Areilla’s POV

I stood before the towering glass building of The Silva Group of Companies, my new workplace. My heart thudded in my chest. This wasn’t just a job—it was a fucking blessing. To even set foot in this skyscraper was an honor, let alone to be employed here.

The CEO, Dominic Silva, was notorious—young, ruthless, untouchably successful. The kind of man people whispered about in both awe and fear.

I straightened my skirt, exhaled, and walked in.

“Good morning!” I chirped at the receptionist.

She smiled politely. “Good morning. Name, please?”

“Areilla Miller.”

Her fingers clacked against the keyboard. “Ah, yes—your first day?”

“Yup,” I grinned nervously.

“Head to the 44th floor and meet the manager. He’ll guide you.”

“Sounds good. Have a nice day, Ashley,” I added, reading her nametag.

“Best of luck, Areilla!”

When I met Mr. Derek on the 44th floor, he gave me the rundown. “You’re assigned to the **70th floor. The boss’s floor. Only his immediate staff is there. As his attachée, you’ll handle sensitive files and documents—basically, the person people go to if they can’t go straight to Mr. Silva himself.”

I nodded, nerves and excitement twisting in my gut.

The elevator doors slid open on the 70th floor, revealing a world of sleek minimalism—black, silver, glass, everything polished to perfection.

“This is where I leave you. Only his chosen staff are allowed here. Good luck.” Derek disappeared.

I knocked softly on the heavy oak door.

“Come in.”

The voice that rolled through the door froze me on the spot. Deep. Husky. Dominant.

I knew that voice.

I pushed the door open—and my stomach dropped. My knees nearly buckled.

Seated behind the massive desk was the man who had made me cum until I screamed, the stranger whose cock had ruined me two nights ago. The man I had been touching myself to just this morning.

My boss.

Dominic Silva.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, the same recognition flashing there. But his expression quickly shifted to controlled amusement while I stood frozen, fighting a mini heart attack.

“Good morning, sir,” I managed, forcing professionalism into my voice.

He smirked. “Sir? That’s not what you called me when you were cumming all over my cock.”

Heat flamed across my cheeks, my blood boiling with humiliation.

He chuckled at my silence. “Relax. I’m joking. I didn’t expect my one-night stand to walk into my office as my new staff member. But you’re holding it together well.” His voice dropped, husky, teasing.

“Yes. I didn’t expect you to be my boss either,” I said firmly. “But I’ll keep it strictly professional, sir.”

He muttered something under his breath—too low for me to catch.

“Did you say something, sir?”

“No. Nothing,” he said quickly, though his voice was a shade tighter.

⸻

Two Days Later

Patience. That’s what was being tested. And failing.

Two days of watching Dominic Silva command meetings with that ruthless voice. Two days of walking behind him, catching his scent, staring at the power in his stride, the strength of his hands, the cut of his jaw. Two days of panties ruined, sneaking to the bathroom to change after wetting myself with nothing but his voice.

And every night, I fucked myself to the memory of that hotel room. Of his cock destroying me.

Today was no different. I carried a project file into his office.

He sat at his desk in his signature black shirt—this time with the top two buttons undone. No jacket. His tanned skin peeked out, and my imagination immediately went wild.

“Sir, these are the new project files,” I said carefully.

His eyes flicked to my black skirt, then my sheer white blouse, lingering on the faint outline of the lace bra underneath. His jaw tightened. His knuckles flexed on the desk.

“Come here. I’ll point out a few key details.”

I leaned over his desk to place the file in front of him. His eyes dipped instantly to my cleavage. His cock strained against his pants—I felt his gaze like a physical touch.

We went over the work. I turned to leave when my heel caught the carpet. I stumbled backwards—straight onto his lap.

Our lips hovered inches apart. His cock pressed hard and thick against my ass, pulsing through the fabric.

“S-sorry, sir,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

I tried to rise, but his grip tightened, holding me down on his lap. His cock rubbed against my pussy through my skirt. He groaned low in his chest.

“Fuck it,” he growled. “I can’t control myself anymore.”

His hand gripped my jaw and his mouth crashed onto mine, his kiss brutal, hungry, dominant.

I moaned against his lips, grinding instinctively on his cock.

His hands roamed down, unbuttoning my blouse, pushing it off me, exposing the black lace bra I’d chosen without realizing I’d be offering him this view. He growled, pulling it down and capturing my nipple in his mouth, sucking hard while his hand kneaded the other breast.

“Ahhh,” I gasped, clutching his hair.

He looked up, eyes dark. “Moan for me, baby. This cabin is soundproof. I want to hear you scream when I fuck you so hard the whole building shakes.”

He lifted me onto his desk, spreading me wide. My skirt slid up, my soaked panties exposed. He smirked at the wet patch.

“Fuck, Ariella. Look at you—already dripping for me.”

His mouth descended, licking over the thin fabric, sucking on my clit through the lace until I writhed. Then he ripped my panties aside and shoved two thick fingers deep into my pussy.

“Ahhh fuckk!” I cried out, arching my back.

He leaned forward, his mouth devouring me. His tongue plunged deep, fucking me, then flicking my clit mercilessly as his fingers pumped hard.

“Please, sir! Please!” I screamed, gripping the edge of the desk.

He slapped my thighs. “Stay open for me. Take it like the good little whore you are.”

I came violently, screaming his name, juices spilling over his face and hand. He licked every drop, his eyes locked on mine, feral.

He ripped his shirt off, freed his cock, and slammed it into me in one brutal thrust.

“OH FUCKKK!” I screamed, nails clawing the desk.

“God, your pussy’s choking my cock,” he snarled, pounding into me with savage thrusts.

He hooked my legs over his shoulders and fucked me sideways, hitting my g-spot so deep I nearly blacked out.

“Harder! Please harder!” I begged.

He pulled all the way out, then rammed back in balls-deep, the slap of his hips echoing in the room.

I screamed his name over and over, his thrusts turning animalistic, sweat dripping from his chest onto mine.

“Say my name again,” he growled in my ear.

“Dominic! Oh fuck, Dominic!”

He groaned savagely, fucking me faster, rubbing my clit until I exploded around him, squirting hard.

“Good girl. Cum all over my cock.”

He groaned deep, releasing inside me, filling me until it dripped down the sides of my thighs.

But he wasn’t done.

He flipped me onto all fours, spanked my ass hard, and yanked my hair back, growling in my ear.

“You’re mine, Areilla. My toy. My little whore. Say it.”

“Yes, sir—I’m yours!” I screamed, trembling.

“Good fucking girl.”

He shoved back inside me, pounding so hard my boobs slapped against the desk. His handprints burned into my hips as he claimed me, rough, brutal, relentless, until we both shattered again, collapsing in a sweaty, trembling mess.

He kissed me then—soft, slow, tender—before lifting me into his arms, carrying me to the couch. He cleaned me with a warm towel, dressed me, and draped his coat over me while I dozed, completely wrecked.

When I opened my eyes, he was back at his desk, working, but his gaze kept drifting to me.

I knew then. Keeping our hands off each other in this office was going to be impossible.

                    To be continued