Meeting the Boss

"What the hell did you do?" Gavin glared at her, his bloodshot eyes bulging out of his skull as he marched her toward the elevator banks.

The new CEO had summoned her by name. It was a massive shock to everyone on the floor, especially her direct supervisor. Gavin sweated through the armpits of his cheap suit, terrified the blast radius of her apparent failure would catch him.

"I don't know," Sloane blinked, playing the innocent card despite the chaotic hammering of her heart against her ribs. Her palms slicked with nervous sweat. The more she tried to hide from this man, the faster he tracked her down.

"Listen to me," Gavin hissed. He leaned into her personal space, trapping her near the metal elevator doors. The sour, stale stench of his coffee breath hit her face. "Whatever colossal fuck up this is, it is on you. Do not drag me down with your sinking ship, got it?"

Gavin was Eleanor's corporate lapdog. For the two miserable years Sloane had worked under him, he had made it his personal mission to make her life a living hell, acting on her stepmother's explicit orders. He wanted a bonus. He wanted her to commit a fireable offense. Now, on the very first day the billionaire boss stepped foot in the building, management was bypassed to drag Sloane straight to the penthouse. To a slimy middle manager like Gavin, this meant Sloane had royally screwed up and pissed off the new executive. He was practically foaming at the mouth with joy that she had apparently dug her own grave, but his cowardice demanded he cover his own ass first.

"Got it, Mr. Thorne," Sloane muttered, keeping her gaze glued to the carpet.

She turned to press the call button, but Gavin's heavy hand snatched her bare arm. His grip was tight, his palms clammy.

"Remember," Gavin threatened, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper. "If you dare open your mouth and spout bullshit to the CEO about me or this department, I will ruin you. I will make sure you are blacklisted. You will never work in this city again."

Sloane shot him a look of pure disgust. The absolute audacity of this man. Her life under his thumb had been a daily nightmare of stolen credit, endless paperwork, and passive-aggressive bullying. He was terrified she was going upstairs to tattle on his toxic management style. He was flattering himself. A pathetic middle manager was the least of her worries right now. She had much more intimate, terrifyingly pressing business to confirm with the man waiting on the top floor.

Sloane rolled her eyes, forcefully yanked her arm from his sweaty grip, and stepped into the express elevator as the doors slid open.

The heavy metal doors closed, cutting off Gavin's red, panicking face. The elevator shot straight up, the sudden acceleration making her stomach drop. In her two years at this firm, Sloane had never been allowed past the twelfth floor. The penthouse was the billionaire's exclusive domain.

The digital numbers ticked upward. Her breathing grew shallow. Unbidden, a rush of filthy memories flooded her brain, making her lower abdomen tighten. Just yesterday afternoon in that sterile clinic exam room. The way his large, rough hands felt as they grabbed her thighs and pushed them wide apart. The searing heat of his bare fingers parting her slick folds and probing deep inside her pussy. The shameful, wet sounds her body made under his clinical, dominant touch.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to the top floor.

An executive secretary escorted her down a quiet, carpeted hallway to a set of imposing double doors. The secretary gave a crisp knock.

"Come in."

The words rumbled through the heavy wood. The voice was deep, thick with unquestionable authority.

Sloane blew out a shaky breath, fluttering the loose bangs on her forehead. She swallowed hard, forced her spine straight, and pushed the heavy door open.

The corner office was a stark, intimidating blend of matte black and icy white. The harsh lines of the furniture screamed dominance and ruthless control. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a sprawling view of the city skyline, but Sloane didn't even glance at the view. Her eyes instantly locked onto the massive, broad-shouldered man sitting behind the sprawling mahogany desk.

He was looking down, flipping through a personnel file. She couldn't see his face, but the raw, masculine energy rolling off his body made the hair on her arms stand up. It was dangerously familiar.

He ignored her. He didn't bother to look up from his paperwork as she stood trembling in the center of the expensive rug. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Caught in a sudden haze of arousal, the phantom sensation of his fingers sliding in and out of her wet core flashed behind her eyes. Her pulse pounded between her ears.

Then, she felt it. The heavy, scorching weight of a predator's gaze sliding over her curves.

Sloane gasped and snapped back to reality.

Vaughn Kincaid had lifted his head. His ravenous, dark eyes tracked her every movement, systematically stripping her bare right there in the middle of the room. Their eyes locked. A heavy wave of pure sexual dominance slammed into her chest, making it hard to draw a full breath.

"Surprised to see me?" Vaughn smirked. He leaned back in his tall leather executive chair, resting his large hands on the armrests. It was a knowing, cryptic expression, his eyes cold but seeing right through her clothes.

A nervous pulse throbbed at Sloane's temple. Her throat went dry. She scrambled to find her professional voice.

"Sorry, sir," Sloane stammered, blind panic lacing her tone. "You just caught me off guard. The sudden leadership change... I wasn't expecting it. I didn't mean to stare."

Vaughn arched a single, dark brow. His gaze darkened with a dangerous interest. "Does that mean you have a thing for me, Ms. Prescott?"

"No! No way," Sloane blurted out, her hands flying up in defense. "I'm just a regular employee. I wouldn't dare think about you like that. It's strictly professional respect."

Vaughn studied her in terrifying silence. He radiated a raw, aggressive energy that dominated every square inch of the sprawling office. His piercing eyes locked onto her face, watching her breathe. He looked exactly like an apex predator calmly sizing up a cornered meal, letting the prey exhaust itself before the kill.

After what felt like an eternity of agonizing silence, he finally spoke. His voice was a slow, deliberate drawl.

"Feeling any better?"

Sloane froze. The air left her lungs. Meeting his direct gaze made her heart skip a violent beat. Her mind raced, snapping the final puzzle pieces together. He just admitted it. There was no more room for denial. His low voice confirmed he was indeed the exact same man who had forcefully examined her bare, wet body on the clinic table yesterday.

"A little," she squeaked out. A deep, humiliating flush burned across her cheeks and down her neck. She couldn't bring herself to look at his face anymore. She stared at the knot of his expensive silk tie.

Vaughn’s voice dropped an octave, shifting into a deeply suggestive, dangerous reminder.

"Your condition isn't exactly a quick fix. Whenever you have needs, come find me."

The filthy implications behind his words hit Sloane like a physical blow. Her volatile hypersexuality shifted into immediate, uncontrollable overdrive. The visual of returning to him, of spreading her legs and begging him to touch her pussy whenever the craving struck, short-circuited her brain.

Her core clenched hard. A sudden, heavy rush of slick wetness flooded between her thighs, dripping down and soaking straight into the cotton gusset of her lace panties. The physical ache was instant and sharp. From the very second she laid eyes on him in this office, her body reacted on pure, animal instinct. Being locked in this quiet room with him, knowing he knew all her shameful secrets, only made her throb harder.

Panic set in. She squeezed her thighs tightly together beneath her pencil skirt. The friction of the wet fabric against her swollen clit made her bite the inside of her cheek to stop a moan from escaping. If she stayed in this room for another minute, she was going to lose her mind. She desperately needed to find a locked bathroom stall, shove her own fingers inside her dripping pussy, and take care of this unbearable ache before she did something insane.

"Thanks for checking in, sir," Sloane rushed the words out, her voice tight and strained. "If that's all, I really need to get back to my department."

Without waiting for his dismissal, she spun on her heels and practically sprinted toward the heavy office doors. Her heels clicked frantically against the hardwood floor surrounding the rug.

"Did I say you could leave?"

Vaughn’s authoritative, vibrating rumble stopped her dead in her tracks.

Sloane stiffened, her hand hovering just inches from the brass doorknob. She turned back around, breathless anxiety clawing at her throat. "Is there something else, Mr. Kincaid?"

Vaughn slowly rose from his leather executive chair. His tall, muscular frame towered over the desk. He stepped around the mahogany wood and began walking toward her. His movements were smooth, deliberate, and unhurried. He was ridiculously broad-shouldered, tapering down to a narrow waist. His tailored black suit pants clung to thick thighs. He practically dripped with arrogant, undeniable sex appeal.

Sloane’s mind spun with filthy fantasies as he closed the distance. What would it actually feel like to take his huge cock in bed? The thought made her mouth go dry. The more her hypersexuality flared, the wetter and more desperate she became. The craving was pure agony. She wanted him to push her against this door, rip her panties off, and fuck her brains out.

Vaughn crossed the expensive carpet until barely a single inch of space remained between their bodies. He trapped her against the solid wood of the door. The sheer size of him blocked out the natural light from the windows.

The heavy, intoxicating scent of his expensive masculine cologne mixed with raw male pheromones wrapped tightly around her. It made her head spin dizzily. Breathing in his dominant scent only made her lower body throb with a vicious, demanding rhythm. Blinding lust eroded the last shreds of her rational thought. She was a wreck.

Vaughn leaned down. His face hovered right next to hers.

"What's on your mind?" Vaughn murmured. His hot breath lightly grazed her sensitive earlobe. The vibration of his deep voice sent a shiver straight down her spine and pooling directly into her clit.

"I want to fuck..."

Sloane nearly blurted her most shameful, desperate craving out loud. The words were on her tongue. Her body was betraying her, ready to surrender to the very man she needed to avoid.

Catching herself at the absolute last split second, she frantically bit her tongue. The sharp pain grounded her. She backpedaled in sheer terror, pressing her spine flat against the door to put even a millimeter of distance between them.

"Focus on work!" Sloane practically shouted, her voice pitching up in panic. "I want to focus on my job and learn from you! That is what is on my mind!"

She snapped her head down, keeping her panicked gaze glued to his polished leather shoes. Her heart lodged in her throat, beating so hard she felt dizzy. Guilt and horror washed over her. She had almost lusted after her billionaire boss out loud like a total slut. She had almost begged him to take her right here on the floor.

She waited for the axe to fall. Convinced she had just ruined everything, she fully expected him to snap, call the security guards, and fire her on the spot. Gavin would get his wish. Eleanor would win. She would be thrown out of the building.

Instead, Vaughn simply stepped back, giving her room to breathe. The oppressive heat of his body retreated just enough for her lungs to expand. He casually adjusted his custom silver cufflinks, his expression completely unreadable, his eyes calm and cold.

He looked down at her flushed, trembling face and delivered a blunt, non-negotiable order.

"I need an assistant. Starting tomorrow, the executive assistant job is yours."