His Secret Toy (Dark Short Reads #3)

PROLOGUE

POV: Roman

She had been wearing a white shirt the first time.

The buttons were undone—careless, clumsy. Her hand was inside her panties before I even realized what I was looking at. She was bent back in my chair, her hips shifting, lips parted. I watched the whole thing in the silence of my room.

She said my name when she came.

The next day, I thrust my hands into my pants.

Slickness from precum had been seeping from my throbbing cock, my breath heavy as I tugged on it.

My eyes stayed glued to the video feed on my phone, watching her from the shaky perch of the candle she’d kept on my own desk, her bare back arching as she ground against her lubed-up fingers.

I would watch her suck in her breath at the intimate touch, and the evidence of her arousal glinting tantalizingly on her fingers. I bit back a groan as I tugged ruthlessly on my cock, my hips jerking upward from the fierce friction of my hand.

It had been a week; six nights. And now it’s a habit. I finish work, pour a drink, and pull up the archive feed. Some people unwind with whiskey. I watch Harper Quinn, my twenty-one-year-old intern, get herself off in my office.

“Boss?” Luca’s voice pulls me back.

“I’m listening.”

“You sure? You sound... off.”

The car hums beneath me, smooth and silent, but my head’s not in this ride. I’m not here—not really. Luca’s voice filters through the Bluetooth like background noise I can’t tune into.

I recall how there was always a desperation in her rhythm—like she was chasing something and already knew she wouldn’t quite reach it. She constantly used the same chair I sit in to sign death warrants and billion-dollar contracts. And never failed to leave it soaked.

It’s filthy.

Nearly every moment now, I can’t help but imagine how it would feel to drive my cock inside of her, pressing the thick head between her soft flesh and feeling her tight heat grip me.

My imagination would always take over and I would struggle to stop my hands from stroking myself, to fuck Harper's slit right there so hard with my death-dealing hands.

My brain is overcome with raunchy mews and needy sighs, as though her pretty pussy moans for me only.

“Cartel rep’s landing at 8:20. I’ve doubled security on Level 6. I assume you want face-to-face for this one?”

I manage to answer this time, but it’s flat. “Mm.”

I glance at the screen in front of me—blank, black glass. I don’t like being off. That’s how men like me die early. Plus, age is no longer on my side. It makes no sense to encourage distractions.

Still, I flick the feed open. I keep my eyes sharp, expecting an empty office, yet also hoping I might catch a glimpse of her tight ass waltzing into the building.

What I find causes my body to freeze.

It’s 7:00 a.m. But she’s already there.

And she’s moving.

That sexy, innocent skirt of hers is up again and her legs are wide apart. One hand behind her, gripping the armrest. The other

between her thighs. She thinks she’s alone. She thinks she’s safe.

Heat climbs up my neck. I don’t blink.

She came in early just to do this. On a day she doesn’t even have scheduled hours. She's been doing this all week, but not in the morning. Not before daylight. This isn’t about thrill anymore—it’s about need.

I don’t say anything for a moment. I just watch.

Luca’s still on the line. “You want me to pull the contract again before the meeting?”

I press mute.

The girl is arching against the chair now. My chair. Her shirt’s loose again, hanging off one shoulder. She tilts her head back.

As always, she has no idea the cameras are on. No idea that I’ve seen every second.

How can she be so desperately insane? What if someone else walked in, having arrived early as well, perhaps a janitor, having to come into my office for whatever reason?

What if some other man took her, would she still come with my name on her lips?

I see red.

My jaw tightens. I’m hard, and for some reason, I find myself angry as well.

I’m done pretending this doesn’t matter.

I tap the screen once, minimized the feed and locked it.

My dick flexes as I watch her show, her free hand lifting to tease one perfect nipple as her fingers delved between her likely slick thighs. Every fiber of my being wants to be there to confirm just how wet she is.

“Take the lower entrance,” I tell my driver at last, eyes still on the screen.

He nods.

“And use the secure elevator. I’m going up alone.”

The building is quiet at this hour—just the way I like it. I walk through the underground entrance without a word. No greetings. No eye contact. Not this morning.

I scan my palm at the private elevator, press the key for the top floor, and wait.

She should’ve been fired the moment I saw the first clip.

I should’ve deleted it from the system and wiped her badge access the same night.

Instead, I exported the footage. Watched it twice, then three times that night.

Turned the sound up on the last one so I could hear exactly how she whispered my name into the silence.

She’s not stupid. She had to know there were cameras.

Or maybe she wanted to be caught.

The elevator slides open. No sound. Just a soft shift in pressure. I step out, keys in my palm, heart steady but my body far from calm.

It stops today. Watching isn’t enough anymore. I’m not going to sit behind screens

like some voyeur playing god. I’m going to step inside and ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing. Then I’m going to tell her to keep doing it.

Not because she should, but because I want to see it, closer and slower, and with my voice in her ear this time.

She doesn’t know it yet but I’m already inside her head.

And she’s about to learn what that really means.