict that threatened to tear them apart.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen." you awkwardly say, getting both men's attention. 

Had it been anyone else, Rafe would have immediately fired them for barging in like that. However, since it was you—and he hadn’t yet had the chance to sleep with you—Rafe merely shouted a sharp "What?!" that made you recoil in fear. He felt awful about your reaction but thought he could make it up to you later when his tongue is knee-deep into your pussy.

"Your 3'oclock, sir--with Mr.Rutherford." You say, trying to mask their intimidation.

"Shit." Rafe cursed, swiping a hand across his growing buzzed head. "Did you call the chauffeur?" he asked you. 

You acknowledge with a bow of your head, responding, Of course, sir, as you pass his briefcase into his hands. Rafe longed to refer to you as his good girl, yet with his father present in the room—and after already being seen openly "oogling" you earlier by his father and possibly others—he hesitated. 

While escorting Rafe from the office, he looks at you and remarks: 

"Join me and Rutherford for lunch."

Your heart races as you scramble to find an excuse. "I-I have a mountain of work to catch up on--"

"I don't recall asking you," he sneers, cutting you off. "I was telling you."

Twenty minutes past the scheduled meeting time, and Rafe had already downed three vodka shots, each one burning away at his paper-thin patience. The bar at Roots, despite its upscale pretense, felt suffocating.

You'd been to countless lunch meetings with him before, but something about today felt different. More dangerous. Maybe it was the way his leg kept brushing against yours under the bar, or how his cerulean eyes seemed to devour you between drinks.

Rafe Cameron, with his old money and expensive tastes, ordered another round. You watched, entranced despite yourself, as the alcohol stripped away his careful facade, revealing something raw and hungry underneath.

"Have a drink with me," he murmured, his voice honey-thick with liquor. His glazed eyes fixed on yours, holding secrets you weren't sure you wanted to understand.

"I believe one of us should stay sober, sir," you replied, fighting to keep your voice steady. The 'sir' slipped out automatically, and you watched his pupils dilate at the word.

A dark smile played at his lips as he closed his eyes, savoring your voice like another shot of vodka. Something about your presence seemed to intoxicate him more than the alcohol – a power that thrilled and terrified you in equal measure.

His hand found your knee under the bar, and you clutched your purse tighter, using it like a shield. Rafe noticed – he noticed everything about you – and his smile turned predatory.

"Just one drink," he pressed, sliding a virgin cocktail toward you. "Let go for me." The 'for me' sounded more like a claim than a request.

Forty-seven minutes in, Rutherford finally arrived to find Rafe thoroughly drunk and dangerously unraveled. The moment shattered as Rutherford launched into a tirade about debts – \$250,000 worth of them, spread across every loan shark in the city.

You shifted in your seat, uncomfortably aware of Rafe's heat beside you, the way his expensive cologne mixed with top-shelf vodka.

"The money's coming," Rafe slurred, but his eyes remained sharp, calculating. "Big deals in the pipeline. Major commissions."

Rutherford's lip curled in disgust. "Better hope so, Cameron. Or things get ugly."

The threat hung in the air like smoke. Rafe's fist clenched on the bar, his other hand still burning against your knee, his whole body vibrating with barely contained violence.

His thoughts scattered between the mounting pressure, the need for chemical escape, and the way your pulse jumped in your throat every time he leaned too close.

Without realizing it, Rafe grabbed your shoulder roughly and whispered in your ear, nearly dislocating your shoulder blade in the process.

Rafe's desperation was palpable as he leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur. "I need you to do something for me," he said, his eyes locked onto yours. "There's a guy named Barry. He's got something I need. I need you to pick it up for me."

Your heart raced as you realized what he was asking. "What is it?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rafe hesitated, his gaze shifting away. "It's a bag of cocaine," he admitted finally. "I need it to clear my head, to think straight. And I need it now."

You knew the risks, but Rafe's desperation was undeniable. He was in deep trouble, and he needed your help, as you looked in those glossy cerulean eyes of his. "Alright," you sighed, "I'll do it. But this is the last time, Mr. Cameron, what will your father think?"

"What he thinks of me already—that I'm just a Rafe, his screw-up of a son," Rafe replied. Despite this, a look of relief spread across his face, although the predatory gleam in his eyes remained. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled business card, pressing it into your palm with trembling fingers. His touch lingered longer than necessary, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

"Barry works out of the Bellamy Building on 5th," he whispered, his hot breath reeking of vodka against your ear. "Suite 401. Tell him Rafe sent you. And for God's sake, don't let anyone follow you."

Rutherford watched this exchange with cold calculation, his jaw clenched tight. He knew exactly what was happening – he'd seen plenty of rich boys like Rafe drag their employees into their mess before.

You gathered your things, trying to ignore how Rafe's eyes followed your every movement. Just as you stood to leave, he grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise.

"One hour," he hissed. "I need it in one hour. Don't disappoint me."

The weight of what you'd agreed to settled heavy in your stomach as you walked toward the exit. Behind you, you could hear Rutherford's gravelly voice resume his threats, but Rafe's attention remained fixed on your retreating form until you disappeared through the door.

The Bellamy Building loomed like a tombstone against the afternoon sky, its worn brick facade a testament to forgotten glory. Inside, the elevator's slow climb gave you too much time to think – about Rafe's hungry cerulean eyes, his lingering touches that burned like brands, how every "yes, sir" seemed to draw you deeper into his web.

Suite 401 lurked at the end of a dimly lit hallway, distinguished only by tarnished brass numbers. Your knuckles rapped against the door – twice, then three times, just as Rafe had instructed. The sound seemed to echo down the empty corridor.

The door creaked open just enough to reveal a sliver of face: tired eyes beneath greasy long black hair, calculating and cold. "Barry?" Your voice emerged steadier than your racing heart. "Rafe Cameron sent me."

The door groaned wider. Barry matched his surroundings perfectly – disheveled but alert, like a crow picking through society's remains. His office was a study in decay: nicotine-stained walls, flickering fluorescent lights that made everything look diseased, and an ancient desk that had witnessed too many secrets.

"Well, well," Barry's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Another one of Rafe's girls." He studied you like a specimen under glass. "You know, you're all starting to blur together. Pretty. Proper. Corruptible." The last word dripped with dark amusement.

He slid a small package across the desk, but when you reached for it, his fingers trapped yours. You jerked the package away.

Inescapably, Barry's raspy laugh followed you as you ascended down the hallway, bouncing off the grimy walls like a bad omen. "Tell Rafe his debt's getting steep," he called after you, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "And honey? Better watch yourself! Pretty secretaries like you have a way of… disappearing around Rafe Cameron."

Barry's laughter echoed through the grimy hallway, following you like a shadow as you rushed toward the elevator. Each click of your heels against the worn floor seemed to mock you: Pretty. Proper. Corruptible. The words burrowed into your mind, mixing with memories of Rafe's heated stares and possessive touches.

Your mind kept circling back to Barry's words – "disappearing around Rafe Cameron" – like a moth drawn to a deadly flame. The phrase echoed in your head, mixing with memories of Rafe's possessive touches and hungry stares. Each floor the elevator descended seemed to bring a new question: How many secretaries came before you? Where did they really go?

The package felt heavier in your hands as you realized maybe it wasn't just cocaine Rafe was addicted to – maybe it was the thrill of watching people fall into his web, one pretty secretary at a time.

The elevator doors couldn't close fast enough. In its mirrored walls, your reflection looked different somehow – as if Barry's words had marked you, changed you. Your phone buzzed in your purse, Rafe's name lighting up the screen, and you realized with a shiver that maybe Barry was right. Maybe you were already corrupted – after all, here you were, picking up cocaine for your boss in a building that reeked of broken dreams and dirty money.

But that didn't mean you were corrupted by Rafe specifically… right? This was just part of the job. Just another task, like scheduling meetings or taking notes while he stared at you across the conference table. Just another "yes, sir" in a long line of things you told yourself were purely professional. Even if your heart raced every time he got too close. Even if you kept saying yes to things that crossed every line you'd ever drawn.

You were just doing your job. At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

Back at Roots, you found Rafe alone, Rutherford's absence heavy in the air. His hands trembled as you passed him the package under the bar, his relief palpable. Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and led you to the private bathroom in the back.

The fluorescent light buzzed overhead as Rafe arranged neat lines on the marble countertop. You turned to leave, but he caught your reflection in the mirror.

"Stay," he commanded softly. Then, more vulnerable: "Please."

You watched as he inhaled sharply, his body relaxing as the cocaine hit his system. When he straightened up, his eyes met yours in the mirror – pupils blown wide, but somehow clearer than before.

"Barry mentioned the money you owe him," you say carefully, your voice echoing off the pristine walls of the family restroom. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Rafe's sharp features as he straightens up from the sink, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

Suddenly, the mood shifts. His cocaine-induced sniffles transform into something that sounds devastatingly like tears.

"You know what scares me?" Rafe says slowly, his cerulean eyes never leaving your reflection. "Not the money I owe. Not my father. Not even my fucking addiction." His voice cracks perfectly – a rehearsed break he's perfected over years of practice.

"I'm nothing but Dad's fuck-up son. A disappointment. A monster." He laughs bitterly, running a trembling hand through his hair. "But you… god, you're different. You're so good, so perfect. The best secretary I've ever had." His voice drops to a reverent whisper. "The way you anticipate my needs, how you handle everything with such grace. The only one who's ever really seen me, really understood."

His fingers trace your reflection in the mirror, and his eyes darken with something dangerous. "You're too pure for this world, too good for someone like me. The way you look at me like I could be better… like I'm worth saving…" He shakes his head, voice thick with manufactured emotion. "It kills me knowing I'll destroy you too. Just like I destroy everything else I touch. But god, you make me want to try to be better."

Your heart ached at his words. Without thinking, you reached up to touch his cheek, your palm cradling his face as if you could hold his broken pieces together. "You're drunk Mr. Cameron, you don't mean any of these things do you?"

"Rafe," he interrupted, leaning into your touch like a starved man finding sustenance. "Please… just call me Rafe." His cerulean eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

But you noticed, even through the haze of this intimate moment, how Rafe never actually answered your question. Like everything else with him, the vulnerability was a beautiful distraction from the truth.

You saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the pain, the self-loathing. It made you want to save him, to prove him wrong about himself. And that's exactly what he was counting on.

Because what you missed, in that moment of compassion, was the calculating gleam behind his tears. The slight upturn of his lips as you fell perfectly into place. The way his hand tightened possessively on your waist, marking you as his next conquest.

"I know I can be a lot sometimes, but I need you to stay my secretary, whatever happens," he whispered against your palm, each word carefully chosen to ensnare you further. His lips brush your skin as he speaks, making the moment feel more intimate than it should. "Because you're the only person in my life who sees me. Really sees me."

The confession lands exactly as he intended – a perfect mix of vulnerability and need that makes it impossible to refuse him. Rafe knows what he's doing, dropping these words like anchors to keep you tethered to him, and the worst part is that it's working.

You hadn't known exactly what Rafe meant by that "Really sees me"--or any of the other drunken babble, but seeing as he was clearly heavily intoxicated, and needed your comfort, that didn't matter now. You whispered back words of comfort, of understanding, unaware that each soothing word was another step deeper into Rafe Cameron's carefully laid trap.

Meanwhile, Rafe Cameron smiled into your palm – a predatory curve of lips that you couldn't see from your angle, the kind of smile that should have warned you that comfort was the last thing he actually needed.

The bathroom's fluorescent light flickered once, casting strange shadows across his face. In that brief moment of darkness, his mask slipped, revealing something hungry and triumphant in his expression. But by the time the light steadied again, all you could see was the broken man you desperately wanted to fix.

After all, the best predators know exactly how to play wounded.

a/n: thanks for making it to the end of this chapter!! as always all likes comments, and reblog keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

Taglist -

@trapistani @alexxavicry @rafestoothbrush @ttrinity @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4rafey @Itristessedureratoujours @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @yoongling @lilithblackkk

[austinbutlerslovers]

His Every Desire

Label Mature 18+

Summary As Austins new secretary, you ensure he has everything he needs as a CEO before he even thinks to ask.

🔗Masterlist

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Austin Butler CEO x Secretary • his best • his favorite • hidden feelings • mild angst • kiss it better• satisfying boss• clit play •nipple play• sex w boss on his desk • P in V • orgasms • creampie •aftercare

*written asap by popular demand/multiple scenario DMs

His Every Desire

The sun streams through the towering glass windows of Austin Butler’s corner office, casting warm, golden light over the sleek marble floors and the expansive view of the city below.

From the fifty-fifth floor, everything seems miniature—the cars, the people, the constant motion of life. But inside this office, within the walls of his empire, Austin is untouchable.

He’s a force—perfection in a tailored suit. Every inch of him is calculated, pristine, an effortless command of power and presence.

You bring his oat milk latte to his desk, careful not to let your hands tremble as you set it down beside a stack of documents that need his signature.

He barely glances up at first, his sandy blonde hair falling forward in his face before he tucks it behind his ear in a way that only adds to his effortless charm.

His attention is fixed on the glowing screen before him, fingers scrolling through a flood of emails, but then, as always, his gaze finds you.

“Perfect timing,” he says, and the way his full lips curve into the kindest smile makes your stomach flutter. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His voice is smooth and deep whenever he compliments you making your thoughts slip away like silk between your fingers.

His piercing blue eyes look over you, studying you in that way he does, as if you’re something far more intriguing than a mere secretary.

“You always know what I need before I do,” he muses, adjusting his watch, a vintage Patek Philippe that gleams against his wrist.

“Have I told you how much I appreciate you yet?” He says looking at you with a knowing grin.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks and he notices immediately—He always does.

“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” you respond, stepping back, but not before he tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing with quiet amusement.

“Austin,” he corrects, his gaze lingering a moment too long. “Call me Austin.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you force a nod, turning to leave before you can embarrass yourself further.

Each day is a delicate balancing act, a test of your willpower.

Your new boss is charming, intelligent, impossibly handsome—and married. That fact alone should be enough to douse the growing fire inside you.

But it doesn’t.

You dutifully pick up his dry cleaning, order his lunch, and arrange meetings that dictate the trajectory of his multi-million dollar deals.

And when he’s not commanding boardrooms, he’s asking you personal questions in the quiet moments—questions that make you blush, that peel away layers you hadn’t meant to expose.

“Do you ever see yourself doing more than this?” he asked once when his office was quiet and the city lights glittered outside the window.

You were leaning over his desk, quickly organizing a set of contracts he needed for an early morning meeting. Your fingers moving with practiced efficiency ensuring every signature line was visible, every figure highlighted just the way he liked.

Your breath caught mid-motion, and you glanced up at him, finding his blue eyes watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“More than… this?” you asked, unsure if he was talking about your job or something else entirely.

Austin’s lips curved slightly, a knowing glint flashing in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on his jaw, his thumb grazing his bottom lip in a way that made it hard to focus.

“Beyond being my secretary,” he clarified, his tone deceptively casual, though there was something heavier underneath, something that sent a flutter through your chest.

You bashfully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I like my place here.” You smiled, your heart racing a little too fast.

“With me?” He confirmed, his voice low and teasing, but there was something else in his eyes, something you couldn’t ignore.

You forced a small smile, trying not to think too much about the way he was looking at you.

“Yes,” you confirmed, glancing up at him through your lashes. “I like being with you.”

His eyes darkened just a fraction, and for a fleeting moment, you saw something different than his usual calm demeanor —something more.

He studied you, his blue eyes trailing over your face, taking in every unspoken detail, then he simply nodded, his gaze dropping to the papers in front of you.

You smiled again, refocusing on your task, but his words stuck in your mind long after you’d left his office.

And from that moment on everything began to change.

Austin swiftly filed for divorce — stunning almost everyone, and after the proceedings began he was no longer the same.

There had been signs of dissolution as you worked for him, subtle at first, but undeniable.

The tension in his jaw when he took calls that lasted too long behind the heavy doors of his office.

His wedding band, once a constant fixture on his hand, usually left sitting on the edge of his desk if even seen at all.

But when the news broke that he had officially filed, it felt sudden, like a storm that had been brewing just beyond the horizon, finally crashing down

The office felt different—he felt different. And it unnerved you in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

He could barely look at you as you worked together on his upcoming merger, and when he did, the focus in his eyes was gone, replaced by something distant and unreadable.

He was distracted, tense, and suddenly, every little thing you did felt all wrong.

The first mistake was minor—forgetting to send an updated briefing to the legal team. You caught it in time, but the way his eyes narrowed when he noticed made your stomach twist with guilt.

Then came the missed reschedule of an important client call. His voice had been sharp when he pointed out that he couldn’t afford slip-ups right now.

“You need to be on top of this,” he had said, his tone firm but distant, his eyes scanning you with something close to disappointment. “I need you to be on top of this for me.”

You had nodded quickly, swallowing past the lump in your throat, forcing an answer that felt too tight. “Of course. It won’t happen again.” you responded.

But it did. More than once.

Misplaced memos. A forgotten lunch order. Your nerves frayed more with each passing day, and the more you tried to prove yourself, the more mistakes you seemed to make.

The pressure was suffocating, and the cold way he spoke to you now—like you were just another problem he had to manage—only made it worse.

Late in the evening after being able to correct most of your mistakes for the day, you walk into his office carrying several folders for his upcoming court hearing, your hands trembling under the weight of your nerves.

When you step inside, he doesn’t even look up from his computer screen.

“Set them there,” he says directly his tone cold.

But your fingers slip, and the documents spill onto the floor, pages scattering everywhere,the fluttering sound almost suffocating.

“Fuck,” Austin curses, the frustration in his voice sharp and unforgiving as he stands abruptly to assess the damage. “Do you even know what you’re doing anymore?” He snaps.

His words hit like a slap, and you bite your lip willing the tears back. Your hands fumble as you cower to gather the papers, but Austin is already there, crouching down beside you, and suddenly the anger in his eyes is replaced by something softer.

His hand brushes yours, and you freeze.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice a stark contrast to the harshness from moments before. “You don’t deserve this.”

You slowly nod, unable to even look at him, your eyes fixed on the mess still scattered between you, the tears making it all blur. But Austin’s fingers lightly grip your wrist, steady and warm, as he helps you to your feet.

For the first time, you’re standing so close to him that you can see the faint freckles dusting his cheeks, the vivid depth of his blue eyes, making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

“Austin, I-I should be the one apologizing—” you confess, your voice shaky.

But he doesn’t let you finish. His hand comes up, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Not to me. Not for this.”

His thumb lingers just beneath your eye, wiping away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. “I’ve been so hard on you..—And I shouldn’t have been…” he confesses his voiced tinged with guilt. “You’ve been nothing but good to me.”

Your lips part, but no words come. The sincerity in his voice unravels you, and the intensity in his gaze holds you captive, making it impossible to speak.

Before you can say more, his lips are on yours—as if he’s been holding back for far too long.

The folders slip from your hand once again, papers scattering at your feet, but this time neither of you care.

His hands slide to your jaw, his thumbs tilting your chin up to fit your mouth perfectly against his, your lips moving effortlessly in a kiss that deepens with every passing second.

His hands slide down your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you grip his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

The city sprawls beneath you, but the only thing you can focus on is him—his breath warm against your skin as his mouth moves to your neck, whispering words that make you weak.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says between kisses, his lips tracing a path that leaves you dizzy. “I can’t stop thinking about you— I can’t—”

You feel the cool glass against your back as he presses you to the window, his hands trailing down your body with a slow, aching need.

His forehead presses to yours, his breath warm and ragged against your lips his voice filled with conflict. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his grip on your hips tightening as he betrays every word.

But you don’t. You can’t.

His lips claim yours again, and this time, it’s as if all the stress, the frustration and the longing has built to this inevitable moment.

You let yourself forget everything—the divorce, the looming merger, the crushing weight of responsibility. In this moment, none of it exists. All that matters is the way he’s holding you, as if he’s finally admitting what he’s known all along.

As his fingers thread through your hair, pulling you even closer, you know you’re falling—falling into something you can’t control, something that might even break you.

But right now, you don’t care.

The glass window cools your back, but the heat radiating from his touch is consuming, making it impossible to think of anything but him—his scent, the warmth of his breath brushing over your lips, the way his blue eyes lock onto yours, filled with an intensity that leaves you speechless.

His voice is low, his lips hovering so close that his breath fans over your skin. “Do you want this?” He asks.

Your lips part, your voice barely audible as you answer. “Yes,” the confession slipping out before you can even stop it.

His jaw clenches, and something dark flickers in his expression—something deep and unrelenting. “Say it again.” He commands.

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze stealing what little composure you have left. “I want you,” you breathe, and the sound of it sends a shudder through him.

Before you can catch your breath, his hands are on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto his desk. The polished surface feels cool beneath your skin as he guides your legs apart, his large hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher until there’s nothing but your panties between you and him.

He glances down his fingers skimming along the inside of your thigh before rubbing your clit through the fabric.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he says, his voice lower as he leans in, his lips grazing your jaw.

“How many times I’ve watched you walk into my office and wondered how you’d feel under me.” he confesses as each roll of his fingers on your clit feels more torturous than the last.

His other hand finds the hem of your blouse, slipping beneath it as his palm cups your breast. “Tell me you’ve thought about it too.” he whispers.

You can’t even think—not when his mouth starts kissing against the hollow of your throat as his fingers flick heavily over your clit. “I—I have,” you blurt out, your voice barely a breath.

“I want to make it real” he says, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand slips to his belt, unfastening it with a slow, measured pull that makes your core throb.

Your chest rises and falls as he pulls your panties aside, his knuckles brushing against your wetness making you clench around nothing.

“You’re soaked for me,” he muses, his eyes dark with need as he presses his fingers firmly against your slickness.

A soft moan escapes your lips desperately wanting more and it’s all he needs to hear.

His hands slowly grip your thighs as he pulls you closer to the edge, pressing himself against you as his hardness makes your breath hitch.

You watch as he lowers his zipper, freeing his substantial cock and lightly stroking it as he presses the tip directly against your entrance.

“Austin,” you moan, struggling to breathe as he steadily guides himself into you inch by inch, the pressure so deep it has you gasping until finally you feel his pelvis press against yours.

Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat, because you’re sure he already knows—his cock is the biggest you’ve ever had.

The way he’s looking at you, the way his body is pressed into yours, the way his thumb circles your clit exactly where you need it the most—he knows.

His lips claim yours—deep, desperate—his hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you closer, pressing himself against you with every thrust.

You moan into his mouth, your body taking every inch as you cling to him, fingers threading through his sandy blonde hair, wrapped up in him, lost in how deep he can claim, not caring about anything outside of the moment.

His eyes darken, filled with something raw and unrestrained with every slow roll of his hips. He pulls your legs around his waist, pressing himself deeper, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s all-consuming.

His lips move over your neck, down to your collarbone, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His hands glide over your thighs, slowly pushing your knees further apart as his hips thrust between them, his movements drawing you into a pleasure you’ve never known until you’re core is throbbing as you moan breathless for him.

Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, pulling him back to you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s desperate. Your hands sliding in his hair, as he deepens his thrusts, his body pressing into yours firmly on his desk.

He pulls back his face just inches from yours, his breath mingling with your own as the heat between your bodies increases like a pulse you can’t escape.

“You’re such a good secretary,” he whispers, sliding his hands over your hips. “Always making sure I’m satisfied” he whispers, gripping you tightly as he thrusts with a measured strokes, holding you steady making you take every inch of his cock as he goes even faster.

You softly gasp, feeling the way his cock hits a depth never reached inside you, the way he moves with careful precision that drives you to the brink and beyond your head tilting back as the pleasure coils deep within you.

He watches you intently, his blue eyes dark with desire, his lips parting slightly as his breathing grows heavier.

“You take me so well,” he praises, his voice low and breathless as his hand slides between your bodies, circling your clit firmly.

You try to speak , but the way he moves makes it impossible—your breath catches, and all you can manage is a soft, helpless moan.

He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck. “You’re so good to me,” he whispers, his other hand slipping beneath your blouse, pulling at the sensitive peak of your nipple.

Your moans becomes unending, your heart pounding as all you can focus on is him. His touch, his thrusts, the way he makes you feel like he’s breaking you in the best way possible.

He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that steals what little breath you have left.

“You’re worth everything,” he whispers, his voice low and raw. “Every risk I took… you’re worth it.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you savor the moment—the warmth of his body against yours, the way his thumb strokes softly along your clit as he kisses you.

His thrusts grow deeper, filling you completely, and your body clenches tightly around him, the pleasure rising so fast it feels impossible to hold back.

“Austin,” you gasp , your hands gripping his shoulders as you feel the the pleasure overtaking you.

His breathing becomes ragged as he feels you tightening around his cock, his thrusts growing more erratic. “You’re so perfect for me, baby—so perfect,” he whispers, his voice breaking with need.

His words send you spiraling, your release crashing over you in waves as he thrusts deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt.

You cling to him, moaning softly, your bodies trembling in sync as he fills you completely, the warmth of his come making you both shiver.

You rest against his shoulder, the office filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing and the rhythmic pounding of your hearts.

Finally, you find your voice as you lay against him, rethinking his words. “What risk?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles softly, as he tilts your face up, his thumb tracing gentle circles along your jaw. “You give me everything before I even ask for it,” he says, his voice laced with affection. “I want you with me in every way.”

Your heart pounds at his words, and as you search his eyes you find only sincerity.

As a smile spreads across your lips he kisses you again, this time slower —deeper—sealing the promise between you both as you melt into him, knowing there’s no turning back.

The city lights outside blur in the reflection of the glass, but inside this office, there’s only him—the way he holds you and the way he makes you feel.

You know there will be repercussions, but right now, with his lips pressed to yours and his words echoing in your ears, you let yourself believe that this could last forever.

END 🏙️

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me

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[aprilblossomgirl]

LOVE SCOUT (2025)

[mattluvr]

CEO!matt, a concept.

💸 what if. . . matt sturniolo was CEO of a company?

at the grand old age of 21, matt sturniolo is the world’s youngest CEO, having inherited his father’s finance company in light of his untimely retirement.

he doesn’t complain; matt has a team of seniors to make his decisions for him, the only thing he insists on chipping in on every year being the annual christmas party. which, naturally, is infamous. it’s what most of the company’s budget gets blown on after all.

in his third year as the owner of sturniolo finances, income in the billions as the company thrived, matt threw the biggest, loudest, craziest christmas party of what he was sure was history, the entire floor of a fancy hotel packed with employees.

and some stragglers. including you.

your brother had dragged you along, overly excited about the first sturniolo finances christmas party of his employment, and had swiftly got drunk and left you to stand like a lemon by the drinks table. which is where matt found you, words slurring from one too many tequila shots, appointing you his newest secretary. one of the only decisions he’s made for the company.

and today is the day you start your new role, which matt obviously can’t remember offering you, but lets you sit at the desk outside his office, head still pounding from the party over a week ago.

“are you sure i gave you this job?” he mutters, running a hand over his face. you nod, tucking a loose strand of your bun behind your ear, hoping you’re still retaining the sophisticated look you tried to construct this morning when getting ready.

“mhm. at that party.”

“yeah, but i did a lot of things at that party.” matt says with a grimace. “like swing from a chandelier…”

you laugh, reminded of the last image you saw before you left the hotel, supporting a tipsy brother on your hip, matt dangling from the structure above you with one arm, hair messy and shirt loose. “that was pretty funny. and impressive.”

“thank you. but not the point.” he frowns, folding his arms, trying to act serious. “i don’t even think i’ve given you any paperwork to fill out. shit, i’ve not even interviewed you.”

“well, you’re the CEO, aren’t you? you can just interview me now.”

matt furrows his brows again, eyes darting to his office behind him and eventually gives in, opening the door for you with a shrug. he often doesn’t interact with any of the people he employs, the whole process too mindnumbingly boring for him, but is now starting to realise why drunk him even offered you a job position in the first place.

you’re fucking unreal, mini skirt a tad too short, shirt just slightly too low cut, and matt is drinking it all in. professionally. of course. he clears his throat, dragging his eyes back to your face with a soft blush as he gestures to the empty room. “take a seat.”

you smirk at him over your shoulder, sitting down heavily in the armchair facing matt’s desk, your skirt riding up as you cross your legs, thighs on display. matt rolls his neck; you’re trying to kill him, he swears. he follows you over nevertheless, sitting opposite and offering you a polite smile.

when your dimple shows in reply, matt doesn’t even think about the interview. “yeah, i don’t know why i did all that. you’re hired.”

“but…?”

matt holds out a hand. he knows this is a bad decision, hiring based off of physical attraction only, but that’s the last thing on his mind. he just wants you out before he blows a load in his underwear, semi poking him each time he shifts.

“you can start tomorrow morning, 8am. i’ll email the paperwork down to reception.”

shocked, you slowly stand up, and matt leans forwards, concealing a groan into his hand. “uh, well, thanks. i’ll… see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” matt nods, grinning weakly. “yep, tomorrow.”

and then you’re gone, leaving matt alone with his thoughts. fuck. hiring you? he’s screwed.

taglist. . . ( @mattslolita, @aelinslegend, @chrissturniolossidehoe, @mattbrainrot, @conspiracy-ash, @emely9274 ) is open!

[tocinoandkamatis]

can you really blame me?

your sat in your office chair, hunched over the same paperwork again and again until someone had offered you a box of chocolates.

it was your boss- your oh so incredibly hot boss. you dont know why but youve always had a thing for him.

so you thank him- taking the chocolate in your hands and popping it in your mouth.

only for a few minutes later, your left feeling uneasy, hot and bothered.. uncomfortably shifting in your seat and biting your lip. sighing, you pick up your mirror and- well your flushed. pink cheeks and lips with neediness written all over your face. your mind wanders- why? what did i do? i was only ever focused on the paperwork- and then it snapped the chocolate.

you stare at the trashcan and dig out the cover plastic of the small treat, you read it and- 'aphrodisiac'...there imprinted with heart dots for the i right on the back of the wrapper.

and to make sure.. you ask your boss.

and thats when it happens. your lying on his desk with your top buttons undone and your trousers slung over your heels. his big fat cock bullying into your cervix in an excruciating pace. you dont really know whats gotten to this- really, you dont. you just knocked on his office to ask about something and the next second you sat on his desk, his greedy hands trying to tug off your clothes as fast as he can.

your crying and moaning clenching down on him, milking him completely dry. his hand cover your face as an attempt to shush you up- not that he doesnt want you to scream his name. its just that his grandfather is outside right now, talking business with other important men.

but my god he cant stop. hes completely drunk in pleasure- maybe due to the aphrodisiac? but you may find he never ate that chocolate and this event is only because of his need for you.

so your clawing at his back, arching yours as he thrust into you as deep as he could. youve came- what, two times? your sure this would be your fourth. your shaking and moaning but he doesnt stop.

"you like that sweetheart? hm? you like the way im fucking ya hard?"

he grunts as he burries his nose into your neck. you cant do anything but let out a string of whines and whimpers. nodding frantically as his movements get sloppy and uncoordinated, a shrill sign of his impending release. a few things had fallen off the desk but at this point, none of you cared.

"fuck- so tight and warm, just 'f me"

he groans, his small noises laced with a small whine and high pitched whimper as he comes. his hot sead spilling inside of you while your eyes roll to the back of your head.

and finally, he manages to catch his breath and pull out.

"such a pretty little pussy..."

he sighs and presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

but your left wondering 'what the fuck just happened and what the fuck is happening?' because hes now in a meeting- pointing out the proposal of his company and back to his serious and cold character.

seriously? did he not just wreck me? you wonder how strong this guy is because- well your still sensitive and shaking slightly and he just looked like he just had cake and coffee at his favourite restaurant.

my thoughts are occupied on the past events though... but then again can you really blame me?

kuroo, geto, osamu, aizawa, kyoya ootori, kenma, nanami

[cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu]

"Comfortable sweetheart?"

"Ah, you bastard, don't—"

"Hm? You want me to go faster?"

"No you prat—ah, oh gods! Oh! I hate you—"

"Lying already? We both know you love me." – CEO Arthur and Personal Secretary Merlin

[Arthur finds it cute that Merlin denies how much he loves having Arthur inside him, how easily he gives in to Arthur's fantasies. Arthur chuckles as he stares into Merlin's blissful face, a look that suits his personal secretary.]

[metiredlr]

he loves him sm im gonna be sick

[sleeplessdreamer123]

Fanfic Idea! (Lucemond, modern, why Lucerys is the savior of the office)

Aemond, CEO of his company, must never be without Lucerys, his dear nephew, his only surviving secretary of seven years, at any costs. The entirety of the office knows this. The moment you are in the direct line of sight of the monster of a man, and you don't see Lucerys anywhere near him, you would need to accept that you're doomed.

It was something that the employees noticed in the beginning after watching them for almost a week. They know Aemond to be a strict demonic entity with the constant need for perfection, which is understandable once you realize that the company was only handed to him because the former CEO, his brother Aegon, decided to create a huge scandal of himself in a charity ball, destroying his (nonexistent) credibility and ruining the company's good name. Aemond was damage control, named CEO in order to fix the mess of his older brother, and he will do whatever it takes to prove himself better than his brother.

So of course the company was put to hell in the very first month he arrived. Constant tears, people getting fired left and right, the fear of one mistake getting so strong it haunts some of the veterans in their sleeps.

He has mellowed a bit, now that the company is back to the way it was before, hells, it got even better, but he was still a demon. If even the slightest mistake was noticed (and it was often noticed), everyone would hung their heads as they hear the cold words of Aemond Targaryen. The worst to have it would be his secretaries, almost thirty hired in the past year, yet the longest one to survive only stayed for two whole weeks.

And then came Lucerys Velaryon, a young man, fresh out of college, eager to work for the most powerful CEO in the realms. The employees bet he would be crying and resigning in three days.

Except he didn't. In fact, the first thing he did was admonish Aemond for how he talked to one of the newly hired. They all watched in awe when all the demon did was tell them to get back to work, and ordered Lucerys to bring him his coffee. If anyone else had even breathed loud enough while he was in his angry tirade, they would've been fired, black listed, never to work in a large company ever again!

Then they noticed the differences.

No one is able to go to Aemond when certain problems arise, hells, going to him in a normal day for a normal report was terrifying enough, his glare was enough to make even the most confident man stutter.

One of them complained without knowing Lucerys was behind them, and when Lucerys asked her to report the problem to Aemond, putting her on the spot in the end of the meeting, she had no choice but to report the problem, bracing herself for the verbal abuse she will no doubt receive. She was greatly surprised when she heard nothing but Lucerys' gently voice, talking to Aemond as if they were *le gasp* normal employees.

And Aemond, the devil himself, actually sat there and listened. No glares, no pointed anger, he just sat there, nodded his head, and told her to send for the one who might have made the mistake.

They took their complaints to Lucerys after that. Then they noticed how much calmer he was when Lucerys was around. No decrease of salary, no increase of workloads, hells, someone actually reported that his lips twitched upwards. Upwards!

But the real kicker, what really showed them just how much they needed Lucerys, was when he took a day off because he had a cold.

The office returned to the hell it was before, except it was even worse. Withing the span of five hours, two people resigned, three were fired, and seven were in a verge of a mental breakdown.

They worshipped his feet when they saw the familiar curly haired boy, begging him to take his vitamins, to wear warmer clothes, to drink healthy, anything, anything at all, just please don't leave them there with the devil ever again!

And Lucerys, their sweet angel, their Maiden reborn, told them he would do his best. (He was touched that they care for his well-being, though he didn't really know just how much he saves them from the he-devil that was, is and always will be, Aemond Targaryen).

[jjungkookislife]

"Oh, Mr. Kim"

pairing: ceo!jungkook x secretary!reader

genre: ceo au, established relationship, fluff and implied smut [18+]

summary: Jungkook is tired of hiding his relationship.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: self-deprecating thoughts, alcohol use/mention, mention of anxiety, elopement, implied smut, i've had this sitting in my drafts for years, oops!

date: November 12, 2023

“I can’t believe we’re doing this!” you squeal, clutching Jungkook’s hand tightly in yours as you go up the steps in your heels.

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” Jungkook asks nervously when you reach the roof of one of his hotels. The garden on the rooftop is fantastic, and the gazebo in the center has a perfect view of the skyline. Inside awaits the officiant waiting to marry you.

“Of course not! I’m beyond excited!” You assure him, kissing his lips before you lead him toward the gazebo. Jungkook has a goofy smile on his lips, his cheeks dusted pink. He doesn’t think he’s ever loved someone as much as he loves you, and for you to become his wife in a few brief minutes thrills him.

It had been a whirlwind of a proposal. The two of you were too in love and too eager to wait months to plan an extravagant wedding, so you chose to elope—just the two of you and your officiant. You held your marriage license in your hand, greeting the officiant and handing it over to him.

Your smile was radiant, almost blinding, as you looked at Jungkook. You held his hands in yours, his thumb stroking your soft skin. His heart raced in his chest, and his blood pounded in his ears, but he was ecstatic. He’d been dreaming of this day for years, and although an elopement wasn’t precisely what he had in mind, he wouldn’t change it for the world. There would always be time for parties later on. He just wanted you to be his wife.

He sat in bed and watched you sleep when he awoke this morning. His hand caressed your back, tracing the curve of your waist. So beautiful, so delicate, and all his. He spent a moment just admiring you, thinking of all the mishaps and arguments that eventually led you here. Of course, he’d been a strict boss, but he found you attractive from the moment he laid eyes on you, and all he could do to keep from drooling over you was to keep you at arm’s length. But that could only do so much. 

You were resilient, confident, and not afraid to put him in his place if he crossed the line. He liked that you treated him like he deserved, despite being your boss. Few people were willing to step on his toes and put him in his place when he was an asshole. It made it easy to sort through people pleasers and people who were only after his money, fame, or company. But not you. You always knew how to rein him in when he was too much of a dick. It was a front he had to put up at work, something he didn’t quite care to do so much, but with you, he could tear down that persona and let you see who he really was.

Most people would be terrified they’d lose their job, and few lasted as his secretary. He usually had a queue at a staffing company ready to send in the next after the first one quit. He didn’t blame them; he was hard to put up with, expected perfection 100% of the time and would settle for nothing less. His being an ass was only icing on the cake for them to quit. Until you arrived, fresh-faced and eager to please… until he was a dick to you and you decided you didn’t care if you got fired or not. It was then that Jungkook got to see the fiery side of you, the one with the quick tongue and witty remarks. He found you interesting, and you did your job exceptionally well.

It wasn’t hard for him to get a crush on you almost immediately. He usually found himself staring at you from his office, unable to get much work done. He couldn’t help it. He often wondered what you liked, what you did outside of work, and what childhood stories you were too embarrassed to tell but would share just to get a laugh. He thought about you more often than not, which led to him avoiding you whenever he could. He’d never worked from home for so long until he was forced to come back into the office and see you sitting prettily at your desk. You’d asked if he was okay, even brought him homemade soup, and listened to him talk like a friend. He was in deep.

Lucky for him, you were falling for him as well. You tried to deny it at first, of course. You wanted to write it off as admiration for him being so successful, but it wasn’t long before your heart fluttered in your chest at the mere sight of him.

That wasn’t normal.

And your co-worker and nosy friend in marketing, Jung Hoseok, let you know. He’d often come to your floor to drop off reports or under the guise of needing to relay a message to you so that he could tease you about your crush. He was very observant, quickly picking up on the way you and Jungkook acted around each other. On days you wore an outfit he liked, he’d come in whistling a cheerful tune. You tried to deny it but put the theory to the test one day, and it irritated you to inform Hoseok he’d been correct after a few more testing dates.

Jungkook was your boss, the CEO, and you were just his secretary. His past love life had included models, idols, fashion designers, and movie stars. He wouldn’t date his secretary. So you put on a bright wide grin and stifled your feelings for him… except they only got worse as you got to know him.

He wasn’t this domineering giant you thought of him to be. He was lovely, soft, and had a boyish charm that made him fun to be around. That side of him was solely for you. He confessed one night while you were working late in his office.

It had been a long, spine-breaking day. The two of you were stuck in his office long after everyone had gone home. That included the cleaning staff. The only other people in the building were security; they only came to your floor once an hour. Jungkook’s bodyguards lingered around the floor, alert but not crowding his office. So it was just the two of you sitting across from each other on his couch, the desk long forgotten when you’d both grown uncomfortable sitting on stiff chairs. He’d have you order new ones in the morning.

Can your heart skyrocket out of your chest? It sure felt like it would when your fingers brushed upon reaching for the same report. You both froze, your eyes meeting his painfully slow.

Was his heart thundering in his chest like yours was? Had he felt that too? Or was this all in your head, and you were projecting?

“Y/n,” he said your name so softly, you wondered if you imagined it. He had never called you by your first name, always your last name, always professional.

You looked at him in bewilderment; had you heard him correctly?

“Yes?” you responded, mind still whirring with thoughts, your fingers still touching. You were both too stunned to make a move.

Jungkook seemed to hesitate, biting his tongue to keep himself professional, but he couldn’t be the only one feeling this. He couldn’t be. Not with how you were gazing at him, eyes glittering with hope.

“Do you feel it too?” he whispers, his fingers lacing with yours gently, not wanting to startle you or make the situation worse if you didn’t.

You swallowed thickly. Surely you were dreaming? You’d fallen asleep at your desk from exhaustion, and now you were in a very lucid dream with your boss.

Jungkook waits patiently for your answer, his palm pressing against yours.

“I feel it,” you finally answer, soothing his worries as a tiny smile pulls at his lips. He holds your hand for a moment, relishing in its softness and the relief that floods through him.

“I don’t-” Jungkook clears his throat, hoping to gather his wits. “I rarely do this. I don’t understand what is happening. All I do know is that I am infatuated with you. I want to know more about you, who you are, and what you like. Would you like to come to my place for dinner?”

Dream or not, you would not let this opportunity pass you by. You eagerly nodded, rising from your seat when he did. He smiled at you, his cheeks tinted pink as he hastily gathered his belongings and led you out of his office. He held the door for you, allowing you to pass by him and catch a whiff of your perfume. It was sweet but not overbearing, perfect for you.

Jungkook couldn’t help but stare as you walked, the sway of your hips so alluring. You looked at him over your shoulder and winked, making his face turn red as he loosened his tie before catching up to you.

You were thoroughly surprised that by dinner, Jungkook meant he’d cook for you. He must have been exhausted from such a long day—you know you were—so watching him cook for the both of you was such a sweet gesture. You offered to help, but he handed you a glass of wine and told you to make yourself comfortable. You did so, leaning against the counter as you watched him prepare your meal. 

Talking to Jungkook was easy. He made you feel comfortable, and that’s perhaps why the two of you sat on his couch talking long after dinner and after the wine. Never in a million years would you have imagined yourself sitting in his home, gazing into his eyes dreamily until his hand caressed your cheek, drawing you in for a kiss.

A kiss.

One kiss.

That’s all it took for Jungkook to know you were the one.

It had been a little over forty-eight hours since his proposal, and when you woke this morning, you didn’t think you’d be becoming Mrs. Jeon. And yet, here you were with the love of your life. You gazed lovingly into Jungkook’s eyes, smiling as you clasped his hands in yours. 

Jungkook had been excited, maybe even a tad nervous, when you peered open one eye and then the other, moaning at his soft touch on your back.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he’d said with a grin. 

“Morning, handsome.” you giggled when he looked away, his ears burning red. You knew he was smiling, even if he had hidden his face beneath his palms.

“When do you want to get married?” he asked off-handedly, his hand moving lower to caress your thigh instead.

“I’d marry you today if I could,” you answered honestly, your hand lacing with his as you sat up to meet his gaze.

He seemed surprised, his cute lips in the shape of an ‘o’. His long hair fell over his eyes, and you brushed it out of the way before cupping his face. Your thumb caressed his cheek, rubbing gentle circles on it as you smiled warmly. The stars in his eyes seemed to shine brighter as he waited for you to continue.

“I’d marry you right now, Jungkook. I love you and want to be with you always and forever.” Jungkook grew bashful, scooting closer to you before nuzzling his face into your neck. His arms wrapped around you, holding you in a warm embrace. You ran your fingers through his inky hair, planting kisses on the top as he held you.

“Let’s do it,” he mumbles against your neck, his lips planting kisses on the flesh.

“Hmm? Do what?” you asked as he moved away just enough to look you in the eyes.

“Let’s get married today,” he says. He’s smiling, but his eyes betray him by displaying the anxiety he holds in them. His heart was on his sleeve, and your rejection would sting, but he’d respect it. 

You raise a brow at him, searching for any uncertainty in his face, his eyes, but you find none. All you see is the man you’re hopelessly in love with.

“Okay, let’s do it!” you agree, excitement bubbling inside you and spilling out through laughter.

Jungkook’s pretty eyes widened. “You said yes?! Yes?!”

You nod frantically, grunting when he pushes you onto your back to cover your face in kisses, his hands gripping your hips.

“You said yes! You’ll marry me today?” Jungkook asks again to confirm.

You giggle. “Yes, baby. I’ll marry you today.”

Jungkook sprang out of bed, returning to kiss you before he dashed to the bathroom to shower and make phone calls. You sat up in bed, your eyes on your engagement ring. You were going to be his bride.

“Are we ready?” The officiant asks, looking at you and then at Jungkook. You both nod, “Yes.”

“Perfect,” the officiant starts.

Jungkook tries his best to pay attention, but how can he when you’re looking at him so lovingly? Squeezing his hand in reassurance that this is real. You’re going to be his wife in just a few minutes, and he couldn’t be any more over the moon. You giggle softly, a melodic sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life. A coy smile tugs at your lips, making him grin widely as the officiant turns to him.

“Hmm?” Jungkook is puzzled; did he miss something?

The officiant smiles, “Do you, Jungkook, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, live in matrimony, love her, comfort her…?”

Jungkook knows he should pay attention the second time around, but his heart leaps into his throat. How wonderful this feeling is! Holding you as you become husband and wife.

“I do,” Jungkook answers with a blush.

The officiant is glad that he’s answered this time as he turns to you and repeats the same, but you blurt out “I do” before he’s finished his sentence.

Jungkook bursts out laughing, making you stick your tongue out at him before the officiant repeats himself, eyeing you cautiously to ensure he says his bit before you answer.

“I do.”

“Now we’re getting it!” The officiant jokes. “I talk, you talk. I talk, you talk.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as Jungkook pulls you closer. You exchange rings, repeating after the officiant as you place his ring on his finger and he places your ring on yours.

You're pronounced husband and wife with a few words and well wishes from the officiant. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, dipping you before pressing a kiss to your lips that has your toes curling. You grip his shoulders tightly, giggling into the kiss as he helps you stand. The officiant grins, taking pictures of both of you before handing you the signed marriage license.

Jungkook thanks him, taking you by the hand before you rush down the gazebo steps and head into the elevator.

“We’re married!” he shouts happily, pulling you to his side to press a kiss to your temple.

“We’re married!” you cheer, kissing his cheek.

“Let’s get this baby to the courthouse and get our certificate,” he states eagerly. You agree quickly, your lips capturing his for a moment. You were married to Jungkook. You were his wife. He’s your husband. It was the most incredible feeling in the world.

“Okay, I probably should have checked the calendar before rushing us off to the courthouse.” Jungkook cards a hand through his hair. You smile wholeheartedly when you see the ring on his finger.

“It’s fine, baby. We can celebrate tomorrow. I can rearrange your schedule, and we can go on a honeymoon if you want. I don’t care, either way, I promise,” you assure him honestly, knowing it’s difficult for him to put his work on pause even if he’d just gotten married.

“I want to take you on a honeymoon. I want to have everything with you, love. You’re my wife, and I-what?”

You look at Jungkook with his head quirked cutely to the side, confused.

“I’m your wife.” you state simply with a smile.

Jungkook chuckles, wrapping his arms around you tightly to pull you into his chest. His lips press a kiss to your cheek. “It sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?”

You place your hands on top of his, your finger running over his ring, “It does.”

Jungkook plants featherlight kisses on your neck, his hands gripping the hem of his shirt you’ve put on after consummating your marriage shortly after your trip to the courthouse.

“We’ve got time for another round before we need to get ready for the gala,” Jungkook informs you, kissing your shoulder as his hands grip your thighs.

“Say no more, my dear husband.” That’s all it takes for Jungkook to have you on the bed again, moaning and writhing as he holds your hands in his. 

“We’re late,” you hiss to your husband as you plaster on a smile. The dress he’s chosen for you hugs your body, accentuating your curves while exposing your skin with its backless design. You wonder if it will expose your butt when you sit, but you have to agree with Jungkook. You look phenomenal! 

“I know, but you just looked so good, I couldn’t help myself,” he whispers huskily into your ear, nipping at your lobe as he wraps his arm low around your waist.

It had been a commotion when you arrived, just like always. You stopped for pictures, shook some hands, and were led hastily by your husband inside due to your delay.

“They’re going to be judging my gown in a few minutes,” you mutter as you follow him through the crowd, smiling pleasantly as you go.

“I know, but you look gorgeous. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Jungkook stops in his tracks, his hands cupping your face as he presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Mr. Jeon! It’s nice to see you!” Jungkook groans at the sound of his name. He sends you an apologetic look before plastering a fake smile and walking over to the business partner that’s called him.

Left to your own devices, you scout the area in search of the open bar, spotting it across the room. Unfortunately, before you can take even one step in its direction, a voice has you rooted to your spot. Because of course he would be here tonight. Now, normally, you’d entertain yourself with him, if nothing, just to kill some time, but it was your wedding night, and you were already spending most of it with people you didn’t care to schmooze.

“Breaking dress code at a gala? Bold even for you, Ms. Y/L/N,” Kim Namjoon states with a shake of his head.

You roll your eyes. Was Namjoon really going to try this shit here?

“You seem to have brought your handy dandy notebook with you, Mr. Kim. You’d rather hold that than the hand of your date? Or did you come alone after dress coding them?” you retort with a saccharine smile that could fool anyone around you. Anyone but him, that is.

Jungkook looks over at you after a few minutes, his gaze darkening when he spots Namjoon approaching you. He notices the annoyed look on your face, so he politely excuses himself before walking over to you. His large palm presses to the skin of your back, and you immediately recognize his touch. You step back to get closer to your husband, biting back a smile.

Jungkook is smug, smiling as he speaks to his head of HR. “Oh, Mr. Kim, lovely to see you here. Are you writing up my wife again?”

Oh, the look on Namjoon’s face is priceless. You’ll have to thank Jungkook later in the bedroom. Nothing could beat witnessing the pure panic and shock on Kim Namjoon’s face! He can stuff his little notebook where the sun doesn’t shine!

Namjoon’s eyes widen in shock, stammering as his face burns red. 

“Your w-wife?” 

“Yes! We eloped this morning. We couldn’t continue to hide our relationship any longer. Seeing her at work every day is hard, knowing I can’t kiss or hold her when I please.”

“Oh.”

“Doesn’t she look beautiful tonight, Mr. Kim? Just as beautiful in a gown as in all the outfits I pick for her to wear at work. Such a radiant beauty, don’t you think so, Mr. Kim?” Jungkook challenges the head of HR with a raised brow. 

Namjoon wonders if he wills it hard enough the ground will open up and swallow him whole.  

“Stunning, sir.” Namjoon fakes a smile and excuses himself. He’d better look for another job. ASAP. 

“Jungkook!” You exclaim, covering your mouth as you giggle softly, hiding your face in his chest. 

Jungkook’s eyes glitter with amusement, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What did I do?”

“Oh, you’re awful,” you chuckle, shaking your head and taking his hand to make the rounds before he’s called away to make a toast. His shit-eating grin never leaves his face.

Jungkook steps up to the stage, standing at the podium with a smile. He blows you a kiss that has you flustered as he introduces you. You watch him from your seat, grinning as his eyes find you in the crowd. 

“I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight, but most of all, I want to thank my gorgeous wife. As of this morning, she is Mrs. Jeon, and I couldn’t be happier. I love you!” He exclaims. The crowd gasps before a loud round of applause fills the room. 

Jungkook brings your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on it before he’s waving at the crowd, encouraging them to enjoy their night. He leads you off the stage, kissing your cheek at the bottom of the steps. Guests quickly approached you, wishing you well and congratulating you both as Jungkook smiled and thanked them. He’s eager to get through the crowds, wanting nothing more than to have you all to himself.

<< previous

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

[spades4cards]

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

1 Month Later

Days at work were getting more and more stressful as Sentinel became closer to launching Scylla. Even Christian didn't complain when I stayed late at night; we were trying to get all the help we possibly could. Me and Christian didn't have time for dates or sex. The best we could squeeze in were small kisses or poorly sent nudes.

He was in a meeting, and I was asked to go and quickly get some coffee at the snack bar. Of course, I did as I was told since I was still his secretary. We had promised to keep things (mostly) professional at work, but sometimes, we forget about professionalism and break the rules. This was one of those times.

On the way to the snack bar, the bright white light from the women's bathroom shone dangerously, and I guess you could say I had an idea.

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧

Meetings were always important to me: big or small, they all held the same relevance. I wasn't an idiot, though; I could tell this meeting was relatively more significant than others. Did that stop the meeting's value from whooshing over my head as soon as y/n sent a video of her playing with herself in the stalls? No.

Not at all.

Organized discussion came and left as the employees discussed how we would sell Scylla in time. I should've been participating, but instead, I silenced everyone with a sharp ahem.

"I'm afraid something urgent has come up. I apologize for the abrupt departure, but please continue your discussion," I said before walking out of the meeting room and texting Y/N to meet me in the office.

Mouths agape, (I had never cut a meeting short, especially so abruptly), they all stared in shock as my steps receded towards the elevator.

Ding!

I strode to my office. Y/n was already there on my desk, sitting in a cross-legged pose that looked sultry in its languid nature.

"I was waiting on you-" I cut her off with a rough kiss, my fingers squeezing the skin of her chin deeply as I angled and controlled.

Our tongues strangled ferociously and the sweet taste of her mouth turned spicy as she fisted my hair tighter. Relentless, we kept going until the realization that we needed to stop for air settled disappointingly over us. We broke away, and I had never seen anything more sinful than y/n's face. Her tongue stuck out with saliva trailing from her swollen lips, and she was panting like a dog, trying to catch her breath in a complete haze of heat. She looked at me with half-lidded eyes, and whatever she saw in my eyes made her pupils blow.

A small eternity passed in the span of a second, and then we feasted on each other so salaciously that we resembled two animals fighting to the death instead of being driven solely by lust. Frenzied hands urgently took off clothes that led a trail all the way to the bedroom. There was no foreplay; I thrust, she moaned. I went so fast that my dick blurred as it went in and out of her pussy.

Tears flowed endlessly down her cheeks as her back bowed dramatically. She was practically screaming, her body thrusting instinctively back on my cock and making her breasts bounce deliciously, all of her only focused on more. Her tight cunt was wrapped so deliciously on my cock, I couldn't help but aggressively grasp her hips as I came, her pussy fluttering desperately on my cock as she went down with me.

Only when I pulled out and saw my cum dripping out of her pussy did I realize my immature mistake.

"Don't worry, I'm on the pill," she must've noticed the small horror in my eyes.

"Good," I darkly said before opening her legs again.

"What're you doing?"

"Cancel my meetings for today, secretary," I seductively commanded.

She looked shocked at first, but her expression suddenly turned hungry.

"Yes, sir."

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

2 Months Later

I have been postponing this for far too long. Ava was the only one who knew about Christian and me, and—keeping her promise—she didn't tell anyone else. I invited everyone over for some comfy at-home drinks and prepared small snacks on the kitchen island island.

My friends poured in. First was Bridget who was punctually on time, second was Ava (who looked like she was still recovering from a quickie with Alex), then Jules, still fixing her sex-rumpled clothes. Is sex the only thing they do? I poured their drinks and fiddled with my thumbs. I was nervous but I had to say it.

"Christian and I are dating," I said so abruptly that all heads were flung towards me dramatically.

"I fucking knew it! ...How big is his cock?" Jules was the first to recover from the shock.

"How was the sex?" Ava and Bridget both asked eagerly in unison.

I was shocked that was the first question they asked, "Is that what you guys got out of that? But, fine, I'll tell you," I paused for suspense, "he makes my orgasm feel like ascending to heaven and his cock is almost the size of my forearm."

"Ouch," grimaced Jules, "That must hurt."

I nodded to Jules before glancing at Ava's full cup, "Ava, why aren't you drinking?" Was I that bad at making a gin and tonic?

She shot a mischievous smile... "I can't drink alcohol... at least for the next nine months."

Everyone squealed, and the communication with my friends returned, along with a warmth blooming in my chest.

I hope I never lose them.

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧

3 Months After

Business has never been better. It was confirmed we would get Scylla on the market before Sentinel, and, not only that, we've got much more investors than them, too. However, there was still one more problem—the traitor.

I was able to find a trace of the hacker using a scanner, and now several teams were locating who had gotten the information. I was at ease; now that we finally had something, it would be no issue targeting the imposter. In fact, we could find them any second now-

A firm, singular knock broke me from my thoughts. It was Kage.

"Come in."

He stormed in, "Boss, we know who leaked Scylla," I could tell he was hesitant.

"Go on then," I commanded impatiently.

Y/n. I thought it was just me thinking about her until I realized the name came from Kage's mouth.

"Y/n what?" It couldn't be. She would never.

"She leaked Scylla. We got footage from one of the guys at Sentinel... Do you want to see it?"

"No."

He left (the smart thing to do), and it was just me, alone, in this empty, lavish apartment. Everything inside of me tensed, and before I could stop myself I grabbed a vase and threw it.

Crash!

It didn't help.

Beep, beep, beep.

I dialed reception, "Call y/n to my office," I ordered, jaw firmly clenched as I slammed the phone down.

A few minutes later y/n came, looking confused, "Why'd you call-" she saw the shattered glass on the floor, "Are you okay?" Like you would care.

I continued staring at her. Words wouldn't do me any good. She must've realized I figured it out because at once her eyes watered and she walked over, carefully dodging the glass shards.

"Christian, please, you have to understand it was real. All of it, I swear!" She sobbed, and—for once—I didn't want to help her. "I... I had to help my mother. She needed the money... I-I'm so sorry," her words were broken from hics and sobs; barely comprehensible.

"I don't want to see you right now. Leave."

The next day, she wasn't there. No matter how much I searched, she was gone.

4 Months Later

We had launched Scylla before Sentinel, leading our stocks, shares, and investors to shoot out of the roof.

All of this, yet I didn't care. My life went back to grey as soon as y/n left, and I would do anything to have her back.

[ikkosu]

blood warning!

got a little stressed writing out requests so relaxed by drawing my ocs aha...

@burnyourvillage1968 the Yuri I promised captain 👀

Mesa Tor. Kan Sou.

"No one is there to believe you."

[eldritchpotato]

Requests open? Can you write a fem reader CEO x fem goblin secretary? The dom and sub relationship but the CEO is the sub and she gets completely wrecked by her secretary.

I love this dynamic. let's call this short...

Corporate Kinkery

You are a powerful no-nonsense CEO who runs a tight operation providing vital services to the monsters of your home city. But underneath that veneer, you're a big sub, and your mild-mannered goblin secretary isn't entirely what she seems like either.

Content Warning: Female reader, D/S dynamics, semi-public sex.

The day just seemed to be endlessly dragging on. It was just meeting after meeting, most of them are virtual and don’t even require you to leave your office.

The office lights hurt your head and the painfully thin walls meant you heard every dull conversation in the adjacent meeting rooms.

It was tempting to leave early, but that would hardly be setting a good example for your employees. You ran a tight ship and it was only fair if the same rules apply to you.

Maybe a nap? You could close the blinds.

What time was it?

Fuck, somehow it was barely mid-afternoon. The week had barely gotten started.

There was a knock on your door before your secretary, Phosh, poked her head in.

“You’ve got a meeting with Melissa in 10,” she said cheerily. She was a tiny thing, goblins generally were, with big ears and green skin.

“Thank you, Phosh,” you sighed in response. It was already in your calendar. 

Phosh eyed you up and down. You really hoped you didn't look as dishevelled as you felt. You had an image to uphold.

She stepped into your office and closed the door. Standing on her tiptoes to reach the string that drew the blinds. She turned back to you with a look you recognized.

Phosh had the dazzling secretary ruse down to a t. She was pretty and curvy, perfect at making people drop their guard. But you knew how to see through it.

In the privacy of your office, she unbuttoned the top few buttons of her suit revealing smooth green skin and ample cleavage. “Thank you, what?” She asked.

How did she do that? Despite knowing you should scold her, point out where you were and make it clear this was not remotely appropriate you never quite managed that sort of thing when it came to Phosh.

You swallowed, the words getting caught in your throat for a moment despite the excitement bubbling up within you. “Thank you, mistress,” you muttered, feeling your face heat even though you barely whispered them.

“That’s what I thought,” Phosh grinned, her teeth sharp and pointy. She looked entirely predatory, as she sauntered over, like a cat stalking a mouse. Except despite everything that should say otherwise, you were the mouse.

Outside of the office was one thing but… this was really a bad idea.

“Phosh,” you began but she hopped up on the desk, pressing a finger to your lips to silence you.

“Ah ah ah,” she tisked, “I’m going to fuck you against that wall so hard you forget everything that was bothering you. You should really be more worried about staying quiet so the whole office doesn’t overhear.”

Any further protest died in your throat. You could safe word, you probably really should safe word, this really wasn’t appropriate. Hell, if the board found out you would probably be forced to resign.

But you just nodded obediently. It was a bad idea, but wasn’t that far more fun?

“Up and against the wall, ‘boss,’” Phosh ordered, tearing off her stick on manicured nails.

Your pussy clenched. Despite reminding yourself that you didn’t actually have to obey this goblin woman you still did as you were told.

If you spread your legs a little more and arched your back more than necessary you would never admit it as you leaned against the wall.

Phosh hopped off the desk and stood behind you, simply admiring you. You pressed your forehead against the wall, unable to look at her as she took her sweet time.

The spank made you jolt, but you caught yourself. It only came out as a vague croak.

Phosh chuckled, sliding her hand up your skirt along your tights. Did you press into her touch? Did you shift to present yourself even more? Maybe.

By this point, you were equally nervous and turned on. Your place against the wall allowed you to clearly make out the words next door. Something about spreadsheets and due dates and—

Phosh tore your tights open. The ripping of fabric filled the air before her fingers were touching you through your underwear.

“Oh fuck,” you breathed. Phosh’s other hand kept you in place against the wall as she slowly teased your clit.

You held your breath, the only surefire way of you staying quiet.

“Wow, ‘boss,’ you are soaked already,” Phosh said cheerily. “Do you have any idea how hard it is watching you be bossy all day long while I know how truly slutty you are deep down? How much does it go against everything you want?”

The next spank you were ready for, but it still forced a breath from your lungs.

Skilled fingers slipped under your underwear. That elicited a low groan from you, instinctively pressing back against her with need.

“What is it you need?” Phosh asked, spanking you again.

“More,” you whimpered.

“More what?” Phosh repeated.

“Fuck me, mistress, please fuck me,” you begged, haunting aware of your own volume.

“That’s my good slut, see how easy that was,” Phosh praised, slipping her fingers inside you. “Now I’m gonna fuck you like you begged for, and you better cum quick because Melissa is going to be here any minute.”

Oh fuck. Maybe this really was a bad idea, maybe you— Phosh’s fingers inside you did an excellent job of changing your mind.

You groaned into the wall, your breath ragged as she fucked you. Every ticking moment only

Made you more aware of how little time you had left. Every ounce of control you maintained to stay quiet only made it that much harder to cum.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Tick tock, ‘boss,’” Phosh sing songed though she did mercifully pick up the pace. Your hips were unabashedly pressed back, fucking yourself on her fingers in desperation. You weren’t sure what would be worse, losing this orgasm due to being interrupted or the being interrupted part.

You didn’t even notice the knock on your door. It was Phosh who pulled you back up, shoved you into your seat and slipped under the desk before your foggy brain even processed Melissa’s voice.

Quickly you took a moment to compose yourself. I’d only you had a fucking mirror. “C-Come in,” you called, stealing yourself. That had been so fucking close.

Melissa shuffled into your office with a friendly but tired expression.

If she noticed the smell of sex or the disturbed carpet she didn’t say anything. She sat across from you, letting a massive stack of folders drop onto your desk with a thunk. 

Fuck this was going to take an eternity. You could already feel your headache returning.

Somehow you had forgotten about Phosh. But now she was spreading your legs, your underwater being pulled away as she pressed her mouth to your cunt.

You covered your grunt with a cough. Your whole body tensed, her tongue running over your clit. Melissa began to drone on and on about this and that.

You didn’t know what to do. Phosh wasn’t going to leave you alone tucked away under the desk and you couldn’t kick her out with Melissa here. Your only option was to endure this torture.

You sucked in a sharp breath, nodding at whatever Melissa had said.

This was what you got for not cumming fast enough and how you loved being punished.