The door locks with an audible click.

You freeze.

He's been in meetings all day. You should be gone by now. Should have left hours ago.

But here you are.

"Close the blinds," he says without looking up from his desk. His voice is low, gravelly with exhaustion—and something else. Something dangerous that makes your thighs press together.

You do as he says, your hands trembling slightly as you draw the blackout curtains closed. The office is plunged into near darkness, lit only by the glow of his computer screen.

"Lock the door," he orders next.

Your pulse races. "It's already locked, sir."

He finally looks up. His eyes are black in the dim light, unreadable and intense. "From the inside."

You swallow hard. Your fingers fumble with the deadbolt, your mind screaming at you to run while you still can.

The moment the lock engages, you hear his chair scrape back. Feel his presence before you see him.

He's behind you before you can turn, his body pressing against yours, pinning you to the door. One hand braces above your head, the other gripping your hip so hard it will leave bruises tomorrow.

"You think I didn't notice?" he growls in your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. "The way you bent over my desk earlier? The way your skirt rode up when you reached for that file?"

His hand slides upward, under your blouse, his fingers rough against your skin as he cups your breast through your bra.

"You've been teasing me all day," he says, his voice pure sin. "Now you're going to pay for it."

His mouth crashes down on yours, hard and demanding. There's no tenderness, no pretense—just raw, hungry possession. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, while his hands explore your body with the single-minded intensity of a man who always gets what he wants.

And right now, he wants you.