Quitting Before She Fucked Him Blind

Sloane stiffened. The words hung in the air, freezing the blood in her veins. An executive assistant? Was this some twisted setup to watch her crash and burn? Or worse, was it a test to see how far he could push her before she snapped?

Panic flared in her chest, hot and suffocating. If she accepted this job, she would have to sit right outside his office. She would have to stare at his broad shoulders, his tailored suits, and his imposing, muscular frame every single day. How the hell was she supposed to keep her legs shut? The filthy urge to push everything off his pristine mahogany desk, climb on top of it, and ride his massive cock would consume her waking hours. Her hypersexuality was a ticking time bomb, and Vaughn Kincaid was the match.

She took a shaky breath, stepping back to put a sliver of space between them. "Sir, I have never done assistant work. I really do not think I can handle it." Her knee-jerk reaction was pure self-preservation. She needed to refuse.

Vaughn did not flinch. He pinned her with a dark, intense stare that brooked zero argument. His imposing frame seemed to take up the entire doorway, trapping her in his gravity. "Do you have a problem with a promotion?"

Sloane nervously licked her full, red lips, her mind racing for a believable excuse. "I just think my skills are better suited—"

"Who is the CEO here?" Vaughn cut her off cold, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You or me?"

The polite, professional smile on Sloane's face froze. "You are, obviously."

"Then go back and hand off your current projects," Vaughn ordered. His tone left zero room for negotiation. "Report to the executive suite tomorrow morning."

"But..." Sloane swallowed hard, biting back her protest. What if she lost all her self-control? What if her condition took over, and she stripped him naked in the middle of a private meeting?

A flash of irritation crossed his dangerously handsome face. "If you don't want the job, quit."

He dismissed her with a single, dismissive glance, turning his back and striding toward his massive leather chair. He dove straight into the paperwork on his desk, ignoring her existence as if the conversation was already a closed case.

Sloane stood speechless for a second before giving a stiff nod. "Got it."

She retreated downstairs to the bullpen, ignoring the nosy stares of her coworkers. The air in her department felt stale compared to the executive floor, but it was safe.

"Hey Sloane, why did Mr. Kincaid call you in there alone?" Gemma leaned over the cubicle partition, her eyes wide with juicy gossip. "Does he want to get in your pants?"

"Oh, please," Sloane shot back, dropping into her chair and waking up her computer monitor. "He is a billionaire CEO. Why would he look twice at a plain Jane like me?"

"Plain Jane? Are you kidding me?" Gemma scoffed loudly, crossing her arms. "I throw out at least twenty bouquets of roses from your secret admirers just this month. With a gorgeous face and a killer body like yours, it wouldn't be a shocker if he took one look and fell in love with you."

Sloane’s typing stuttered to a halt. Fall in love? Her heart skipped a beat. If the CEO actually wanted her right off the bat, did that mean she would get a chance to screw him senseless?

She vigorously shook her head, forcing the filthy fantasies away. Her cheeks burned scarlet. "That is impossible. Stop making wild guesses and do your work."

She forced herself to focus, opening a blank document. Her hands shook over the keyboard. She could not take that promotion. The constant heat throbbing between her thighs demanded a target, and Vaughn was far too dangerous to play with. Leaving the company felt like the only viable way to cool her blood and save her sanity.

She drafted a formal resignation letter. Every keystroke felt like a step toward freedom. Right before the clock struck five, she bravely hit send, routing the email straight to the HR Director's inbox.

Sloane stood up, grabbed a cardboard box from the supply closet, and began frantically packing her personal belongings. Pens, notebooks, her favorite coffee mug. She wanted out of this building before Vaughn could realize what she had done.

Just then, a towering, heavy stack of folders slammed squarely onto her desk.

Sloane jumped. Her manager, Gavin, loomed over her cubicle with a malicious, sickening smile.

"You are pulling overtime tonight," Gavin demanded, tapping the towering pile of paperwork. "Handle all of these before you leave."

Sloane glared at the folders. She did not even have to ask to know his game. Gavin took fat bribes from her stepmother, Eleanor, to purposely make her daily life a living hell. In the two years Sloane had worked under him, forced, unpaid overtime was his favorite weapon. He wanted her exhausted, broken, and submissive. The fact that Vaughn had personally called her into his office today had clearly triggered Gavin's petty jealousy.

But if he thought she was going to roll over and be his little corporate slave like always, he was dead wrong. She had just quit. She did not have to take his abuse for another second.

Sloane stood up tall, looking him dead in the eye. "Mr. Thorne, it is past five. Sorry, but I am off the clock."

Gavin’s jaw dropped. He stared at her in sheer disbelief. He never expected the usually submissive Sloane to actually grow a spine. Then, the shock melted into fury. His face twisted into an ugly sneer, and spit flew from his lips.

"Don't think that just because the CEO gave you five minutes of his time, you can suddenly disrespect your manager!" Gavin snarled, his voice booming across the quiet bullpen. "I run this department. If you dare to openly defy me, I will personally fire your ass. Try me!"

Sloane gave him an icy, dismissive look. She grabbed her purse and hoisted her cardboard box into her arms. "Then fire me."

Without another word, she walked straight out of the bullpen. The satisfying sound of Gavin’s furious screaming echoed down the hallway behind her, but she did not look back.

Instead of heading straight to her apartment, Sloane aimlessly wandered the cold, dark city streets. The adrenaline from quitting faded, leaving a hollow dread in her chest. She did not want to go home. Home meant facing her reality, a reality that was colder than the evening wind.

Given the time, Declan probably was not even home yet. Throughout their entire one-year marriage, they practically lived separate lives. They barely even ate dinner together. In the beginning, Sloane just assumed Declan was naturally cold and still adjusting to being tied down. But now, the harsh truth was glaringly obvious. His heart, his mind, and his bed never once belonged to her.

After grabbing some cheap takeout by herself, Sloane finally dragged herself back to their upscale apartment late that night.

She unlocked the door. The house was pitch dark and empty.

Usually, no matter how much he hated looking at her, Declan would walk through the front door by nine o'clock. She checked her phone, her anxiety spiking. It was almost eleven. Where the hell was he?

She tossed and turned on the living room sofa, agonizing over the silence before finally gathering the courage to dial his number.

The phone rang forever. It rang so long she thought it would go to voicemail, but then the line clicked open.

"Yeah? Who is this?" Declan’s annoyed, blunt voice filled her ear.

Sloane froze. Her stomach violently dropped into a sickening knot. Her own legal husband had not even bothered to save her number in his contacts.

"It's me," Sloane said, her expression falling.

"What do you want?" His tone dropped to ice the second he recognized her voice.

"It is getting really late," Sloane asked cautiously, gripping the phone tighter. "When do you think you will be back home?"

A stunned silence stretched across the line. She could hear faint background noise—clinking glasses, maybe soft music. After a long pause, Declan offered a dismissive, impatient grunt.

"Yeah."

Dead air completely filled the line.

Sloane stared at the glowing screen, her lips pressed into a tight line. He hung up on her. She just wanted to be a good wife and check on her husband who was out late, and he treated her like an annoying telemarketer.

Deciding not to wait up any longer, she headed straight to the bathroom for a hot shower and climbed into bed alone.

Because of his absence, her sleep was incredibly restless, plagued by an endless stream of graphic nightmares. One minute she dreamed Gavin was trapping her in a tiny cubicle, making her life a living hell with a mountain of paperwork. The next minute, the scene shifted. Declan was standing over her, brutally slapping her with divorce papers. He was laughing, wrapping his arm tightly around her sister, Valerie's, waist, ready to run away with her.

Sloane jolted awake in a cold sweat. Morning light was already pouring through the bedroom blinds.

She breathed heavily, trying to shake the lingering dread. Remembering she had just quit her job and did not have to clock in today, she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. But the paranoia from her nightmares weighed heavily on her mind, making it impossible to drift off.

Desperate to ignore the uneasy feeling in her chest, Sloane forced herself out of bed. She headed down the hall toward the kitchen to cook breakfast, hoping the mundane chore would distract her.

But her fragile composure shattered when she passed the guest room. The door was ajar. The bed was perfectly made.

Declan had not come home at all last night.

A sudden, sickening paranoia gripped her throat. Where did he sleep? Her mind flashed back to her nightmare. Was he out with Valerie? Did he spend the entire night naked in bed with her sister?

The more she thought about it, the more unbearable the imagery became. The thought of her husband fucking Valerie triggered something dark and uncontrollable inside her system. A highly toxic mix of intense jealousy and pure, aching lust slammed into her body. Her chronic hyperarousal flared with a vengeance.

The familiar, agonizing heat aggressively pooled low in her belly. It shot straight down, making her pussy throb painfully. The friction of her own thighs brushing together sent a shockwave of raw need through her nervous system. Her body was demanding an immediate, explosive release.

Her breathing grew shallow and erratic. Her nipples hardened instantly, pressing painfully against the sheer fabric of her sleep shirt.

She bit her lip, her hands instinctively drifting downwards. God, she was so fucking horny again. It was not just mental torture anymore; her body was slick, aching, and begging for friction.

Flushed incredibly hot and panting desperately, Sloane stumbled back into her bedroom. She spread out on her bed, her legs falling wide open against the sheets.

She reached down, her trembling fingers sliding aggressively past the waistband of her panties. The cotton was already soaking wet, drenched in her own slick juices. She pushed the fabric aside, her middle and index fingers diving deep into her wet folds.

She found her swollen clitoris and began to rub. The direct contact sent a sharp jolt of raw pleasure straight to her brain.

She moaned loudly, her hips bucking upward to meet the pressure of her own hand. The jealousy fading into a blinding haze of pure sexual need. She pictured a faceless man pinning her to the mattress, spreading her thighs, and shoving a thick, hard cock deep inside her throbbing pussy. She rubbed her clitoris harder, faster, her fingers slick and dripping with her own wetness.

Her breathing hitched into wet, frantic pants. The tension coiled tight in her lower belly, a heavy, aching knot of pleasure. She was so close. The edge of a massive climax loomed right in front of her, ready to break.

Just as her hips jerked in anticipation, her cell phone suddenly rang loudly on the mattress beside her head.

The sudden noise startled her. In her lust-drunk haze, she did not even look at the caller ID. Her wet, trembling hand shot out to silence the ringing. Her slick fingers slipped across the glass screen, accidentally swiping the green button. She accepted the call.

She did not realize the line was open. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hips thrusting wildly as her fingers worked her swollen clitoris into an absolute frenzy. A loud, explicit moan ripped from her throat.

"Oh, fuck... yes..." she panted wetly right into the receiver.

On the other end of the line, Vaughn had opened his mouth to bark an order regarding her new position. Instead, he was immediately met with the undeniable, extremely explicit sound of Sloane masturbating. The wet, slapping sounds of her fingers moving, her heavy panting, her desperate, needy moans filled his ear.

A beat of heavy silence passed over the open line.

"What exactly are you doing?" Vaughn asked, his voice instantly dropping low, thick, and husky over the line.