3. Cassie
CASSIE
I couldn’t sit there another second listening to him recite my fantasies back to me in that sinful voice. The humiliation burned through my veins like acid, mixing with something else—something hot and dangerous that I refused to acknowledge.
I shot to my feet, the leather chair spinning behind me as I turned toward the door. "I can’t do this."
My face was on fire. My hands were shaking. Every word he’d spoken hung in the air between us like smoke, and I needed to get out before I did something even more stupid than accidentally sexting my boss.
"I’m sorry," I said without looking back at him. "I’ll submit my resignation this afternoon."
I made it three steps before his voice stopped me cold.
"Running away, Ms. James?"
I froze, my hand inches from the door handle. Something in his tone—dark amusement mixed with challenge—made my spine straighten despite my embarrassment.
"I’m not running," I said, still facing the door. "I’m being professional."
His laugh was low and rough. "Professional? After what you wrote to me last night?"
I whirled around, anger finally overriding my humiliation. "That wasn’t meant for you!"
Roman had moved from behind his desk and now stood in the center of his office, hands casually shoved into his pockets. But there was nothing casual about the way he was looking at me—like a predator who’d just cornered his prey and was deciding which part to devour first.
"Still think I wasn’t supposed to read it?" he murmured, taking a step closer.
"Stop." I held up my hand, but my voice came out breathless instead of firm. "Just... stop."
Another step. "Stop what? Reminding you that you begged me to tie you up and fuck you until you couldn’t walk straight?"
My cheeks flamed. "That’s not what I?—"
"Until you were so thoroughly claimed that you’d feel me for days afterward?"
"Shut up." The words burst out of me before I could stop them.
Roman’s eyes flashed with something dark and dangerous. He was close enough now that I could see the way his pupils had dilated slightly. The air between us crackled with electricity, and I realized with growing alarm that my anger was quickly transforming into something else entirely.
"Make me," he said softly.
The challenge hung between us like a loaded gun.
Every rational thought in my head screamed at me to apologize, to back down, to remember who I was talking to.
Roman Creed wasn’t just my boss—he was a man who could make problems disappear with a phone call.
A man whose family had built an empire on fear and violence.
But the way he was looking at me—like I was something he wanted to possess —made rational thought impossible.
Instead, I did the stupidest thing I’d ever done in my life.
I shoved him.
My palms hit his chest hard enough that I should have sent him stumbling backward. Should have put some distance between us so I could think clearly again.
He didn’t move.
Not even an inch.
It was like pushing against a brick wall wrapped in expensive silk. My hands lingered on his chest longer than they should have, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt, the heat radiating through the fabric. His heart was beating just as fast as mine.
"Try again," he said, his voice dropping to a register that made my knees weak.
"I hate you," I whispered, but the words came out wrong—breathy and desperate instead of angry.
His mouth curved into that dangerous, almost-smile. "Say it again."
"I hate?—"
Before I could finish the sentence, his hands fisted in my hair, and he yanked me against him.
The breath left my lungs in a rush as our bodies collided, chest to chest, hip to hip.
I could feel every hard line of him pressed against me, could see the flecks of hazel in his blue eyes, and the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting for control.
"Last chance," he growled against my lips. "Tell me to stop."
I should have. God help me, I should have pushed him away and walked out that door and never looked back. Should have remembered that this was my boss, my job, my livelihood on the line.
Instead, I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him down to me.
The kiss exploded between us like a live wire touching water. His mouth was brutal and claiming, taking everything I offered and demanding more. I kissed him back just as desperately, five months of inappropriate fantasies finally finding their outlet.
He spun us around, pressing me back against the door with enough force that the wood shook in its frame. The slam echoed through the office, but all I could focus on was the weight of his body pinning me in place, the way his hands roamed over me like he was trying to memorize every curve.
"Jesus Christ, Cassie," he groaned against my throat, his teeth scraping along my pulse.
The sound of my name in his mouth—not Ms. James, but Cassie—sent electricity shooting straight to my core.
My hands were everywhere, desperate and trembling, pulling at his shirt until I could feel the heat of his skin.
He had tattoos, dark ink sprawling across his chest and shoulders, and I wanted to trace every line with my tongue.
His mouth found mine again, hungry and demanding. I bit his lower lip hard enough to make him growl, and he retaliated by sliding his hands down to grip my thighs, hiking my skirt up until cool air hit my overheated skin.
"This what you wanted?" he asked roughly, his voice raw with need. "This what you were thinking about when you wrote that message?"
"Yes," I gasped as his teeth found the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. "God, yes."
The confession seemed to snap something inside him.
His hands moved with urgent purpose, one tangling in my hair while the other explored the newly exposed skin of my thigh.
I could hear the metallic clink of his belt buckle hitting the floor, and I could feel the evidence of how much he wanted this pressed against my hip.
His hands were at my waist, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrapped around him as he carried me deeper into his office, papers scattering to the floor as he set me down on the edge of his massive mahogany desk.
Time seemed to melt around us, every action distant and disconnected. I couldn’t focus on anything but the feel of his hands against my body, the heat of his mouth as he kissed along my neck, the way my body burned for him like nothing else in my life.
Roman’s hardness pressed against me, teasing and unrelenting as he hooked his fingers under the thin strip of lace that had served as the final barrier between us. I rolled my hips against him, desperate for friction, my inner muscles clenching with anticipation.
He drove into me with one forceful thrust, sending us both careening over the edge of the cliff we’d been clinging to. Every nerve ending in my body seemed to come alive as he filled me, each delicious inch of his length a torture and a pleasure I couldn’t escape.
My nails dug into his shoulders as he pressed deeper, so deep I wasn’t sure where I ended, and he began. He felt even better than I’d imagined, his body perfectly sculpted, his rhythm punishing and relentless.
There was no room for questions or shame here, no room for uncertainty. There was only Roman’s dark possessiveness and my unspoken admission of submission.
This was bad, and it was wrong, and it was utterly unforgettable.
"Cassie," he growled, pulling me even closer, burying himself inside me until I whimpered at the overwhelming sensation. "Look at me."
I opened my eyes, not realizing I’d closed them. He was staring down at me, his gaze hooded and hungry, his cheeks flushed with color, and there was something so vulnerable and raw about his expression in that moment that it took my breath away.
Something primal flashed in his eyes, and then his mouth was on mine again, swallowing my moan as his hand squeezed my breast. The heat between us exploded like a supernova, years of careful professional distance disintegrating in the space of a heartbeat.
I arched against him, my body moving on pure instinct. This was madness—we were in his office in the middle of the workday, and anyone could walk in. But I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not when he was fucking me like I was something precious and dangerous all at once.
His rhythm was punishing now, his fingers digging into my hips with bruising force. I was powerless to do anything but ride the wave of his pleasure, caught up in a storm I’d been dreaming about for months, only to realize it had been nothing compared to the real thing.
His body was a vice, his movements bordering on savage, and I realized the quiet reserve I thought I’d cracked during our conversations wasn’t just a front. It was a dam holding back the aggression I should’ve known lurked beneath the surface.
Every nerve ending in my body buzzed as he pushed me closer to the edge, and I clung to him like a life raft, burying my face against his neck, lost in the storm.
"Look at me," he growled, his voice threaded with warning.
"Roman," I gasped, the words coming out in a moan.
"I said, look at me." He pulled back just enough for me to see the danger in his eyes. "You’re mine now, Cassie. Don’t forget that."
The claim burst over me like a live wire, heat flashing down every limb, tingling at the base of my spine. I came harder than I ever had before, my vision blurred and my grip on reality fading like an old photograph.
All I could see was Roman. All I could feel was Roman. All I could taste and smell and touch was Roman, consuming every bit of my sensory input until there was nothing but him.
He surged into me one last time, sending another jolt through my over-sensitized body, then followed me over the edge with a low growl I felt more than heard. His mouth crashed down on mine again, his kiss wild and unrestrained, his hips flexing against me in short jerks as he found his release.
We stayed frozen like that for long moments, breathing hard, our bodies still pressed together. Reality crept back in —the expensive office, the inappropriate situation, the fact I’d just had the best orgasm of my life with my boss during working hours.
Roman pulled out and stepped back, dressing with practiced efficiency.
He moved with efficient grace, straightening his clothes and running a hand through his disheveled hair.
When he looked at me again, the mask of control had slipped back into place, but I could see the satisfaction burning in his eyes.
I fumbled with my skirt, trying to smooth it back down over my thighs with shaking hands. My hair was a mess, my lipstick was gone, and I probably looked exactly like what I was—a woman who’d just been thoroughly ravaged on her boss’s desk.
"Cassie." His voice was calm now, back to that professional tone that made shivers run down my spine for entirely different reasons.
I looked up at him, uncertain. Was he going to pretend this hadn’t happened? Fire me for inappropriate conduct? Tell me it was a mistake?
Instead, he stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His finger traced along my jawline, gentle but possessive, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.
"You’re mine now," he whispered, and there was something in his voice that made it sound less like a declaration and more like a promise. "Let’s hope you can behave."
The words sent another thrill through me, even as my rational mind tried to process what had just happened. This wasn’t just about a mistaken text anymore. This was something else entirely—something dangerous and addictive and completely beyond my control.
Roman’s thumb swept across my lower lip, and I had to bite back a whimper.
"Fix your hair," he said, stepping back. "And next time you have something to say to me, Ms. James, I suggest you say it to my face."
He returned to his desk as if nothing had happened, leaving me standing and trying to piece together what was left of my composure. But I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands weren’t quite steady as he reached for his coffee.
This had affected him just as much as it had affected me.
I used the reflection in the dark window to fix my appearance as best I could, my mind racing. Everything had changed in the span of twenty minutes. The careful professional distance we’d maintained was gone, replaced by something raw and hungry and completely terrifying.
"Will that be all, Mr. Creed?" I asked, proud of how steady my voice sounded.
He didn’t look up from the papers on his desk, but I saw the corner of his mouth curve upward.
"For now," he said. "But Cassie? Next time, don’t make me wait so long for an answer."
I slipped out of his office on unsteady legs, my body still humming with the aftermath of what we’d done. The hallway felt too bright, too normal after the dark intensity of Roman’s office.
As I walked back to my desk, one thought echoed in my mind: I was completely and utterly screwed.
And God help me, I couldn’t wait to do it again.