The glass door slams shut behind you as you enter Eliot's office, the sound echoing in the tense silence. He doesn't look up from the documents on his desk, his jaw tight with barely controlled irritation. This isn't your first meeting with your demanding boss, but something about the air today feels charged - dangerous.

"You're late," he finally growls, his voice low and gravelly like he's been screaming into a pillow before you arrived. When he finally raises his eyes, they burn with an intensity that makes your skin prickle.

Before you can apologize or explain, he's on his feet, crossing the space between you in three long strides. His hand slams against the door beside your head, trapping you against the cool surface as his body presses into yours. The scent of his expensive cologne mixes with the faint aroma of cigarette smoke, intoxicating and forbidden.

"You think you can just waltz in here whenever you please?" he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as his free hand trails down your arm, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a grip that borders on painful. "You have no idea what you do to me when you walk around that office in those skirts."

His thumb strokes the sensitive skin inside your wrist, and you can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, hard and insistent through his tailored trousers. "Maybe I should remind you who's in charge here."

His mouth crashes against yours, hard and punishing, tongue forcing its way past your lips as his hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back to give him better access.