Making Her His Personal Assistant

Sloane lay rigid on her mattress, staring at the ceiling. Her middle and index fingers remained buried deep inside her dripping wet pussy, slick with her own thick arousal. The husky, commanding voice vibrating through the phone speaker sent a shockwave of horror straight through her chest. Her lust-addled brain scrambled to catch up to reality. She gulped hard, her throat tight. Her inner voice screamed in sheer panic. *Why does the guy on the phone sound exactly like our new CEO?*

Panic sobered her up for a split second, cutting through the haze of raw desire. Then the relentless, throbbing ache between her thighs swallowed her reasoning whole. On the other end of the line, Vaughn Kincaid sat behind his massive mahogany desk in his penthouse office. His striking, chiseled face darkened with sudden heat. His sharp ears picked up every single ragged breath, every wet slap of her fingers, and every desperate moan echoing over the open line.

"You skipped out on work just to stay home and play with yourself?" he demanded. His tone vibrated with dangerous authority, thick with accusation.

Sloane’s face burned like fire. She wanted the hardwood floor to open up and swallow her whole. A suffocating tidal wave of humiliation washed over her. *I cannot believe I accidentally answered Vaughn's business call while I was touching myself. And he actually heard me moaning!*

But she honestly could not help it. Whenever her hypersexuality flared up, she was at the mercy of her own dripping wet body. She pulled her trembling fingers out of her slick folds, wiping the clear juices on the bedsheets. Her breathing remained shallow and frantic.

"I... I already quit," Sloane managed to gasp out between heavy breaths. Desperate to salvage any shred of dignity, she frantically tried to resign on the spot over the phone. She cited the formal email she sent to human resources yesterday evening.

Vaughn scowled. His grip tightened on his phone. "Quit? Nobody told me that. Standard corporate policy requires a thirty-day notice and a full transition with HR and Legal."

Sloane squeezed her eyes shut. She prayed he would just let her go, let her hide in her apartment and deal with her aching body in peace.

Vaughn coldly and methodically crushed that hope. "If you walk out without proper notice now, it is a severe breach of contract. You will legally owe the company two full years of your salary in immediate penalty fees."

Sloane nearly choked on her own spit. Panic set in as she calculated the massive cost. A crushing mountain of debt loomed over her head. *If he enforces that rule, I will have worked for free these past two years! Every single dime would go straight to paying off that penalty.*

She clutched the phone tighter, her knuckles turning white. "Mr. Kincaid, please cut me some slack," Sloane pleaded softly. The threat of financial ruin stripped away her pride. "I have a medical condition. I really cannot keep working like this."

Vaughn's eyes grew dark. The vivid image of her writhing on her bed filled his mind. "What kind of condition?"

Sloane's breath hitched. She bit her bottom lip in frustration. *Does he not already know exactly how horny I get? He was the one who personally gave me that physical exam the other day!*

"Hyperarousal," she blurted out. Throwing her shame out the window in a desperate bid for understanding, she confessed everything. "When it flares up, I get so insanely horny and desperate that I cannot even think straight, let alone focus on work. It is pure torture. My body just craves friction and release constantly. The ache never goes away."

A heavy, charged silence followed her confession. Sloane bit her nails, terrified she had crossed a line. She wondered if she had been way too dirty. Had she pissed off the billionaire CEO with her explicit honesty?

Through the speaker, she heard the distinct sound of his ragged, deep breathing. The line felt thick with unspoken tension. She swallowed hard. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, but she lacked the guts to end the call herself.

Then, Vaughn issued a low, commanding ultimatum that sent fresh shivers down her spine. "You have exactly thirty minutes to get your ass into the office. I will treat your condition myself."

Sloane's jaw dropped in sheer shock. She prayed her ears were deceiving her. Her mind raced with dirty possibilities. *He wants to treat me himself? How is he going to do that? Is he actually going to fuck me?*

The explicit promise sent a massive flush of raw, unhinged lust straight through her wet core. Her pussy throbbed a desperate, heavy beat in agreement. Just picturing it made her cheeks burn hotter. The red flush spread down her neck and across her chest. Her buzzing vibrator abandoned on the mattress felt useless now.

Her core clenched tight. *If I can actually get laid by Vaughn... this sexual frustration would be cured.* After all, she only developed this maddening hypersexuality because her husband had not fucked her a single time since their wedding day. She was too empty, lonely, and starved for a real cock.

A fleeting look of raw lust flashed through her eyes. *If I could just get a real man to take me... especially a tall, devastatingly handsome alpha male like Vaughn stretching me out and satisfying me...*

The cold dial tone snapped her out of her wet dream. Vaughn had hung up.

Sloane wanted to slap herself in the face. She shook her head in disbelief. *Damn it, what the hell is wrong with me? Am I fantasizing about my imposing boss fixing me with his body right now?* She chided herself for being so weak.

Still, Vaughn had issued a direct order. She could not blow him off, especially when the alternative meant paying out a massive penalty fee. She would just have to play by the corporate rules, tough it out, and avoid financial ruin. She scrambled off the bed, throwing on her professional clothes with shaking hands.

Sloane rushed through the revolving glass doors of the towering corporate building. She swiped her badge, her sensible heels clicking rapidly against the polished marble floors. Her stomach twisted into agonizing knots. She was already late. She fully expected her manager, Gavin, to publicly chew her out for trying to quit and for blowing off his unreasonable overtime demands the night before.

The elevator doors dinged open on her floor. Sloane stepped out, clutching her leather tote bag. She braced herself for the inevitable shouting match. She walked into the bullpen, her eyes scanning the familiar rows of gray cubicles.

Instead of an immediate explosion, she was met with an eerie silence. The usual clatter of keyboards had stopped. Her coworkers were giving her the strangest looks. Some whispered behind their hands. Others stared with wide, curious eyes.

"What is going on?" Sloane whispered to Gemma as she reached her desk. She felt lost in the sudden spotlight.

Gemma opened her mouth to answer, but heavy footsteps interrupted her. Gavin was storming over. His face was flushed bright red. His tie was slightly crooked. He looked like a man on the verge of a breakdown.

"Well, congratulations, Sloane. I had no idea you were so talented," Gavin sneered. His voice dripped with pure, toxic jealousy. He leaned over her desk, planting his sweaty palms flat on the wood.

Sloane frowned. She set her bag down. "What are you talking about, Mr. Thorne? Spit it out."

"Playing dumb?" Gavin let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "HR just blasted an email to the whole floor. You have been transferred to the top floor executive suite. Immediate and non-negotiable. You are Mr. Kincaid's new personal assistant."

Sloane blinked. Her eyes widened in pure shock. *Holy shit, Vaughn was actually serious.* He had whispered that dirty little promise of a promotion yesterday, and now the official HR notice was out. The whole company knew she had bypassed standard promotion tracks.

"Employees who actually bust their asses around here are lucky to get a tiny raise," Gavin bit out. His tone turned sour and resentful. Sweat beaded on his forehead from pure envy. "But you? You strapped yourself to a rocket and rode it straight to the top floor."

Gavin leaned in closer. His breath smelled like stale coffee and malice. He dropped his voice into a nasty hiss. "God only knows who you had to get on your knees and suck off to pull that off."

His nasty comment made Sloane's blood boil. The sheer disrespect struck a nerve. He loved painting her as some lazy slut, ignoring the fact that she was the hardest worker in the department. This was the exact man who routinely dumped his own heavy workload onto her desk. He forced her into endless unpaid overtime. He ruined her weekends so he could go golfing.

Refusing to be painted as a whore by this pathetic manager, Sloane fired back. She straightened her posture. She smoothed down her pencil skirt and locked eyes with him. She pasted on a terrifying, fake smile.

"I owe it all to your stellar mentorship, Mr. Thorne," Sloane said. Her voice dripped with thick, fake sweetness. "If it was not for all your extra attention, Mr. Kincaid might never have noticed me."

Gavin narrowed his eyes, confused by her calm demeanor.

Sloane leaned forward, mirroring his aggressive posture. The fake smile remained, but her eyes turned cold and sharp. "Now that I am heading straight to the top of the food chain, I definitely will not forget how horribly you have treated me these past two years. I will be sure to mention your unique management style to Mr. Kincaid during our private meetings."

Gavin's face went pale. The color drained from his cheeks in an instant. His jaw clenched tight. If she had dared to talk back to him yesterday, he would have screamed in her face and threatened to fire her.

But now, he just stood there. He glared at her, physically unable to spit out a real insult. Sloane was Vaughn Kincaid's personal assistant now. Messing with her meant messing with the billionaire CEO who owned them all. Terrified of her new rank and her proximity to the ruthless boss, Gavin swallowed his rage.

He took a step back. His hands trembled slightly. "Since Mr. Kincaid is so obsessed with you, you better perform well up there. You climb that fast, you fall twice as hard," Gavin warned coldly. It was a weak, pathetic attempt to save face. He turned pale and immediately retreated to his cubicle like a beaten dog.

Gemma walked over. She rubbed Sloane's arm in support. "Ignore him. He is pissing his pants terrified you will get him fired. Pack your stuff and get upstairs."

Sloane forced a tight smile. Inside, she was screaming. She would rather stay down here and be Gavin's corporate slave than get dragged up to the executive suite.

An hour later, Sloane stood outside the heavy oak doors of Vaughn's massive penthouse office. Her stomach tied in agonizing knots of dread. Working in such close proximity to a walking wet dream was going to break her. *Jesus, if I have to stare at him every single day, looking at all that hard muscle beneath his custom suits and knowing I cannot ride him, I will go insane.*

The thought of his broad shoulders, his chiseled jaw, and the undeniable bulge in his trousers made her pussy ache all over again. Her hyperarousal was a curse. Standing right outside his door, her core clenched. She remembered his promise over the phone. *I will treat your condition myself.*

Taking a deep breath to steady her racing heart, she knocked on the thick wood.

"Come in." The deep, commanding rumble of his voice echoed through the barrier, vibrating straight down to her toes.

"Sir." Sloane pushed the door open. She stepped onto the plush carpet, walking slowly up to his massive mahogany desk. The room smelled like expensive cologne and leather.

Vaughn was intensely focused on a stack of financial files scattered across his desk. He wore a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose his thick, vascular forearms. He did not even bother to look up when she approached. The scratch of his expensive fountain pen against paper was the only sound in the huge office.

Sloane stood there, clutching her bag. She waited for him to acknowledge her. The silence stretched, heavy and intimidating.

Finally, he stopped writing. He set the pen down. "Ms. Prescott, you are late," he murmured. His gravelly voice vibrated with strict, punishing authority. The sheer dominance in his tone made her thighs clench together on instinct.

"I—" Sloane stammered. She scrambled for a valid defense. "The traffic coming downtown was terrible, and then I had to deal with human resources to finalize the transfer paperwork—"

Vaughn cut her off without a single shred of mercy. He lifted his head. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto hers, pinning her in place. "I did not ask for a list of excuses. I expect punctuality. Your inability to manage your time is not my problem."

Sloane snapped her mouth shut. The coldness in his eyes shocked her. This was not the man who had promised to treat her wet, aching body over the phone. This was a ruthless billionaire CEO enforcing ironclad discipline.

"For your failure to arrive on time," Vaughn continued, his voice void of emotion, "I am officially docking your entire performance bonus for the month."

Sloane stood frozen. Her jaw dropped slightly. *I am late exactly one time, and my entire bonus is gone? He is a bigger prick than Gavin!* The sheer financial punishment stung. She had worked endless hours for that bonus. Now, with a single, casual sentence, he ripped it away. She stared at him in shock over his prick-like, tyrannical behavior.

She wanted to argue. She wanted to scream that he was the one who interrupted her morning routine. But the threat of the two-year salary penalty loomed over her head. She swallowed her anger and nodded stiffly. "Understood, Mr. Kincaid."

Deep embarrassment from the morning phone call morphed into empowering vengeance downstairs, but now, facing his cold authority, she quickly snapped back into intimidating submission. She felt small under his heavy gaze.

Vaughn casually leaned back in his tall leather chair. The rich leather creaked under his weight. He steepled his fingers, assessing her rigid posture. Her flushed cheeks and the slight tremble in her knees did not escape his notice.

He dropped her very first official command as his assistant. "Your only task today is my private bedroom suite attached to the office." He gestured toward a set of sleek, frosted glass double doors on the far side of the room.

Sloane turned her head, following his gaze. She knew the top floor executives had private lounges, but she had never seen one.

"I want you to go in there and get it spotless for me," Vaughn ordered. His tone left no room for debate or questions. He picked up his fountain pen, signaling the conversation was over.