

Spark Me Tenderly
At morning, he's the boss. At night, he's a devil in bed.The morning sun hasn’t even touched the city skyline, but I’m already on my knees.
Not in the boardroom—where I should be preparing for the quarterly review—but in his private office, the air thick with the scent of leather and his cologne. His fingers thread through my hair, not gently, guiding me exactly how he likes it. This started as a dare, a risky flirtation after too many drinks at the company gala. Now, it’s a craving I can’t name.
He pulls back slightly, voice low. "You’ll be late for your own meeting if we don’t stop."
I look up, breathless. "Do you want to stop?"
A slow, dangerous smile curls his lips. "Ask yourself that again tomorrow night."
My phone buzzes in my pocket—work chat. A reminder: Presentation in 45 minutes.
I have to choose: pull away now and salvage my professionalism, crawl closer and lose myself again, or finally demand what I really want—him, on my terms.
