For a second, I think he might stop. Should stop. But then his hand slides up my back, between my shoulder blades, pressing me more firmly against the desk.
"I'll pull out," he promises, his voice rough with need. "Tell me you want this."
"Yes," I breathe, past caring about anything but the feeling of him against me. "I want this. I want you."
He pushes into me with one smooth thrust, filling me completely. The stretch burns slightly—I'm still new to this, still adjusting to his size—but the discomfort melts quickly into pleasure as he begins to move.
This is different from last night. Different from this morning in the shower. This is raw, primal, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise as he slams into me. The desk creaks beneath us, papers and samples sliding to the floor, but neither of us cares.
"You feel so fucking good," he grunts, one hand snaking around to rub my clit in time with his thrusts. "So tight around my cock."
"Oh god," I moan, pushing back against him, matching his rhythm.
"You like this, don’t you?" His voice is a growl against my ear. "Being taken like this? Bent over my desk like my personal toy?"
I should be offended. Should be embarrassed. Instead, I'm impossibly turned on, clenching around him as his words send sparks of pleasure through me.
"Yes," I admit, the confession torn from me. "Yes, I like it."
"Of course you do." His pace increases, his thrusts harder, deeper. "Because you're mine. Say it."
"I'm yours," I gasp, not even sure what I'm agreeing to, only knowing in this moment it feels true.
"Good girl," he praises, and those two simple words send me careening toward the edge. "Such a good girl, taking my cock so well."
My orgasm hits without warning, a white-hot burst of pleasure that makes me moan. My inner muscles clamp down around him, and he curses, his rhythm faltering.
"Fuck, I'm going to come," he warns, pulling out suddenly.
I feel the hot splash of his release across my lower back, hear his harsh breathing as his hand strokes the last pulses from his length. For a moment, we stay frozen like that—me bent over his desk, him standing behind me, both of us breathing hard.
Then he's reaching for tissues, cleaning his release from my skin with surprising gentleness. He helps me straighten, turns me to face him. His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with the roughness of what just happened.
"You okay?" he asks, something like concern flickering in his eyes.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet. I should feel used, maybe even a little degraded, but instead, I feel... powerful. Wanted. Needed, even, by a man who seems like he's never needed anyone in his life.
"We should get back to work," he says, but he doesn't move away. Instead, he kisses me—a surprisingly gentle press of lips that contrasts sharply with the animalistic way he just took me.
"Yes," I agree, my voice finally returning. "Back to work."
But as I bend to retrieve the fallen samples from the floor, I catch him watching me with an unnerving intensity and Iwonder if either of us has any idea what we've started—or how it might end.
Chapter 8
Camille
I've lost count of how many times Alexander and I have had sex over the past three days. The project has consumed our days—selecting materials, reviewing lighting plans, coordinating with vendors—but our nights (and occasional office hours) have become a different kind of work entirely.
The lines between professional and personal have blurred beyond recognition, and I've stopped pretending to myself that I can keep them separate. What started as a catastrophic interview has somehow morphed into the most intensive design project of my career... and the most intense sexual experience of my life.
Right now, I'm hunched over a scale model of the resort's main restaurant, adjusting tiny furniture pieces with tweezers. Alexander stands across the table, reviewing supply chain updates on his tablet. My body hums with a pleasant soreness that reminds me of last night—of his hands pinning my wrists above my head, of his voice in my ear telling me exactly where he wanted me.
"The limestone shipment arrived early," he says without looking up. "And the custom light fixtures for the lobby cleared customs yesterday."
"That puts us almost a week ahead of schedule," I reply, carefully placing a miniature banquette against the model's wall. When I glance up, I catch him watching me, that intense green gaze making my skin flush. It's still unnerving how quickly he can affect me with just a look.
"Your redesign of the construction sequence saved us considerable time." His voice carries that matter-of-fact tone he uses when delivering facts rather than compliments. "The team's implementation has been efficient."
